A version of this story first appeared in Revolution Magazine USA, Issue 74

“Does anyone here know what a sugar cookie is?” Our grinning instructor, a retired U.S. Navy SEAL officer, asked us with unsettling glee.

“No, sir,” our boat crew responded in unison.

His Cheshire grin widened, “A sugar cookie is a lovely little cookie that is all covered with sugar.” I suddenly realized he was not talking about baked goods. We were the sugar cookies. “Everyone, get in the sand! I don’t want to see a scrap of green on you or your teammates. Go!”

All seven of us, soaking wet from head to toe after having been sat in the surf, our arms linked together in a chain as the low waves smacked us in the face, hit the sand. We rolled over, back and forth, shoveling handfuls of coarse Florida sand all over our bodies, making sure to completely cover our camouflaged Battle Dress Uniforms (BDUs). “Everyone up and back to the boats!”

We ran back over to our small, inflatable rubber boats (IBS: Inflatable Boat – Small). “Prepare to up- boat…up-boat!” The seven of us lifted the 108 pound boat up and, together, balanced it on our heads. “Now we’re going to do some squats! Isn’t this fun!?” Our instructor enthusiastically cheered.

“Fun, sir!” we shouted back in response as we all, in unison, counted out our squats.

“Good! The only easy day was yesterday! Back in the water!”

This was day three of the Panerai Special Operations Xperience, a training simulation organized in collaboration between Panerai and the National Navy UDT-SEAL Museum in Fort Pierce, Florida. The days were long, about 18 hours each. I was exhausted. Every single muscle in my body hurt. My neck, shoulders and legs were on fire. Bug bites peppered my arms, chest and back. My boots had been soggy, wet and cold for three days straight. It sucked… and I loved every single minute of it.

The Panerai experience

The ticket to this exclusive and intense experience was equally unique: the purchase of one of Panerai’s “Experience” watches. In this case, the PAM 1402, better known as the Submersible Chrono Navy SEALs Special Operations Experience Edition. The titanium watch features a few different complications, including a flyback chronograph and the “Time to Target” counter, which operates like a countdown timer — the idea being for the wearers to synchronize their watches. There were 50 examples of this particular iteration made, each at a price of USD 61,700. It’s pure badassery in horological form.

Panerai has been conducting trips of various kinds attached to limited edition watches for several years now. But what, apart from an incredibly cool timepiece, of course, does a buyer of these Experience watches actually get? And even if you’re intrigued and excited by the whole package, which in this case includes a few days of Navy SEALs’ famously hardcore training and activities, you wouldn’t be faulted for also being a little intimidated. You might wonder what it’s all about and if it would resonate with you. Well, I ultimately can’t answer that question, but I can tell you what it was like for me and what exactly it entailed.

I had previously covered the release of the first Panerai Navy SEALS collection for Revolution magazine in the fall of 2022. Having heard the basic details of what the experience entailed, I desperately wanted to go. Ever since childhood, I had always had a fascination with the Navy SEALs and the Special Operations community at large, as well as a deep well of respect for those who serve in the U.S. Armed Services and their families. Despite this admiration, I did not have the honor of serving myself. When the opportunity to join the second experience was presented to me, I jumped at the chance.

Despite my excitement and enthusiasm, I confess that I’d had a number of concerns heading into the trip. I had heard anecdotes from friends who attended the first trip, and generally doubted my own capability — the training was no joke. It suffices to say, I am not the most athletic person in the world and I was very worried that I wouldn’t be physically up to the challenges.

We were all assigned exercises to help us prep ahead of time. I was able to do maybe 20 percent — and even that absolutely smoked me. Would I have to tap out, or use my need to document the experience as an excuse? Would I let myself down … or worse, let down my teammates or the instructors? Everyone wants to believe that we are the person we want to be, that we will rise to the occasion, and overcome the challenges in the stories that we tell ourselves. As the adage goes, “Everyone wants to be a cool guy … until it comes time to do cool guy shit.”

My other concern was the nature and tone of the Experience itself. Having previously had several conversations with folks from the Special Operations community, the Intelligence community, and one or two retired SEALs, the regard for the whole thing ran the gamut from “that sounds cool” to a cutting “oh, the summer camp thing?” Was this going to be a bunch of rich guys who got some retired team guys to help them cosplay in the swamp, shoot guns, and feel cool about themselves? And what did the actual SEALs who were involved feel about the whole thing?

