Lessons from a Physical Fitness Retest: In Leading and Developing Soldiers, What Matters Most Is Awakening the Flame Inside a Warrior's Heart
Last week, the detachment organized a physical fitness assessment. I was about to head back to my room to compile the score sheet when I was stopped by Private First Class Cao Ming. He had just finished the 3,000-meter run, and his face was flushed red, with beads of sweat the size of soybeans dripping down. Gasping for breath, he said: "I got a side stitch just now — my score is definitely not good. Let me run it again!" I was somewhat taken aback, because Cao Ming had actually passed the assessment. And in the two years he had served, I had never once seen him push back so hard against an assessment result.
Cao Ming had no intention of serving long-term, so his performance in work and training had always been unremarkable: he never stood out, never fell behind, but had no drive to improve either. Some of his comrades joked that he was "Mr. Good Enough." With his discharge coming up in September of this year, I had assumed he would keep on "going through the motions day by day." I never expected him to suddenly become so motivated.
Somewhat curious, I asked Cao Ming why he cared so much about this particular assessment. His voice was quiet, but every word was clear: "I know my scores are average, but I still want to contribute something to the squad. I don't want to leave with regrets." It was the first time in two years that I had heard the word "contribute" come out of Cao Ming's mouth.
In the preceding period, the training atmosphere within the unit had never been strong enough. To boost morale, the detachment decided to organize a monthly assessment of the five general military subjects, using each squad's assessment scores as the evaluation criterion, and awarding a military training challenge pennant (流动红旗) to the top-ranked squad. The purpose was simple: use collective honor as a motivator, get everyone competing and striving, and add some "gunpowder" to the training ground.
What I did not expect, however, was that the first person to be "ignited" was Cao Ming — it turned out that this soldier, whom everyone had written off as someone who was fine with "good enough," was not indifferent to everything. It was just that what he cared about was buried rather deep.
In the retest the following day, Cao Ming was nearly 20 seconds faster than his first run. After crossing the finish line, he bent over and gulped for air, and it was a good while before he straightened up. Seeing that I was watching him, he broke into a grin.
Back in the office, I found myself reflecting: over the past two years, the detachment had held many competitions and assessments of various kinds — so why was it specifically this challenge pennant competition that had "set Cao Ming alight"? Eventually I worked it out: in previous competitions and assessments, the focus was on individual rankings. Cao Ming knew he was not a top performer and could not place, so honor had nothing to do with him, and he could not summon the energy. But this competition bound him tightly to the collective, making him genuinely feel: I am a member of this squad, and my scores really do affect others. In his heart, the weight of that "sense of collective" (集体感) was far greater than any personal ranking.
Over the years of leading soldiers, I have often reminded myself to go among the soldiers and understand what is in their hearts. But I have to admit that in this regard I have not done well enough — I saw only the surface of Cao Ming's "lack of motivation," and rarely stopped to seriously consider where the root of his disengagement lay. Had he simply never been truly needed? Or had even he himself not yet discovered how much he actually cared about this collective?
Before his discharge, Cao Ming taught me a lesson: no soldier enlists in order to be "Mr. Good Enough." It is just that some soldiers' drive to improve is "sleeping" too deeply and needs a bugle call to be awakened; some soldiers' sense of responsibility is buried too far down and needs an opportunity to be brought to the surface. As leaders of soldiers (带兵人), we need only put our hearts into finding that flame inside a soldier's heart, and then add a piece of firewood and fan the air at the right moment — and it will spread rapidly, until it becomes a prairie fire.