CHAPTER 9

A/N (2020):

PT: stands for physical training or exercise. I will use it in a sentence, "I need to get in a little PT today, so hopefully I'll have time for a jog after work." In order to do PT, you must wear PT gear, such as shorts and a T-shirt.

PRT: stands for Physical Readiness Test. Biannual test that everyday sailors must pass in order to remain in good standing. The requirements change for every decade, so I did really well when I was 30, but not so good when I was 29. Some people shoot for the passing level, which is 70%ile, but I always tried to get Outstanding, which was 90%ile.

G-forces: certain high performance maneuvers in the jet place more than the force of gravity on the pilot. For example, a 2-G maneuver causes the pilot to experience twice the force of gravity, so they feel as if they weigh twice their earth weight. Without proper precautions, most people lose consciousness when faced with about 4x the force of gravity. This is because it pulls the blood from the person's brain, and brains don't work without oxygen.

GLOC: G loss of consciousness. Loss of consciousness caused by exposure to excessive G-forces. Often described by those who experience it as a "tunneling of vision" or "gray out" of vision. Some even describe their vision going completely black while they are still awake. Obviously, this is because the brain is still perfused, but the eye is not perfused. Others pass out and wake up suddenly a few seconds later completely disoriented, hopefully in a situation they can resolve. Unfortunately, this is a common cause of fatal aircraft mishap. Scary.

G-strain: also known as the "hic" maneuver. Created to help pilots overcome GLOC. Involves tensing all muscles below the diaphragm—squeeze your butt, your thighs, your calves, you get the picture. Most importantly, squeeze your abdominals. This keeps venous blood above the heart and up In your brain. Unfortunately, in order to keep this maneuver up, you'd have to hold your breath, which would defeat the purpose of getting oxygen to the brain. This is resolved by having the pilot take short breaths while keeping the abdominals tensed. The breaths are taken in staccato fashion, maintaining Valsalva, saying "hic" quickly as you inhale, then letting out a short exhale. If you watch any aerobatic videos on youtube involving fighter jets, if the pilots have a mic, then you'll probably hear a variation of this maneuver. If you'd like a visual then there are some other good youtube videos. I especially like the one of Dale Earnhardt, Jr, because he looks cool as a cucumber.

G-suit: Suit that covers the body from the abdominals down. All high performance jet pilots in the Navy are mandated to wear these. I had my own when I was a flight surgeon, riding in the back of the Hornets. It has several bladders, on the abdomen, thighs, hamstrings, and calves, that inflate when the jet senses that it is pulling more than about 2 G-s. It can also serve a signal to initiate the G-strain when you feel them inflating, since you don't need the strain until you get to about 3.5 G's. Often said to help the body withstand an extra 1.5 G's more than it would normally be able to withstand. The Blues do not wear G-suits because it is felt that it will ruin the line of their handsome blue suits. This is controversial these days.

The Blue Angels have lost four pilots in the last twent years. GLOC was listed as probable cause of accident in three of these investigations. LCDR Kieron O'Conner was flying the 2-seat #7 jet for an arrival practice at Valdosta AFB in Valdosta, GA in 1999 when his jet struck the ground, killing LCDR O'Conner and the newly selected demonstration pilot, LT Kevin Collings, who was riding in his backseat. LCDR Kevan Davis (#6, opposing solo) lost his life during the Beaufort, SC air show in 2007, while performing a maneuver that required all six aircraft to scatter and come back together. He struck a tree and then the ground. Capt Jeff Kuss (#6 opposing solo) was killed during an airshow practice in TN when he failed to recover his aircraft in time from a low altitude maneuver. Exhaustion was listed as a possible factor in this mishap, and the Blue Angels made changes in their squadron culture at that time to allow a pilot to more readily opt out of flying f they are not feeling well enough to perform.

Chapter 9

I left Edward at the door to my room, and now I was rummaging frantically through the drawer where I kept my PT gear. Technically, I probably should be wearing the Navy's official PT uniform, which had been standardized while I was in residency. I know daily PT is supposed to be supported by the Navy, but that never really caught on in the medical world. We wore the official uniform on the day of the PRT, but since at least a fourth of those taking the test at the hospital hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, we, as medical corps, tended to be more lenient.

My mind raced; I needed to get to ready and get outside. Why had I agreed to this, my inner bitch wailed. I thought back to the time I'd seen Edward return from a run. He'd been wearing normal shorts and a shirt with a Blue Angels' logo. OK, I could compromise, I thought. Suddenly, I caught a picture of myself in the mirror of the ante-bathroom. I looked psychotic. OK, I thought to myself and forced deep, calming breaths. Then, I heard a knock on my front door. Shit!

"Bella, are you ready?" Edward called through the door. I scrunched my fists and my face and made a deep and abiding pact with myself to behave.

"Yeah, Edward, just give me a second," I called to him as casually as possible. I grabbed the hideous bright yellow Navy PT T-shirt. It said "Navy" across the front left breast and across the back. The letters were silver and reflective. No one would accidentally run me down while I wearing it. I paired it with black capri leggings. I thought it was more feminine than regular shorts.