Kitted up

After a very early morning flight down to Palm Beach International Airport, I was picked up by a car that proceeded to drive the hour and change to the “undisclosed location” where we would be training. When we arrived, there were two tents set up with basic administrative tasks being carried out (medical information, safety release forms, etc.) as well as distribution of gear.

We were all given a couple pairs of pants, a couple of shirts, gloves, helmets, belts, and a whole bunch of bug spray. In our welcome packets, we were also given bunk assignments, as well as a handful of Velcro morale patches which included the American Flag, our names, and a Panerai patch. Mine had an additional patch: “Press.”

I noticed across the small field, basically a grass parking lot, were a couple of tricked out, tan side-by-side all-terrain vehicles. Next to them were a number of guys who were standing back and observing the check in process. Some of them looked the way you’d expect a Navy SEAL to look — tall, barrel-chested, serious. Others were shorter and were making jokes and laughing with one another. The combined experience of these men amounted to a few hundred years of combat experience. Despite their conversation and jokes, it was clear what their focus was on: we were all being sized up.

After a brief medical review with our medic, a retired Canadian Special Operations Forces Command operator, we were greeted by none other than Donnie Edwards, former NFL linebacker and founder of the Best Defense Foundation. Donnie welcomed us all to the experience and gave us some background information on his foundation, which also partners with Panerai to support veterans and retired Special Forces operators and their families in reintegrating back into civilian life.

From there we were split into two teams, Red and Blue. These would be the teams we would be sticking with for the duration of the experience. Through multiple training exercises or evolutions, we would learn how to work together, move together, communicate silently, and fight together. After a quick lunch, we loaded up into a safari truck and drove about a mile or so through the swampy property. From there, we began our training.

Comfortable being uncomfortable

The first was Escape and Evasion, where two-man teams attempted to traverse a kilometer and a half expanse of land without being detected by our instructors. We were given a few quick tips, a compass, and a heading, as well as a five-minute head start (which turned out to be about two minutes long). We moved throughout the brush, avoiding the two Polaris MRZR Diesels ATVs driven by our instructors (and diving into the bushes once or twice to do so).

The second evolution was Patrolling, where our team would learn how to move and communicate together silently by using basic hand signals. Forming a single-file line and using slow, simple, methodical hand movements, we learned how to silently traverse a given area in as safe a manner as possible. It was rudimentary, tedious even. But as we would come to learn in a very short amount of time, the basics build something very useful, very quickly.

After an excellent welcome dinner, where guests and the cadre alike were able to become properly acquainted, we were informed that we were to prepare for a night patrol. Utilizing the skills that we had learned earlier in the day, we navigated through a pitch-black swamp, where we were collectively surprised by the sounds of pre-recorded gunfire as well as live explosions. The exercise was meant to illustrate the smallest taste of what the early Navy SEALs would have experienced on any given night in Vietnam. Zero visibility. Zero certainty of what lay just feet into the swampy bushes to either side. The only thing you could rely on, were the signals from the barely visible man in front of you on the line. The only thing that the man behind you could rely on, was you.

Pushing beyond limits

The following morning at zero-dark-thirty, with our boots still wet and cold from the patrol the evening before, we gathered at a helicopter pad outside of our bunk houses for PT (physical training). This was the evolution that I was most dreading. We started gradually, with basic stretches to warm up. Gathering in a circle, one person was “voluntold” to lead the group in a series of coordinated burpees. All we needed to do was ten, in unison. All told, it took about 25 burpees to do so.

From there the morning intensified — push-ups, sit- ups, squats, counted off by a teammate. Due to the odd number of attendees, my partner was our Canadian medic. “You know I’m not going to go easy on you,” he said, with intensity and maybe a little glee.

“No, sir.” It suffices to say, he did not go easy on me. But we were just getting started.

Next up were the sandbags. Each weighing about 20 pounds, which were lined up on the far end of the field. “The goal,” our team leader informed us, “is for Red Team to carry each of those bags to this side of the field before Blue Team can carry theirs. You can carry one bag in each hand, or one at a time, but if you do that, someone is going to have to go back for an extra trip and carry what you couldn’t.”

