October 20th

Guess where my layover was... I was just reviewing my blog list and realized that it had been two months since I posted. I have all kinds of excuses but mainly the funk of being here added to the funk of knowing I wasn't going to be able to compete in October left me lifeless. Seriously, when someone sends you a note that says, "You might be needed to race" but then says "don't get your hopes up" I just have to ask what planet is this person living on? Don't get my hopes up? Whatever. In any case, I passed the 5 month point September 26th, the day I left on leave to Hawaii. There's nothing to discuss previous to that because, again, it involves me "not getting my hopes up", a lot of angry bike riding and a lot of chicken and salad. Side bar: I may never eat chicken again after I leave here and frankly tomatoes are over rated to begin with unless they come from Hamakua. My food choices here are enough to make me wish I was still in the nutritional dark ages so I could eat Burger King without severe guilt pangs. Now Burger King just gives me severe pangs. I leave that to your imagination. There's so much to cover from the previous month that I's just start with a few things from leave. More fun and games with the Army... In the Navy, leave is leave even if you are taking it overseas while deployed. I once took a trip from Livorno (Pisa) Italy to Bahrain while deployed on the Roosevelt. This involved leaving the AOR and going to another which in reality is kind of a big deal. All it took was one piece of paper that was easily run through the chain of command in about 2 hours. I got myself to the airport and in two flights (ok, and some taxis and a bus ride later) there I was. No muss or fuss and it didn't even require a battle buddy. Enter the Army's version of leave. 1) Find someone who has the gouge. Because it's not posted or published anywhere. If you can't find someone with the gouge, you are SOL. I went over to ask the (supposed) experts and even they couldn't answer. I'm not making this up. So eventually after asking same salty Army folks (I guess in reality the Army equivalent of "salty" is really "sandy" or "dusty") I finally found the checklist required to take leave. The entire process took about 45 days to complete and involves about 10 different documents in order to be approved (Driver risk assessment, LES forms, permission slip from your boss saying you can go, SGLI form, etc., etc.) 2) The process also involves a series of briefs which included where I find information about investing my substantial paycheck (uh, ok) and signs to notice if someone is suicidal. Best I could tell, the only reason this particular group would be suicidal is because it take 45 days to complete 15 minutes worth of work. That and we're tired of chicken and salad. That's just the beginning. On the "big day", you have to travel north to a different base to check in and get more briefs and more paperwork. Of course, no one was able to tell me when I had to be there so I heard a rumor that 0900 was a good time. Bottom line up front, 0600 wake up to get there and be in place by 0900. (Benchmark.) Get a brief. Wait 45 minutes. Get another brief. Sit on ass until 1245. Get in formation (the Army is incapable of doing anything without a "4-man front". March 50 feet to the next process. Yes, we marched. I protested and did my best Navy version of the sashay. Get more paperwork (plane tickets to Hawaii - finally some progress!). Sit on ass until 1500. Next formation. More sashaying. Go through customs. All sashaying comes to a screeching halt. I could devote an entire blog entry to customs. It would involve lots of cynical pessimism and negativity so we'll suffice to say that this is the process: dump everything out while some dude fingers everything in your luggage while they brief you that you are not allowed to bring bullets, brass, animal remains, plants, animals (I guess this time live since they mentioned animals twice), war trophies, booze and porn with you. Shit, good thing I left that one mag back in my room. I just have to ask myself my on earth they need to tell us that you are not allowed to bring animal remains with you. This tells me that someone tried to bring a camel skull or something bizarre like that now the rest of us have to pay the price. So yeah....customs. Good news is, I have to do it all over again on my way out. By then I'll be so numb it won't matter. One side note on all this is that you can bring just about anything in that you want. Customs coming in was the complete opposite. If only I had known that, maybe... In any case, there will be many things left behind when I leave. After customs, you are in "lock down" which is another term for "sit on your ass for another 8 hours". The good news is 1) you can sashay at will with 500 of your best enlisted friends and 2) there was a good coffee shop. The bad news was that I was already strung out on caffeine and the pizza cost $15. After another couple of hours, they have the main group form up for another muster. Shocker of all shockers, this was the first time I was ever afforded a privilege due to rank. The group formed up and stood for an hour while I only had to stand in formation for about 15 minutes. Get on the bus to drive to yet another base. Drive 90 minutes to a staging area. Wait another two hours in the dirt, get back on bus, drive a few then wait another 30 minutes. Get one airplane (sigh...finally). Depart at 0300. 21 hours after wake-up, we have finally gone wheels up on our way. And this was only part 1. The entire odyssey home to Hawaii took a total of 52 hours, 24 hours of which were actually wheels up and only about 3 of which were spent in something that would loosely resemble sleep. The remaining 28 were spent waiting. Highlight was Shannon, Ireland where I was able to get my first real greens salad in six months and my middle east cell phone still worked. Good times. Regardless, it was worth it all when, jet lagged, starving, and puffed up like a blow fish, I walked out of that last airplane into the Honolulu open air terminal, smelled the plumeria and the misty rain, grabbed a cab to the Hawaiian Hilton and had my first beer and my first real taste of freedom in 6 months. There's no place like home.

