Summer is here. We skipped through those 60F days and went straight into the upper 70s and mid 80s. We have even had a 90F day already with more forecasted. I thought Afghanistan was cooler than Iraq especially since we are nearly a mile high here. What gives? If I extrapolate this meteoric rise in temperature based on known scientific data and the Farmer’s Almanac, I conclude that we are due for 120 degree days in June. My freezer cannot produce enough ice to make that worth-while!
Although this week does not include Easter (it was last week), I have to pass on a little information. Normally, I goad my wife into getting up extremely early on Easter morning to distribute eggs around the back yard. She grumpily drags herself out of bed and finally joins me in my quest for the perfect hiding spots and placement. Once out in the yard, Kris turns into a full-fledged participant. Well, this year she had to do this by herself and I am happy to report that she got up and went out and did this without me prodding her. After this small miracle, Kris and I happened to be chatting on the phone when Nikki got up, came downstairs and announced: “It’s time to pick eggs!” She then went and roused Morgan and Cole to get them into the fervor. In no time, the eggs were ‘picked’.
The local Afghans must think this weather is cold. They are wearing multiple layers of long sleeve shirts, pants, head scarves, and jackets and sweaters while they are out in the 80 degree heat working. I would wear nothing but my boxer shorts and a baseball cap; however, I would no doubt attract every female in a 20 kilometer range just before sun burning to a crisp. That should only take minutes, but what a glorious five minutes it could be. Nah, I’ll just keep my shirt and pants on with my baseball cap and continue the use of gallons of sun block 1,000,000 to keep my skin from looking like bacon.
For the last month or so, signs have been placed around Bagram advertising the GWOT Trot. That’s the Global War On Terrorism Trot here on bountiful Bagram with 5K and 10K distances, oh and the chili cook off. How could I resist donating $10 to the AAAA chapter of educational scholarships and receiving a t-shirt, chili, and the chance to run 6.2 miles with ‘helpers’ along the course. I couldn’t and even persuaded Ed into running the 5K. Actually, it was more akin to holding a gun to his head and filling out his registration form for him, but alas, he became a willing participant.
A couple of our local SF guys asked me if I played volleyball. I said not in ten years, but I know how and have been known to have moments of mediocrity. They were obviously desperate as they needed me at the volleyball court in 30 minutes. I showed up to find out we had six players on our team which included me and one Air Force sweetheart named Kay who could have had a volleyball scholarship to college if she hadn’t joined the Air Force. Anyway, we decided to do a warm-up before getting it on with the dreaded Korean team. The four SF guys (the oldest being 26) were terrible. It was like this was the first time they had ever seen a volleyball. They were making me look good and tiring Kay out because she was trying to get them to do the basics and chasing down the ball.
Our moment finally arrived and I gingerly took my place in the center of the back row and sashayed my feet into the pea gravel like sand. I’m sure I am living in a desert and we have gravel for a volleyball court. This stuff really inhibits diving for the ball. It also convinced me to wear my shoes as I have sensitive feet. Anyway, we had the height and youth advantage over the Koreans. We started the match by serving and played vicious volleyball for ten minutes before the match was over. Our big guys were not as adept as the small Koreans and our play resembled that of a pre-schooler. Anyway, we lost a close match 15 to zero. The score really doesn’t tell the whole story and we floated off the court like winners because, well, we’re Americans. Fortunately for me, I was able to keep my thumb intact and out of the gravel.
One of the guys came up with the idea of a pick-up game of basketball. By this time, two other SF guys had shown up and were ready to do something. The decision to play a little four-on-four was agreed to by seven of us with me as the lone dissenter. Promises were made and I finally agreed to humiliate myself for everyone’s benefit. Two “Captains” were chosen and they began picking teammates. I was standing next to Kay and told her that she would be the last one picked because she was a girl. As it turned out, she and I were the last two remaining, but I was picked before her. Yeah! Since I was the only person not 20-something, I decided I would guard Kay as I surmised she plays as well as I do. The game was on and we were not playing fouls. It was rough out there. I hadn’t experienced this much pain and suffering since I went tubing with Aubrey and Charles a few years back. As an example, one of the guys threw me the ball on an inbounds pass that ricocheted off my left thumb a little over 73 miles an hours taking my thumbnail with it. Not only did it hurt, but I bled like a stuck pig all over the place. I couldn’t stop playing or I would face inordinate amounts of ridicule, so continue on I did. Kay, who is an Air Force Medic, was concerned about me getting blood on her instead of the extent of my injury. I did tell her not to worry as I have been fixed and had a recent blood check. We finally ended this session after about an hour of play. I thanked the guys for inviting me and left quickly before they decided to play again. I jogged to my room and used band-aids as a substitute to my missing thumbnail. I have a 10K to run in the morning and I now feel like I have been trampled by a herd of rabid elephants. What was I doing playing basketball 11 hours prior to race time?!