Wait, why was I worrying if I looked feminine or not? That's not what this run was about. This was just two friends taking advantage of a common interest. Right?

So, I should put on the dreadful PT shorts with the tee. But, I couldn't. They were just too ugly; clearly not made with hips in mind. Edward knocked again. "Bella, are you OK?" Now, he sounded worried. I needed to pull it together.

"Hey," I said, as I pulled the door quickly behind me, lest he see the clothing disaster this impromptu jogging outing had caused. His eyebrows were in his hair, watching me.

"Everything OK?" he asked. "It seemed like you took awhile," he smiled genuinely at me, and I wanted to smile back. But, I reminded myself that this handsome man, no matter how beguiling, could not be trusted. His smile faltered at my hard expression.

"I'm ready to run," I said, not looking at his face. I did happen to notice that he was wearing the PT shirt and the Navy PT shorts. They were a ridiculous pair of long basketball shorts that looked OK on guys, but really stupid on girls. Anyway, for Edward, it didn't matter. He looked heavenly in the gold T-shirt and navy shorts. I wondered if he'd even considered what to wear while running with me. I decided he surely hadn't.

I took off down the stairs, already knowing I was in trouble. I usually walked to the wood chip trail and then started running. It was at least ¾ of a mile to the trail head. I was definitely going to make a fool of myself. I briefly considered backing out, but then I decided I would rather just drop dead. My father's voice whispered in my head, "Pride goeth before a fall, Bella…" I ignored him.

I could hear Edward's surprised puffs that I was already going. He was not expecting that, and I felt slightly gleeful that I was possibly impressing him. I could hear his feet pounding behind me as we headed past the Blue Angels' duplexes, the daycare center's playground, and the main road. He continued to follow me without protest as we pulled onto the main road and crossed in front of the School's Command big wig buildings. This area had been fairly disrupted by Hurricane Ivan, but this particular path had been left untouched, shaded by a few remaining beach pines. I guess it used to lead from the honchos' offices to the O' Club. It was definitely uneven, but I knew I could jog along it without any trouble.

Just as I was thinking these things, Edward stopped running and tugged on my shirt sleeve. I jerked to a stop and turned warily to look at him. He was shaking his head and watching the broken up side walk. I raised my eyebrows at him in challenge.

"Bella, c'mon," he said smirking at me. "I can tell you could beat with your hands tied behind your back. There's no need to show off. It's dangerous running along this broken sidewalk. Maybe you can get by on crutches, but it would be frowned up on for me to show up to greet the team on Sunday with a cast. After everything, you know."

I wanted to get angry at him for calling me on my immaturity, and I even drew in my breath to let him have it, but somehow I found myself smiling back at him. Then, his smile got bigger, and we both dissolved into hysterical laughter. I was still breathing heavily, and I was soon forced to bend over at the waist with one hand on my ribs. I crossed my ankles and tried to keep my knees straight in order to gain at least a hamstring stretch out of the episode. Edward was leaning back with his hands over his face, catching the tears of mirth that dribbled down his face. Finally, he slapped a hand on my hunched over back. When our eyes met, it was as if we had come to an understanding.

"All right, Swan," he called to me, "enough dilly-dallying. We may both have the PRT next month, but I'm betting your scores won't be of interest to the media. You may be able to goof off, but I've gotta work." His smile was genuine and friendly and familiar somehow. This joking camaraderie felt good, and I think our moment helped us both understand how foolish we'd been acting. There was no reason on God's green earth that we couldn't be friends. In fact, we had far more in common than most other people that we might meet. Granted, the physical attraction was something I would have to work through, but I could do it. I'd had plenty of guy friends over the years. Edward was no different from Jacob.

Edward held out his palm to me, and I smacked it, still giggling slightly. We jay-ran across the main thoroughfare to the O'Club parking lot. Edward paused to do a few stretches at the entrance to the wood chip trail, and I begrudgingly admitted that stretching was a smart thing to do. Then, we started out on the trail in affable silence, running side by side, with each other, not against each other.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't periodically look over at him. His profile was almost as attractive as the frontal view. More Roman than Greek, I thought. Greek statues were a little too feminine for my tastes. He was sweating, but instead of plastering his questionably longish haircut to his forehead, it just made it wilder. I suppressed the word "bed-head" when it surfaced in my brain. I jerked my eyes away, and I thought for a second that he was watching me, too, but when I peeked back, he wasn't looking at me. I must have imagined it.

My eyes drifted next to his calves. They were muscular but lean, not like a body-builders'. My first thought was a soccer player, like David Beckham when he was younger and hotter with less tattoos. I was trying to picture the knee socks when I noticed Edward was slowing.

"So, that's two miles," he said, panting. "You don't even seem winded," he accused with a hint of a smile, leaning over with his hands on his knees. I didn't answer right away because I was mentally berating myself for having inappropriate daydreams during a run AGAIN. I reinforced my recent resolve to banish the physical attraction in lieu of a friendship. What would be next? Ending up in a casino in Gulf Shores, when I only intended to go five miles?