Why Go Long and Not Fast

This was originally going to be titled, "An Open Letter to Joe Friel" but after his retraction and clarification in his following post, I think it's been covered. So instead of Joe Friel bashing (I really do enjoy his blog: www.trainingbible.com), how about some questions, some food for thought concerning the psychology of sports and humanity in general. Joe's recent blog was about how the sport of running has changed such that the "cool factor" has gone from "how fast?" to "how far?" There's merit in that question but one of the things I objected to in the blog was the fact that he implied that there's no honor in "just finishing" an Ironman (insert any long distance event here - marathon, ultra, etc.). I personally had a problem with his dig on the "silly tattoo" but that's just me being defensive because, you know...I am the proud owner of one of those silly tattoos. His last line is it's easier to just finish than to go fast. There are so many things wrong with that statement I hardly know where to begin. For those who don't know, Joe Friel is a legend in the sports of running and triathlon. I personally own three of his books (which are excellent I might add). He's made an absolute fortune on the sports and has coached athletes for decades. So why would he say that it's easier to finish than to go fast? Is he: 1) that out of touch with the non-elite tier of athletes and 2) human psychology in general? His retraction made his point a little more clear - setting the same goal year after year doesn't improve you as a human being. Overall, though, his comments brought some interesting questions to mind. I got a real kick out of the comments that flowed as a result of the post. 99% of them were people jumping on the "I love Joe Friel" bandwagon saying how right he was. Many people vented that they get mad when people ask them about their racing and are judged negatively when they respond that they only do sprints or Olympic distance especially if the offender had never done a triathlon themselves. Seriously? This entire issue isn't about racing or triathlon or distance anything. This is about humans juding other humans. No one wants to be judged especially by someone they consider inferior (for not having participated at all). Do you see the irony there? No one wants to be judged...by someone they consider inferior. 'nuff said. Ironman itself is a business (an a very successful one at that) - that change in sports from fast to distance isn't the fault of Ironman. It's selling an identity. You pay $500 and spend countless hours and dollars in the months prior to hear when you finish, "You are an IIIIIROOOOOONNMMMMAAAAANNNN!!!" You get to wear the (silly) tattoo. You get bragging rights. You get the indentity of being someone who's worked hard enough to cover 140.6 miles in less than 17 hours. There's a reason IM gives you 17 hours. This is the IM catch that nets it so much money. It makes it accessible to the average person. If it were limited to 12 hours, your field (and hence money making potential) would be severley restricted because the number of athletes would be significantly smaller. There wouldn't be the drama. People love drama; they pay for it at the movie theater, they love soap operas. Drama sells. Americans love stories of 75 year old nuns kicking ass. Not only that but it sells and makes money for every facet of the sport: nutrition, gear, apparel, magazines, books, gyms, clubs, races...and on and on. The ripple affect of IM is huge and goes far beyond just distance sports. IM has been the wakeup call for so many non-elite people to get off their ass and make something happen. Unfortunately, we don't get to define our sport and we shouldn't. Joe doesn't own the rights on how successful athletes are defined and the sport will change again in the coming years. Even though I've competed in countless triathlons, I don't get to bitch when the sport changes in the future. If I don't like it, I vote with my wallet and take my money elsewhere. Joe's blog entry seemed off the mark to me because he seems to forget that many people who are buying his books (one is called "Going Long"; ironically enough not "Going Fast") are the ones who are "just finishing". After reading, it sounded to me like Joe felt marginalized because what he considers the marker of athletic achievement is no longer considered that by the average American. My final question is the the people who commented on his blog. To those people who get angry when someone judges them weak because they haven't completed an ultra distance race - why do you care? Racing is something we do, not who we are - do you feel personally attacked? Get over it already. At the end of the day, we're not Ironpeople, we're still just boys and girls tryin' to get by so why do people get their undies in a bundle over someone who wants to judge them as lesser? If you also get torqued because someone judges you as weak because you drink Zima, then there's nothing I can do for you anyway (both the judging thing and the Zima...) If they're so clueless that they don't understand that doing a successful Olympic distance is every bit as challenging as doing a successful IM, they their opinion isn't worth anything anyway so saddle up and leave them in the dust. The same week that Joe's blog came out, Alan Couzens wrote one with the finsher (in reference to the endurance lifestyle) that said, "the journey is the destination." Couldn't be more true. It just so happens that the average American who doens't understand triathlon and running thinks that the journey to a fast 5k time just isn't as sexy as the journey to finishing an IM or marathon. These are probably the same people that wouldn't understand why someone would take a lesser paying job to spend more time with family and friends. Having spent probably way too much time wondering why I train for distance races (always have - love to go long), I have just wasted another hour here but again the journey is the destination and I needed something to write about... In any case, I will likely never do a double Roughwater, a Double IM, an ultra marathon or anything else that crazy and don't consider myself lesser for not having done so regardless of how someone might judge me. What I have done already has trained me for the real endurance race that is life, has taught me patience, mental endurance and to face my own artificially set limitations. So Joe, that's why I think it's ok "just to finish". IM doesn't breed or reward mediocrity as is suggested. If it does then someone better tell Sister Madonna that she's one mediocre nun. Aloha Nui Loa P.S. To my younger sister, I still love you even though you don't run races :) You're an endurance athlete of the best kind. Mom with two kids and full-time job - now that's endurance!!

