Clint Hale

When I was told that 210SA was being allowed into the Center for the Intrepid, I could not have anticipated the experience more.

Yet, at the same time, I could not have dreaded it more.

Not everyone — in fact, very few — will ever be privy to the ins and outs of the state-of-the art complex at Brooke Army Medical Center. So needless to say, I was thrilled to have the distinctive honor of writing about it.

Of course, among the ins and outs of the Center for the Intrepid is the very reason the facility was built.

Namely, to provide rehabilitation and physical therapy to some of our most injured soldiers, many of whom have had at least one of their limbs amputated because of injuries suffered in Iraq and Afghanistan.

As is human nature, I fear these occasional doses of reality.

Seeing men my age confined to wheelchairs with their arms or legs mere memories, struggling through physical rehabilitation, is about as real as real gets.

Seeing people such as Army combat engineer Dan Barnes, a married father of two who lost both legs during the war in Iraq, is pretty real.

But seeing Barnes with a smile constantly etched across his face, not letting this setback get him down and even talking of the future, shows that our heroes aren't necessarily fallen.

Spending a couple of hours at the Center for the Intrepid, it quickly became apparent that our wounded soldiers spend their days as many of us do.

They work, in this case spending hours a day rehabilitating from injuries. They socialize, whether it be throwing a football around the weight room, enjoying a game of dodge ball, watching television or simply engaging in conversation to pass the time.

They're just like most of us, save for one thing.

Unlike most of us, they are heroes.

So as I headed back to work on that particular day, back to some safe and insulated “normalcy,” dreading the experience now seemed like such a trivial way of thinking. I had been able to sit face-to-face with valiant soldiers, shake their hands, look them in the eye and listen to them tell their stories.

And without question, I was — and will forever be — better for it.