"Well, you're quiet," he amended. "Maybe that's how you hide your fatigue." He smirked at me. He was really a fantastic smirker. A friend could totally think that.

"I'll show you 'fatigued'" I bragged, turning and heading back the way we came. I really wasn't that tired. I heard Edward sigh and start to follow me. He pulled up even pretty quickly, and I noticed that he really wasn't breathing that hard. Was he trying to butter me up?

"Anyway, don't you know that lower body muscle mass is the most important factor in tolerating high G-forces?" I teased him. "I figured of all people, a Blue Angel would know that, since you guys are too good for G-suits."

"Hey, give me a break," he snarked back. "I was a last minute addition; I'm still working on fitting in." He was speaking to me like he was pushing a grocery cart. He was totally down-playing his physical condition. I hope he wasn't trying to spare my feelings. He really hadn't figured me out yet if he thought I needed that. My thoughts turned a little bit serious. I stared straight ahead, not wanting to meet his eyes with my next comment.

"Number 6 pulls the most G's, you know." I said non-chalantly. "The Blues have lost three pilots to GLOC since I was originally commissioned in 1998. We shouldn't joke." I saw him nod soberly in my peripheral.

"Hey, don't get morose on me, Super Doc," he said lightly. "I knew what I signed up for. I take it really seriously. But, thanks for the mood killer. Maybe you can tutor me for Safety School, when I have to go back to the fleet for my Department Head tour," he joked. "Have you ever had a Hornet ride?" he asked curiously. I shook my head.

"I've always been good with low and slow," I told him, alluding to my many helo hours. He gave me a thoughtful look. We kept running, and then he pushed his pace up significantly. I was forced to cease all thought and just full out run to keep up. Maybe he did know how to play to my moods. The dark thoughts lifted as I pushed on in an effort to stay abreast of him.

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Edward drove into a full on sprint when we reached the entrance to the wood chip trail. It was kind of brutal, since the trail twisted cork-screw style for the first few hundred yards, but I couldn't back down now. I was pleased when he collapsed onto a low rail-tie fence that bordered the trail's entrance. It gave me leave to do the same. We panted in silence for a few minutes, and then he spoke.

"Tell me the truth, is this what you do every day or are you habitually tamer?" His casual tone was ruined by the whoops of air he was required to imbibe in order to stay conscious. I couldn't ridicule. I wasn't in much better shape. I held up one finger to indicate that I planned to answer him.

"Only when I'm engaging in my best one-upsmanship," I admitted sheepishly, smiling at him, kind of surprised by my candor. He seemed surprised, too, because he got kind of serious and twitchy all of a sudden. He stood back up straight and kind of bobbed his head in a spastic nod, looking anywhere but at me. I waited for what was coming, mystified. I wasn't sure what I had said to ruin our friendly rapport. He paced in a circle under the guise of stretching out his calves. Finally, he turned to me and spoke. There was a conflict in his eyes that I didn't understand.

"I know it's a little early, but I don't have any plans tonight," he began. He started out with good eye contact, but he drifted away to gaze out over the bay. "Do you want to just head into the O'Club, since we're here, and grab some dinner?" I was stunned, unsure where he was going with his awkward dialogue, but definitely not expecting this. I glanced down at my sweaty self in PT gear; it's not that I was vain, but I hadn't expected going anywhere but the trail.

"Edward, I don't think so," I hedged. "I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled by the frozen CPK pizza in my freezer, but I'm not dressed for public, and it doesn't matter anyway because I don't even have my wallet." I had my military ID tucked into my sports bra, but I thought that was probably TMI for the situation. He pulled his wallet out of his shorts pocket and held it up in front of me in response.

"No," I stuttered. "I can't let you pay for my dinner." I was horrified. He smiled gently at me and held out his hands like he was approaching a wild dog.

"Bella, seriously, it's the least I can do, after all the inconveniences I've put you through," he reasoned. "And, you just admitted you don't have other plans. Don't hurt my feelings." He smirked at me, that damn smirk. I tried to remain calm and just shook my head at him.

"Absolutely not," I said firmly, "How long are you going to keep playing that card?" The smirk did not subside.

"As long as you keep making up excuses to stay away," he said, pulling no punches. The smile dropped from my face, and I drew in a shocked breath. At the same time, he seemed to realize that he'd strayed from approved small talk, because he suddenly looked mortified. I saw his expression close down. He shoved his wallet back in his pocket, and his hardened face returned. He started to turn away from me. It only took a second for me to realize that I didn't like this turn of events.

"Edward," I called out before I could lose him completely. He turned back towards me expectantly. I thought there might even be hope in his face. I tried not to think to hard about what I was about to do.

"C'mon, let's go to dinner," I tipped my head in the direction of the building, "but, you're buying," I finished mischievously. I looked down at my watch. It wasn't even 1800. I was rewarded with the dazzling smile I was coming to know and…enjoy. What was I getting myself into?

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Oh, boy! What's going to happen now?