Tuesday, August 18th

It's rare these days I actually have something to write about. Something that is actually able to be posted to an open forum that is. Life has hit the status quo and is trudging along day by day without me even knowing about it so it seems. Most of the things worth writing about usually involve people and their weirdness, most of it really not suitable. It seems like anything goes these days on the internet but I still subscribe to the idea that there are many things not meant for live TV. Additionally, a lot of it would be bitching and I'm really working on keeping that to a minimum. I will mention pet peeve numero uno however. Women walking around in the shower area completely buck naked - and not like...you know, in transition from shower to robe. Just hangin' out naked. Brushing their teeth...naked. Putting up hair....naked. If you're going to hang out naked, can you at least please be good looking? Seriously. Today was a rare day. The winds shifted from where they usually come from out of the desert to coming from off the Persian Gulf. I walked outside today and felt humidity for the first time in about 4 months. It was glorious. The temperature had dropped from about 115 to 94 to boot. The best part was the aroma. If you've never stepped off an airplane in a tropical place near an ocean, you've truly missed on one of life's best experiences. It's that heavy smell of marshy salt water. Today I thought I landed in Key West (yeah, duh, except for the obvious...although with the naked women running around, one might forget where they are after all). It always amazes me how powerful an aroma can be and how something as simple as a odor in the air can completely catapault one into a place in the mind that is thousands of miles away. In this case, about 12k miles. It's the smell of Jimmy Buffet, a Purple Passion from Fat Tuesdays, the sights and sounds of Duval Street right down to the dogs and homeless that wander around in the street, a beer at Sloppy Joes, a Cuban from Para-Dykes cafe, pulling 6 G's in W-74 and a Slice of the Wheel at 1 am...ok make that 3am. And if I have to explain all that, you wouldn't understand. Have a great Aloha day and if you're in Key West today, belly up to the bar and toast to being in paradise.

