couldn't keep my feet moving in tempo, or forgot where I was supposed togo? I was doing this on gut instinct alone.However, right at the first rehearsal, I realized that I shouldn't haveworried. Even though I was completely new at it—I'd never taken a 22.5-inchmarching step before, and I'd never had to hold my flute up perfectly parallelto the ground—I felt like I was in my element. It was where I belonged.I quickly learned how things work in marching band. We began eachpractice by running the length of the school, from the band room to thepractice field, to build strength and discipline. We stood in semi-circles tostretch and were expected to be silent. At the end of the stretches, the drummajor would announce a number. She would count us off, and the entire 200-person band would have to do that number of jumping jacks, countingsilently, perfectly in sync. If even a single person did too many or too few, ormade the smallest accidental movement at the end of the jumping jacks, thewhole band would do push-ups. We would try the jumping jacks again, thistime a greater number. Sometimes it took several tries to get it right, and wedid many, many push-ups and jumping jacks on those days. The summer passed frantically, a blur. I remember hours of standing,marching, and running on burning pavement; hours of music rehearsal,picking the tunes apart note by note. Each morning I would wake up and feelsore in muscles I'd never even known I had. We had our band camp at thebeginning of August, and we practiced from 8 AM to 11 PM for five days. Ihad never been so hot, so tired, so sleep-deprived in my life. I had sunburnson my face and blisters on my feet, and I was always hungry and thirsty. Yet, somehow, I loved every minute of it.September came. The air grew cooler, but only slightly. The first fewtimes we wore our uniforms—gray and woolen—we had to drink water everyfew minutes to keep from passing out. Luckily, our competitions were alwayson Saturday nights. On the bus rides, traveling to our shows, we wouldusually have to stay quiet and study drill—the numbers that denote ourexact location on the field at each part of the show, just like x-and-ycoordinates.After arriving at the competition site and getting ready, we wouldhuddle around our director to hear his thoughts. Sometimes he had lots tosay, telling us how to improve our attitude and focus, or listing details aboutthe bands we'd be competing against. Other times, he did not say much. Hesimply looked at us, the expression on his face saying more than words evercould. We knew what he expected from us: focus, pride, and ferocity.Finally, we would silently organize into rows and march to the stadium,hearing the beat of the performing band's percussion. We would blow airthrough our instruments to warm them up, running through the show in ourminds. The crisp night air and blinding stadium lights did not distract us.When at last the preceding band had finished its show, we would stand upstraight, instruments at attention, and march across the back of the field,guided by drum taps. When everyone had come to a stop, the announcer'svoice would echo through the stadium: "Beavercreek High School Marching
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