Forward Movement Under Load

I’m rucking again.

I hate rucking.

But it is central to my career choice, the ability to walk all day with cameras on my back.

So I’m rucking again, even through the slow pace, the tedium, and the fact that even after six months of PT, it still aggravates my back. I think at one point, I did actually like rucking, or at least I had Stockholm Syndrome. But for a long time it’s been fairly performative, “I work at/do work with The Rucking Company, so therefore I ruck.”

The problem has been that I’ve been unable to disentangle myself from the company, both personally and professionally.  Now while I’ve only had a few projects with them this year, I’ve been able to step back from performative backpack walking. And yet I find myself rucking again. Go figure.

I’ve also been running, but I love running - well I do when I’m not 285lbs, it’s tedious at this bodyweight and it just feels like a fistfight every time I go out. But my aging dogs aren’t up to a running pace. So rucking with the dogs every day it is. Gets them out of the house and makes them seem less neurotic.

The thing is, as mentioned above, my relationship with rucking is complicated, and it’s born out of a relationship with a company that has been my primary source of income for over a decade, both full time and as a freelancer since 2020. And so anytime I ruck, I think about work. I think about the cool stuff I did, but I also feel a simmering frustration that’s ready to boil over. Because I’ve spent over a decade now being the behind the scenes media guy who didn’t just say “how high” when I was told to jump, I jumped immediately and without thought. Yet, I’ve never been able to grow out of GORUCK as a primary client.

I’ve seen all kinds of other creators and staffers who were briefly associated earn awards and lay claim to titles like “content creator” and “brand manager.” Meanwhile I’ve been in the background acting as the visual spine for the company, making sure that even as different marketing leadership pushed for altered visuals, the content stayed honest to the brand.

As a solo shooter handling both photo and video, I’ve made mini-docs, testimonial pieces, and captured real human moments that sell the culture in ways a campaign can’t. Moments like Jaala Shaw finishing the Bragg HTB after a brain injury that almost ended her life. That wasn’t a brief, it wasn’t a planned campaign. That was real. And it mattered to real people.

And yeah, part of the reason that hasn’t turned into outside opportunities is on me. I always thought if you put your head down, do good work, and work hard, life would reward you. Which means I’ve never been particularly good at marketing myself. 

But it’s hard not to feel the mismatch when the work I’ve done that moves people, that I’ve poured my heart into, stays invisible. Especially when so much of it comes with that raw, private agony of asking, “Does this do justice to the person it’s about, or am I corrupting their story into marketing?”

Meanwhile, the work with teams behind it gets the accolades and the titles.

So here I am posting thoughts, planning social campaigns, and working to get my voice out there. But it still frustrates me, professionally and personally. And rucking has a way of dredging that up because it’s still the foundation of my job. The ability to carry more gear than other media people, to endure the stress of movement under load, to drop into different locations without my body failing, to say yes when someone asks, “Do you want to film me rucking a marathon in the desert?” And knowing that yes also means I’m rucking it too.

So I’m rucking again because when push comes to shove I need time under load so my body won’t quit on gigs like weddings, and so my dogs can have a happier life as they age. So I can think and be outside. I don’t listen to music. I don’t look at my phone. I’m not even tracking distances anymore; I know the routes. I spend the rucks arguing with the dogs about the leash, brainstorming content ideas to market myself that I never quite get off the ground, and putting one foot in front of the other. 

Even though I hate it.

Because I need it.