To eat weinerschnitzel or not to eat weinerschnitzel

After my last post, my husband decided to remind me that I'll never be happy with any of my race times and that it's entirely impossible for me to simply "enjoy the process". I told him to shut up and color. Clearly, he doesn't stick to his mottos either because it used to be, "find out what she wants and give it to her" but now it's "poke the bear". Damn, I guess this is what happened when one is married beyond a year. In other news, I have been invited to a luncheon with a Kuwaiti Major General. This should be really interesting. My first thought (seriously) was, "What should I wear?" and then I realized that I would be wearing my uniform. Lunch with big wigs and I have to wear DCUs. Not so bad except that I use only one set of DCUs and alternate with a flight suit. The current set of DCUs is on...like day 8. I work in an office so it's not like it gets dirty except that I noticed there's a spot on the right sleeve where I probably wiped my face after brushing my teeth. As a blue-collar girl, this really isn't ground for GQ. It's not like he should be expecting a model after all. I drove him around on base for a tour recently so he's actually met me but I do find all this rather entertaining. I'm going with it - gonna go in with uniform on day 9. Let him see what the U.S. Navy is all about. In other news, my big decision of the day is where to eat. After two hours on my trainer this morning, I'm in the position where I can eat today. Eat in a way that's bad it's so good. There are three main dining facilities here, two American and one run by the Kuwaitis. It's like trying to decide on the aricraft carrier whether you're going to eat upstairs ("dirty shirt") or downstairs ("going out to eat"). In the end, it simply just doesn't matter. Generally, as it is here, the menus are entirely different. You can get back weinerschnitzel at the Kuwaiti facility (I know...I know...you don't need to say it but you want to...can Kuwaitis actually cook weinerschnitzel? Um...no. And yes, they actually serve it.) Or I can go to the American one and get braized beef ribs (barf). The funny thing is that there are plenty of fast food places here but since leaving the US, there's simply no craving for fast food. Weird but true. I've had Taco Hell twice in the last 90 days (and it treated me ever so poorly both times). Not that the weight-maintenance program is successful. They serve Otis Spunkmeyer cookies in both dining facilities. Mean...just mean. Mean in the fact that the things are like eating manna from heaven and mean in that who the EFF would name their child Otis Spunkmeyer? He must make good cookies and muffins because it was the only way to keep people from beating him senseless for having such a sally kind of name. Doesn't matter at this point...I'm ever so grateful :)

It occurred to me yesterday that I've done my last race in the 35-39 category. It hit me like a brick wall. I mean, no big deal but when you do the math and then realize that you are now in the 40-44 category....aw f#@k. I'm not 40 yet!! This can't be true. Did I mention that I'm not 40 yet? This is like hitting the wall twice: first for racing and then for real. Great, this is going to happen again when I reach 45. This all comes at a good time actually. With a year off of racing, I'm taking this year to reflect and assess my approach to racing (as well as life). They "whys" are just as important, if not more important, that the "whats" so knowing why I'm racing is integral to the entire process. With an entire year to reflect on why I spend thousands each year to do this combined with the fact that I'm at mid life (theoretically), hopefully I can get all this angst out at one time and be able to move on without having to experience this all over again until maybe my children are grown and I'm facing empty nest. To keep me on the right track, I hired another coach. The last one worked very well because he took the guess work out of it for me. His mentorship and guidance we a bit limited, however. Basically unless I asked a specific question, I wouldn't get any answers. This isn't necessarily the way I would approach coaching. Sometimes the hardest thing about being a student of anything is knowing what questions to ask. In starting out triathlon, all the basic questions were asked (because most of them are obvious) but this leaves the layers upon layers of stuff that you would never realize/reach unless you were a) in the sport for years and b) has a mentor who has been in the sport for years. I'm with Scott Jones who is a Navy Reservist, P3 pilot who works for one of the commercial airlines. He hasn't been doing IM that long but I've met and trained with him personally last year during my winter training camp prior to IMAZ. A 10-hour kind of guy and philosopher to boot, he's just the ticket. http://www.imjcoaching.com/ His wife, Teresa, is still a master depsite being a Master and ran a 1:25 half marathon as early as a year ago. That's not too shabby. She's also a nutritionist so this all works well. I love it when a plan comes together. His motto is "Train with joy or not at all" and I think that's my answer for continuing this pursuit. As I sit and spin (so not like the old days of sit 'n spin for those that remember your childhood toys!) watching the tour, it's very cool how enjoyable this still is despite having been riding since I was 16 and racing since I was 19. Never a fan of racing, it's nice to know that I will probably have the ability to at least spin until the day I drop. In going over my goals for the coming years, I'm getting remotivated all over again. I've decided that before I quit, I'd like to accomplish the following:

