Mike Simpson - Honed: Finding Your Edge as a Man Over 40

Two blacked - out Chinook helicopters cut their way through the night sky over northern Afghanistan. Inside the lead aircraft, I shifted in my seat to get some circulation back in my legs. As blood flow returned to my muscles and nerves, I once again felt the mechanical hum of the aircraft vibrating up through my f eet.

Two minutes! came over my radio headset from the platoon lea der.

We were two minutes out from the designated landing zone (LZ) where our mission would begin. Stepping on the scale before the mission, the total weight of my gear was just over 90 pounds. Shifting in my seat now I certainly felt it, but that was nothing compared to what I knew I would feel during the hours that lay ahead as the mission took me through the rugged Afghanistan mountains. I conducted a quick head - to - toe inspection to ensure that I had all my gear, and everything was secure. Helmet: check; night - vision goggles: check; radio: check; M4 carbine: check; pistol: check; medic bag: check. A final tug at my body armor and a trace of my fingers over the fully loaded carbine magazines across my chest, and I knew I was re ady.

One minu te!

All of us onboard slid out of our seats and took a knee facing the rear of the aircraft. I flipped my night - vision goggles (NVGs) down and did a quick scan around me through their green illumination. The 15 Rangers crowded around me did the same, all ensuring that none of our gear was accidentally left behind. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the Chinook crew chief hunch his shoulders, training his machine gun on the nearby ridge as we descended. The pitch of the rotors changed, and a frigid rush of air assaulted us from the open ramp. We unclipped our safety lines the moment we felt the bump of the wheels touching the ground and rushed down the ramp and out into the night, forming a semi - circle and each dropping to a knee. As the two aircraft lifted off behind us, their rotor blades directed an arctic blast against our backs, and snow swirled around us. It was December 2

As the helicopters flew into the distance with the sound of the rotors receding with them, the deep quiet of the Afghan night settled around us. Without a word, we rose as one and turned to move off of the LZ. The icy crunch as our boots penetrated the top layer of snow was all that anyone would hear. What lay ahead of us was an eight - kilometer movement through some of the most difficult terrain in northern Afghanistan, ultimately to arrive at our objective: a remote village that was home to at least four high - level Taliban insurge nts.

As we moved off the LZ and started our route northward, the platoon sergeant counted each member of the platoon to ensure that no one had been left behind on the aircraft or the LZ. I was towards the back of the formation, and he recognized me as I passed, giving me a squeeze on my shoulder. Other than me, he was the oldest person on this mission. This was the 29th year of my service in uniform, and many of the Rangers on this patrol had not even been born when I first raised my right hand and took the oath of enlistment back in 1984. This was certainly something I had reflected upon leading up to the mission. Just the day before, I had made the comment that, at 48 years old, I was the same age my father had been when I started my military career with the Rangers. I pondered for a moment how the younger version of me would have viewed going on a combat patrol with a man my fathers age. Certainly, my participation in this mission was an outlier. Not only was I older than anyone else in the group, but I was also a board - certified emergency medicine physician. Its certainly not what most people would expect when they think about a platoon of Rangers on a combat mission to engage the Taliban. Just as my presence on this mission could be considered somewhat atypical, so was the journey through life that had led me to this mom ent.

In June of 1984, just two weeks out of high school, I shipped off to basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia. That would begin my first four - year enlistment as an infantryman in the First Ranger Battalion. Life as an Airborne Ranger was everything I had imagined it would be. Each day was a challenge. Some days were more difficult for me than for my fellow Rangers. At only 56, I was shorter than most of my peers, and many of the physical tasks were slightly more difficult for me. My legs were shorter, which meant keeping up on runs was more difficult. Things like obstacle courses and performing tasks in full gear were often times more challenging. A combat load that was less than a third of a larger peers body weight was nearly 50 percent of mine. Although all of this made for some interesting physical challenges, I never let any of it get in my way. I never allowed myself to be the weakest link, and I always kept up with my squad in everything we did. And when I was promoted to sergeant, I led from the front. Alw ays.

I encountered similar challenges when I transitioned to a career in Special Forces, first as an engineer sergeant and, ultimately, as a Special Forces medic. Even though the physical tasks never came as easily to me as they did to my more genetically gifted peers, I always maintained the standard in all that I dideven if that meant putting in a little extra work to stay physically fit.

Ultimately, after what most would consider to be an extremely successful 17- year career as an operator, I left that life to accept an officers commission and attend medical school, eventually becoming an emergency medicine physician. My goal from the very beginning was to return to special operations and to provide the best medical care possible to those who serve at the tip of the spear. I was fortunate in achieving that goal with a coveted assignment to the Joint Medical Augmentation Unit (JMAU) under the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. The JMAU is highly unique in that it is the only Tier 1 special operations medical unit providing direct medical support to JSOC special mission units. It was because of my assignment to the JMAU that I was afforded the privilege to walk a combat patrol with the very same Ranger Battalion I had been assigned to in the 1980s. But even though my assignment had gotten me there, I knew I had to prove myself. I knew I had to prove to the Rangers that I was an asset on the battlefield and not a liability (for to be a liability meant that, at best, I would be left behind on future missions, and at worst, I could be the cause of mission failu re).

At age 48, keeping up with operators less than half my age was no small feat, and just a few years before, I would not have thought it possible. Because of my nontraditional journey, I graduated medical school at age 40. The rigors of internship, including long shifts, little time off, and 24- hour call rotations, all took a much greater toll on my body than they did on my younger classmates. By the time I was assigned to the JMAU, I was already facing the physical challenges of middle age in my mid -40s. At a time when most men my age were shifting down into second gear to relax and look back on their accomplishments, I was shifting into high gear and preparing to deploy in the Global War on Terror (GWOT) with the most elite units in the United States military. Looking in the mirror, stepping on the scale, and struggling with workouts in the gym all validated my growing concern: I had lost what career soldiers refer to as the edge. Just as the blade of a sword may lose sharpness over time, an old soldier can also lose his ability to perform at peak physical level as he ages. The sharp edge that I had diligently maintained in my younger years was now gone, but I was determined to get it b ack.