Introduction

My first attempt at rucking was with a 20-pound plate in a backpack and the determination to hold a 15-minute pace. I didn’t know anything about shuffling—I thought rucking was just “fast walking with weight.” By the end, my heart rate was red-lined, my legs stiff, and I realized I had a long way to go.

Fast forward nearly three years, and I’ve carried a ruck through swamps and mountains, pushed myself in events like Operation OCALA and TWO-ZERO, and even tested what sub-8 minute miles feel like with 35 pounds on my back. And here’s the truth: I’m still learning. I’m still growing. I continue to make mistakes, and every one of them teaches me something new.

That’s why I want to share these lessons with you. If you’re just starting out, here are six mistakes I made in those early days—and what I wish I had known sooner.

1. Going Too Heavy Too Soon

That 20-pound plate felt heavy enough, but I quickly realized weight isn’t the only factor. My shoulders ached, my form collapsed as I forced the pace, and I was more focused on surviving than improving.

As I dug into the rucking community, I noticed many people loading 40–50 pounds or more. It impressed me, but I knew deep down I wasn’t ready for that. Still, the pressure to measure up pushed me harder than I should have gone.

Lesson learned: Start lighter than you think. Fifteen to twenty pounds is enough for beginners. Focus on posture, breathing, and consistency. Don’t compare your ruck to someone else’s. Ego loads weight fast; wisdom adds it slow.

2. Ignoring Foot Care

Foot care was a mystery for me in the beginning. I copied what I saw others doing—different shoes, different socks—hoping something would click. I burned through pairs: zero-drop to high drop, max cushion to no cushion, aggressive tread to light tread. None of them were “the answer.”

The breakthrough came from two things. First, listening to experienced ruckers and experimenting with their setups. Second, trusting my own logic: I had never heard anyone talk about sizing up shoes, but I figured more space would let me switch sock combos without wrecking my feet. It worked.

Now my rotation changes depending on distance and terrain:

• Injinji toe socks + MudGear rucking socks for long sweaty days
• GORUCK merino socks for straightforward training miles
• Darn Toughs when I need rugged durability

Sometimes I’ll lube my feet too, especially on high-mileage or wet routes.

Lesson learned: Foot care isn’t about one perfect shoe or sock. It’s about testing, adjusting, and listening to both others and your own common sense. Solve this puzzle early, and every mile after gets better.

3. Packing My Ruck Wrong

For those of you using packs without a plate pocket, everything I heard about how to carry weight seemed wrong. Coming from a gear-head background, I always assumed weight should ride low to help with center of gravity. I figured keeping it near the hips would feel the most stable.

I was wrong.

My first ruck was with a GORUCK Rucker 4.0 and a 20-pound plate, and that setup surprised me. The plate pocket held the weight high and tight against my back—and it felt solid for those first miles. When I later experimented with other packs without plate pockets, I never bruised my back, but it just didn’t feel right. The load shifted, my posture compensated, and instead of moving smoothly, I was constantly aware of the weight.

Lesson learned: Dense weight belongs high and close to your spine. That’s what keeps your posture upright and your energy efficient. If your pack doesn’t have a plate pocket, use towels, clothes, or foam to keep the weight from shifting. A properly packed ruck should almost disappear into your movement—if you’re constantly noticing it, something’s off.

4. Skipping Recovery

“Do hard things.” “No pain, no gain.” That’s what I knew starting out, and I believed it. On top of that, it looked like everyone else in the rucking community was doing more—more miles, more weight, more days on the trail. So I pushed harder, convinced that if I wasn’t sore, I wasn’t improving.

The result? Heavy legs, tight muscles, and weeks where my body just wouldn’t respond. I’d finish a ruck and instead of feeling stronger, I felt weaker. What I didn’t understand then is that recovery isn’t weakness—it’s where strength is built.

When I finally started prioritizing recovery—stretching, fueling better, sleeping more, and respecting rest days—everything shifted. My pace improved, my endurance grew, and I stopped dreading the next ruck.

Lesson learned: Recovery is training. Ignore it, and you’ll break down. Respect it, and you’ll stack the kind of progress that lasts for years.

5. Comparing Myself to Others

In the beginning, I couldn’t help but measure myself against what I saw online or in the community. People were throwing 40, 50, even 60 pounds into their rucks and cranking out miles like it was nothing. I’d scroll through, impressed and intimidated, and think: If that’s what everyone else is doing, maybe I’m not working hard enough.

That mindset pushed me to focus on the wrong things. Instead of building consistency and smart progression, I obsessed over weight and pace, and it made me lose sight of where I actually was in my journey.

The truth is, rucking isn’t a competition—not against strangers on the internet, not against your training partner, not even against the guy you see at an event. The only person you need to measure against is the one you were yesterday.

Lesson learned: Don’t let comparison steal your progress. Carry the weight that makes sense for you today. Build smart, steady, and with purpose. The best gains happen when you’re focused on your own path, not someone else’s.

6. Neglecting Fueling

When I first started rucking, I didn’t think much about food or hydration. I heard others talk about using apple sauce packets and “lickies and stickies”—the quick sugar hits that might get you through an hour or two. I tried it, thinking that was enough.

It wasn’t.

On longer efforts, I’d crash hard. My energy tanked, my head fogged, and my pace slowed to a crawl. What I learned is that those little sugar bursts don’t sustain you when the miles keep stacking. You need a steady flow of carbs, salt, and water to keep your engine running.

Now, I plan fueling the same way I plan weight and pace. I mix in Hyperlyte or Skratch for carbs and sodium, rotate gels and waffles, and when the hours get long, I add real food like PB&J. That balance keeps me moving strong when grit alone isn’t enough.

Lesson learned: Don’t wing your nutrition. Fuel early, fuel consistently, and test what works for you in training. Apple sauce might get you through the short stuff, but it won’t carry you through the long haul.

Closing Reflection

I’ve been rucking for nearly three years now, and I’m still learning and still growing. My longest effort came during Operation OCALA—a 67-mile push through Florida’s forests and swamps. I’ve taken on OCALA twice, and my best performance was Operation TWO-ZERO in the mountains. Some of my shorter training bursts have even pushed me to sub-8 minute miles with 35 pounds on my back.

And yet—I still make mistakes. I still test, adjust, and relearn things I thought I had figured out. That’s the beauty of rucking: it keeps you honest, it keeps you humble, and it always teaches you something new if you’re willing to listen.

If you’re new to rucking, remember: start light, take care of your feet, pack smart, recover well, stop comparing, and fuel properly. Avoiding these six mistakes won’t make rucking easy—but it will make the journey one you’ll actually enjoy.

Because in the end, rucking isn’t just about carrying weight. It’s about carrying yourself further than you ever thought possible.