1) a sub 5 hour half Ironman. Doable on the right course but it's going to be a lot of work on the swim and run. 2) a sub 1:10 IM swim. This is going to be a challenge. For my swimmer friends, this likely seems silly and "oh yeah, totally doable!" but taking 10 minutes off of a time of 80 minutes it greater than 10%. It's going to be a challenge, especially considering I'm not getting any younger. That only leaves stronger and fitter... 3) a sub-11:15 IM. Again on the right course, I think I can do this. I need to take off 20 from the run and 10 from the swim and I'm in there. The only problem is that I have to do another IM to find out. Ouch. A quick perusal of the Great Floridian indicates that I would....kick....major...ass in the 40-44 age group with an 11:15. In fact, with my mediocre 11:45, I would still kick ass. In fact, if I'm reading it right, an 11:15 would pretty much win that race. Granted I'm no Sandy Ferrier but then, few are. I've decided that instead of being a bad thing, this is actually pretty good. An 11:15 at Kona would put me in the top 25% of the 40-44 field. If I can hang in there long enough, maybe I can break some of Cherie Gruefeld's records. And before you remind me that all the women who were in the 35-39 that beat me before are now going to be beating me in the 40-44, I'll just say that persistence is under rated and one day they make break for good leaving me as the "best of what's left". You never know...it might be good to be "40".

For the record, the pictures included above are what may be my new rides when I get home from jail. Mmmmm....bike porn... What better thing to keep you going than a new bike. I may be old but at least I have money.

Another Birthday...#39

When I first started writing this, it was a reflection of the things in my life so far that I would never want to ever relive. But in the process, I discovered that the things I would want to relive, those dailys moments, the little things in life that make it not only bearable to wonderful to live, are so much more worth writing about. They're at the end... As I approach my 39th birthday coming up on Thursday, I was pondering the other day on the first half of my life. It may not BE the first half - could be more, could be less - but supposing it is, so far, it's been an interesting ride - not all fun but definitely some highlights. The one thing that always stands out the most is why in the hell do the lessons have to be that hard. I learned another one today by the way. You can never bring enough phone numbers with you while you're out on a mission. Anyhoo... Some people seem to waste significant time wondering, if they could do it all over again, would they? And which parts? All of it? I really don't. In fact, I try to think of the past as little as possible except to remember the important things like how did I screw up being a friend before so I don't screw that up again. Or bring lots of phone numbers with you to work. Those are good things to remember. So, my answer to the question of re-doing parts of the past is fat f*@kin' chance. Part of the grace of childhood is that you really don't understand a lot of things until you're much older thus relieving you of the necessity to feel shame at your circumstance. Take for example one of the experiences from grade school. I went to a Catholic school and was part of a gifted program where I was bussed to the local public school to participate. It was every Wednesday (yes, I still remember this along with the fact that we took bus #4 to school everyday when we weren't walking - why is my brain still holding on to this when I have a serious need to use these brain cells for more pertinent and current information!!) So every Wednesday, I bussed across town to the other school. Incidentally enough, Wednesday was my regular school's church day (once a week apparently isn't enough). Can't remember if it was a requirement or not but I wore the one skirt I had every Wednesday for church. Are you doing the math on this? Yeah, there are a group of people out there for an entire year who saw me in the same exact outfit for an entire year straight. Can you say, "low rent"? I didn't realize this until a few years ago and when I did, it explained a lot about how high school went for me. Nope. Don't want to relive that. And high school. No sports records, no glory days. Just enough to get me launched into what we be the better part. Segue...wouldn't do the Naval Academy over again either. There were definitely some interesting experiences however. When I was a small kid, I was mowing my parents lawn and (don't ask) ended up chipping one of my front teeth. It was poorly patched and when I made it to school, the dentist took one look at me and asked if I was some kind of hillbilly and didn't they have dentists where I came from? No, I don't make this up. He said this to me. Knowing what I know now, I would have responded in kind but at the time, I was so shocked, I couldn't say anything. Thank God for good room mates to make that place bearable. Four years of being the hillbilly surrounded by people that were superstars where ever they came from. Cool. Wouldn't do that over again. Wouldn't change it, mind you. Just don't want to re-experience it again. If I did have to choose something to do over again, it would be my first fleet tour in VF-32. How can one person make so many mistakes on one short period of life? I guess one could say that I made it out unscathed to move on to bigger and better things but this small section, this 7.7% of my life has pretty much determined the rest since then. (Yeah, this is true of every decision - but in this case, think screeching breaks, massive U-turns and the proverbial excessive speed on the highway). Details aren't necessary but suffice to say that this is where I developed my propensity to work out way too mcuh (power lifting at the time), this was the spring board from which the rest of my career was launched (or thwarted depending on how I look at it) and where I got to know my current husband. It would take another 9 years for life to come to fruition. This is the main place in life that gets me thinking why do lessons have to be so hard to learn? When I look at my life on paper and speak to people about what I've done, it really sounds exciting, sounds almost unreal. Fist woman to be an F14....blah, blah, blaaaahhh. In reality the retrospect or the telling is always more interesting as one tends to not remember the pain invovled while it was actually happening. Not to say that I didn't enjoy it along the way, but not in the way that people think. Of my 39 years, here are some of the things that I remember. Not specific stories, but as one person put it - vignettes, sensations, feelings.