This was a pivotal moment for all of us. The team formed up a line and prepared to sprint down the field one at a time. We exchanged knowing looks; even though we’d only known each other for a few hours, there was no way in hell any of us was going to make the next guy carry more. “Move!” I sprinted down the field as fast as I could run, grabbing two sandbags in each hand. The expanding fabric dug into my hands, and my arms screamed at me, already exhausted from the earlier exertion. My lungs were on fire. “Come on, Press, let’s go! Let’s see what you got” our team leader shouted.

I ran as fast as I could, dropping the bags at the line as our next teammate sprinted back down the field. We all cheered each other on. Blue Team did the same. There were several different iterations of these challenges. Red won some, Blue won others. We were told it pays to be a winner, as though winning might benefit us or spare us some future pain. It didn’t. One way or the other, we all ended up standing in line in front of an ice bath, a garden hose spraying freezing water in our faces as we were instructed on how to submerge ourselves. It was breathtakingly cold, in every sense of the word.

PT continued. It was all hard, but it was also surprising. I had gone into this experience worried that I’d tap out and let myself down, or disappoint the instructors, confirming whatever preconceived evaluation they’d placed on me as I had arrived. But as we all struggled through each task, letting myself down was the farthest thing from my mind. All I was concerned with was pushing as hard as I could so that the other guy didn’t have to push harder in turn.

The group effort

I realized as I walked back to my bunkhouse to take a desperately desired hot shower, the goal of this exercise wasn’t to crush us or illustrate just how out of shape we all were. The goal was to show us that whatever we believed our limits to be, our breaking points were further than we thought. All we needed was the motivation, and that motivation came from our teammates.

From that point on, everything changed. At breakfast everyone was so much more jovial, more talkative, more connected than they had been the night before. Nicknames started to emerge, some given by the cadre, some by fellow teammates. Any social reservations that had been had the previous evening were gone.

The day continued with more evolutions. Pistol training was where we were all taught how to safely and comfortably operate a firearm. The most important rule was a simple one: leave the firing range with as many holes as you arrived with. From there, Red and Blue team switched places again, and we went to the assaulting course, where we were taught how to approach, secure, and assault a building.

Each evolution built on the last. Lessons from the first day, which seemed so simple as to be almost pointless, became essential. It started to become clear that each lesson was intended to teach us how to be more effective with and connected to each other as a team.

The tone of our instruction varied depending on the complexity of the task at hand. One moment, we were being spoken to with calm, quiet, almost coddling tones, breaking down each component into the most understandable and digestible pieces. The next moment, if say a safety concern arose or in the extremely rare instance where someone wasn’t providing their full, undivided attention, that same tone snapped with all of the clarity and severity of the crack of a whip.

Once it was clear the message had been received and understood, one of the instructors would crack a joke or quickly highlight something that had been done correctly that we should focus on repeating. Throughout each evolution, they ebbed and flowed with attention and sincerity, applying exactly the type of pressure and motivation needed in the moment to achieve the goal at hand. It was an illustration of true leadership that is rare to see in life and comes from a combination of personality type mixed with a deep well of experience.

The Final Mission

After a brief lunch of MREs, or “Meal, Ready-To-Eat” prepackaged military rations (actually pretty tasty and extremely filling), we all gathered together for our final mission briefing. The various evolutions over the past two days were to culminate in a multi-part assault mission. The two teams, Red and Blue, would patrol several kilometers to two different strike points. Avoiding being spotted by enemy patrols and coordinating our time on target between the two teams, we were to simultaneously assault each location, eliminate any enemy combatants we encountered (using our standard issue paintball guns), recover any intelligence materials or weapons we found, and exfil.

We were told to pick from our team who would be the team leader, the point man, rear security, etc. My team nominated me as the point man, or the first man in line on the patrol and the lead assaulter on the target. Alongside our indigenous guide (one of our SEAL instructors), our team leaders would coordinate with each other as we progressed to the target. If either team was spotted, we would pass the codeword “Alamo” over the radio, which meant the jig was up, and we needed to assault now. There were a lot of moving parts, but we had been well prepared. Red Team reached our target about five minutes early, meaning we had to wait as quietly as possible while Blue got into position. Mere feet away, on the other side of an outcropping of trees and bushes, two Navy SEALs awaited us. As we were preparing to carry out our assault, Blue came over the radio: “Alamo! Alamo! Alamo!” No time to approach sneakily — we had to move.