Saturday morning at 0630 was race time. Final check-in for event activities was at 0600. Obviously I woke Ed up at 0530 and we hobbled the 200 meters to the check-in where we stood staring unbelievably at the transformation of the MWR clamshell (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation building that is built with a weather-proof canvas between huge aluminum ribs that can open either end by raising the ribs; it looks like a tan potato bug). Huge banners had been erected and a live band from the 82nd Airborne Division had just started playing music and the first song I heard was Jimmy Hendrix’s, The Watchtower. I have no idea how many watts were being pushed through the 50-something huge speakers, but there is no doubt the east coast of the U.S. should have been able to pick up this transmission. Mom Q, did you happen to hear any of this say, 2130 your time Friday? The band was actually quite good and continued to play great American rock music right up until final announcements for the beginning of the race.
The morning was beautiful with a temperature at race time of 59 degrees and the sun unimpeded by any clouds or other airborne items. There were close to 1500 participants packed at the starting location. It appeared that every nation present here on Bagram had a runner or ten except the Egyptians. One unit of U.S. runners had shirts with poorly stenciled pictures of Anna-Nicole Smith on them with a team name of: ‘The Anna-Nicole Smith Memorial Running Team’. The goings-on were fun and overtly American. You could tell the other nations were somewhat perplexed by the audacious uproar and calamity that they were a part of in the early morning, but they never waned from participation. I was proud. There is just something so right with Black Sabbath blaring at a million decibels into a couple thousand people at 0600.
With that, the race started. 5K and 10K runners all started at the same time and in the same mass. The course layout was simple: run half your distance, turn around, and come back. I immediately paired up with our Navy mail dude (Biggs), who at 29 is a born-again runner. I knew he was in decent shape but had no idea that he would drag me the 6.2 miles quicker than I had anticipated. Although I definitely know better, I did not analyze my running partner in advance and only made assumptions about his prowess. Biggs is a great runner. On the course about 500 meters from the Start/Finish line, nearly 50 Koreans wearing their version of a PT uniform lined both sides of the street and were cheering on the runners. They waved Korean flags and yelled and screamed encouragement. Initially I thought they recognized me from last night’s volleyball match and were taunting me, however, with my vast understanding of the Korean language, I was able to confirm they were indeed cheering me on. Certainly they were not the eye-candy I’m used to seeing at these events; you know, big-breasted California girls with perfect tans in bikinis, but I appreciated it all the same. Biggs and I chatted the whole time we ran (which makes breathing already thin air that much harder) and were determined to increase our pace after the turn around (we did much to my chagrin). We finished in 46 minutes (right at seven and a half minutes a mile average). Nothing heroic, but quicker than I thought I would run. Ed had finished his 5K about ten minutes before we came in and was there waiting. Next was the chili feed.
I’m not sure why, but my desire to consume chili after running for nearly an hour just wasn’t there. I thought the chili cook-off / feed would have occurred later in the day, not at 0730 in the morning. Beer on the other hand would have been something completely different. I could have consumed a few liters. It would have been a nice break from water and orange slices, not to mention it contains lots of carbohydrates and is chock full of all things natural. Nope, no beer to be had. I do wonder now why the chili feed was not a pre-race activity. It sure could have added a whole other dimension and interest to the race.
The SF guys we work near have a couple of barbeques and have invited us over a couple of times for a little grilling. They get the steaks and chicken from the DFAC and completely over-cook the meat. I jumped in at one gathering to assist with cooking and have now become the head grill master. Actually, Ed and I have been appointed as Executive Chefs. We then asked the Logistical NCO for food supplies and a time in the future to grill and marinate and prepare accessories, like corn on the cob and other such luxuries to go with the meat. These guys now want us to cook for them a couple times a week. We are happy to do it. Ed and I are breaking out our specialties and preparing delicacies with the stuff we can acquire. It’s amazing how simple items like Tabasco, low fat recombined cow’s milk, and parsley flakes can be made into almost anything. If only you could have tasted my soufflé that was baked on the grill! Wunderbar!
The picture I’m attaching is of a fragrant bushy tree that we have all over our compound. I have no idea what it is, but it adds a much better aroma to the air than the locals organic farming. Should any of you know what it is, please let us know as Ed and I don’t have a clue.
I am finally finishing this one up. It’s a good thing too, because I have already started Week 24 and I am trying to keep my writings within the week that they actually occurred. Check back next week as I update you on the Far East Brewery, ruminate about a night on the roof, and describe the contract I put out on the guy who fixed the Giant Voice speaker outside of my hut.
TTFN,
Craig
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