Marching in Heels

Samara Cannon

2/11/08

Revised

I was standing in formation; hoping to hear the words “fall out” from my First Sergeant. My feet had already stated to hurt. I looked down at my feet that were incased in a pair of black, two inch pumps. It was Dress Blues day in the Corps of Cadets and that meant that females wore the mandatory skirt and horrid heels to go with it. I looked to my First Sergeant again, but the words never came.

I could barely walk in heels, let alone march. Questions began to enter my mind. How could the Army do this to females? They expect us to be tough, but walk in heels? This was insane!

Down the hill we marched, the First Sergeant calling cadence and keeping us in step with the monotonous, “Left, left, left right left.” I looked like a drunken speed walker as I tried to keep up. The hill was steep and my stride was too short. My mind was focused on one thing: don’t fall.

The males snickered behind me. The choppy click, clack, click, clack of my heels on the pavement filled my ears. I kept thinking to myself, “If only the males would wear heels too, then they might shut up.” I could see the sinister smile on my First Sergeant’s face. He was absolutely enthralled at the sight.

Then, the inevitable happened. Someone behind me stepped on my heel. It flew behind me into the core of the formation. Humility and anger flushed my cheeks red. I stood there, helpless, as the lone shoe was kicked around. Everyone laughed as I tried to follow where it was being kicked. Finally, the shoe landed outside the formation and I hurried to retrieve the torturous thing. All eyes were on me as I placed the shoe back on my numb foot and dejectedly fell into the back of the formation.

I continued to march. The sight was ungraceful but humorous from another’s point of view. If I had to do it again, I wouldn’t. Instead, I would simply walk over to my First Sergeant, hand him the dastardly pumps and say, “Here, you try it.”