As we had been taught previously in the day, we fanned out and moved in on the target, each team member choosing a particular field of fire to cover. We pushed through the trees, for the first time making plenty of noise as we went. After a good little paintball fight, the two enemy combatants had been eliminated, and myself and the second man on the line behind me moved in to clear the lookout tower and search for any intel. Despite the fact that this was all a game, my heart was pounding and the adrenaline was pumping. We moved off of the target as quickly as we’d arrived and called for our exfil. Mission accomplished.

We drove back to the “base” where our debrief began. The instructors gave us their feedback both as a team and individually. Much to our surprise, Red Team was told that despite us being just a few feet away for nearly 10 minutes, the instructors had not known we were in position until we began our assault. Whatever small missteps we had made, the cadre seemed genuinely pleased with our collective performance. The critique that I personally received is one that continues to resonate with me: “You need to stop second guessing yourself all the goddamn time.” Our instructor/guide pointed to me. “You knew what you were doing the whole time, yet you kept looking up at me like a puppy dog looking for approval. You need to trust yourself.” It hit me like a ton of bricks.

The Men and the Meaning

The evening culminated in a phenomenal dinner, followed by a campfire chat and some shots of very special Jack Daniels single barrel whisky. The cadre, gathered around the fire, told us stories of their deployments, of leadership, of loss, and lessons learned throughout. In one particularly special moment that I will truly never forget, it was revealed that one of the SEALs’ units had actually been involved in an operation that saved the lives of one of the other units of another man at the campfire. This connection hadn’t been known to either man prior to that moment.

It was an unbelievable honor to be party to such a revelation, one that I felt I didn’t entirely deserve. These weren’t just war stories being told to entertain the rich watch guys; these were the stories of men who dedicated their lives to each other and to a calling greater than themselves. No part of it was performative. No part of it rehearsed. These men, their stories, their victories and losses — it was all as real as it gets.

Several of the SEALs who assisted in our training later told me that, far from being some corny chore or obligation, these sorts of events were deeply meaningful and valuable for them as well. Telling their stories, guiding civilians through the training evolutions, and connecting with successful men and women who were leaders in their own fields, was not only fulfilling, but actually therapeutic. I confess that, up until hearing that perspective, I hadn’t even considered that this whole thing would actually be an enriching two-way street for instructors and trainees alike.

The Spirit of Panerai and the Navy SEALs

My biggest concern in coming down to this experience was that it was going to be exploitative in some way — if you buy this big, expensive watch, we’ll pay some Navy SEALs to make you feel like cool guys for three days. The reality was anything but that. What we came away with was far more multifaceted than I had expected. Yes, we had a deep sense of respect and admiration for the retired Navy SEALs whom we met. We heard deeply moving stories of combat, horror and heroism.

There is a fine line between admiration and hero worship. These guys, each of them to a man, had zero interest in the latter. Each one of our cadre was participating in this experience for their own reasons. For some, it was to support the Museum and its philanthropic work. One SEAL told me that these sorts of events, and the funds they raise, have been instrumental in helping his wife through her battle with cancer. Others were motivated to give us all a small glimpse into their world. Undoubtedly, others still had other motivations which remain known only to them. In turn, each of us came away with our own personal lessons and insights. But what we all came away with as a group, and what has stuck with me and even left my head spinning a bit since, was the bond that I felt with my teammates and with the cadre. As intense as our experience over the past few days had been (I was so physically exhausted I could barely eat our farewell lunch), what we experienced was a fraction of a percent of what the real training is like for those who go through SEAL or BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL) training.

I can only imagine that this same ratio applies to the bond that is shared amongst those in the SEAL teams, that bond which is built over years of training and deployments. Despite having weeks to ruminate over what it all meant, I confess that I still feel unable to truly articulate or wrap my arms around the impact of those three days. This experience shined the thinnest sliver of light into the bond that these men share with each other. It is a perspective that I am honored to have experienced, and one I will undoubtedly continue to draw inspiration from for years to come.

Learn more on Panerai’s website here