My snare drum was flying overhead, just out of reach. My sticks kept chasing me like missiles and bashing me on the head. My percussion instructor, Sean McGrew, was jabbing his finger at me, and it was beginning to get dangerously close to my eye. I heard a distant beeping…like the sound an 18-wheeler makes while in reverse. The sound began to grow louder…and louder….

My eyes slowly peeled open against the sleep desperately trying to keep them shut. The alarm clock flashed 7:15 a.m. in bright red letters. I smashed the top of it with my limp, heavy palm. The beeping and the flashing stopped.

I pondered falling back to sleep for eight precious minutes until the snooze alarm woke me up again, but decided against it. With my 30-minute showers, I was cutting it close to begin with. I took a long steaming shower that made me want to hop right back into bed. So to punish myself for being lazy I quickly turned the knob all the way to cold and absorbed the shock of freezing pellets of water stealing away my comfort.

I grudgingly got dressed – the Mars Volta playing loud in the background downed out the sound of my Mother’s scorning voice. “We should have left two minutes ago! Get down here and eat some breakfast! Lindsey! We have to go, now!” she probably said.

We pulled up at 8 a.m. sharp. My mom was trying to say “goodbye” and “I love you” but I was too distracted; Mr. (Scott) Rush’s “On time is late and early is on time” saying was pulsating too loudly through my head. I got out of the car and felt an immediate rush of anger towards my parents for making me grow up in Charleston. The temperature was 93 degrees and the heat index was over 110 degrees. It was eight o’clock in the morning and I already felt like my face was melting off.

Running back to the car and yelling “I surrender” sounded appealing, but when I heard “8-7-6-9-5” being played in the band room, all I was worried about was getting my drum fast enough not to have to do push-ups on the first day of band camp: Aug. 1, 2005.

By 11 a.m., the basics of marching had been engrained into our brains by Tim Cole, the band’s new marching instructor and former member of the Blue Devils’ drum corps. Everyone was hot, tired and hungry, but lunch was still an hour away. That last hour seemed to last a decade. Salty sweat poured down our faces stinging our eyes, and ran like waterfalls down our backs. When it dripped off our arms onto the blacktop I swear I heard sizzling.

As the day went on, it only got hotter. The temperatures were in the high 90s, peaking at 99 degrees all day. The heat index, due to the incredible amount of humidity, was in the 120s with a maximum of 126 degrees. The entire band needed to be constantly hydrated. We were given water breaks every 45 minutes. With 13 hour days, that is 17.4 breaks a day for all five days of camp. The band used around 200 cups per break. Just during band camp – not including any additional practices from the previous or following weeks – 17,400 plastic cups were used.

Luckily, everyone survived the first day of band camp, along with the rest of the week. Despite the heat and the absurd hours, every band member gave it their all. The drumline plotted and memorized 28 pages of drill and 60 measures of music, as opposed to last year when less than 20 pages of drill were memorized — and there was no music to speak of.

To end the week, the band had an exhibition at Wando’s football stadium of everything it had learned. Band members played the first two songs of their show and marched and played the first piece of the show in front of an audience of a couple of hundred parents, alumni and friends. Morale was high. With a new year came a new show, a fresh start. Wando has come dangerously close to the state title in recent years and everyone is looking forward to a rewarding season.