-The smell of "liberty". That smell of shwarma stands, scooter exhaust mixed with the industrial smells of a marine pier. Nothing beats that. It's the smell of freedom.

-Flying cross country from east to west when there was a break in the comm - quiet with that endless crystal clear sky as far as you can see, watching the Appalachians give way to the Kansas plains which give way to the Rockies, Grand Canyon and eventually the beautiful deserts of Arizona before hitting the endless Pacific Ocean. -Flying a PMCF out of NAS key West. Mom and Dad gave you the keys and you and a buddy get to go out and play in W174 alone and unafraid. Bend the jet, pull some g's, wake up the body, all while viewing some of the most gorgeous blue water you've ever seen. -Puerto Rico. Spent a month there in 2002. The smell of the rainforest has stuck with me ever since. Every once in a while, I would smell it in Hawaii mixed with that same salt smell and it always reminds me of the jungle in Roosey Roads. When I was there, the base was in the process of closing down so it was almost like a ghost town. I would run on the outskirts and see maybe one or two cars. I loved the feel of isolation. Our rooms were next to a defunt club and it felt like we were in the wild west surrounded by banana and palm trees. On another ocassion, we stayed at this resort and the smell of old wood still takes me back to the Conquistador. -Swimming in Ala Moana at sunset with good friends. The warm water, crystal clear sky and speckled horizon dotted with sail boats. -Sunset on an aircraft carrier. Need I say more? -The moment the ship pulls in from six months of cruise. While I've always like fly-in because you get home sooner, there's nothing like the energy of a ship with 5,000 people pulling in, the call of "liberty call" and the roar (I'm getting goose bumps just writing this) the roar of the crowd when they see that first Sailor walk off the brow. The hand shakes from complete strangers who say thank you even though I'm an officer as I walk through the crowd towards home. -The moment I found out that I was selected to do Kona. Again, need I say more? -I remember everytime I go to Livonia to see my family and the welcome that I receive. There's nothing like a good welcome. Like Ted's email signature says as quoted by some Kona Triathlete, "There's nothing lonlier than a finishline without friends." At this finish line, I always have friends. -Being on a beach in Kailua at sunrise (with no preacher) but surrounded by our best friends as Keo and I tie the knot...twice. -Riding over the H3 on a crystal clear blue-sky day on my motorcycle smelliing fresh cut grass. -Every time I round the corner (this has never in three years gotten old or unappreciated) by the Waimanalo light house to the vista that is the Waimanalo Bay, Bellows and Kaneohe Bay. Takes my breath away every time and every time, I whipser to myself, "I live HERE!" -Sitting at the green market with my favorite buddy and a sup of espresso. Can't wait to experience that one again (With a dog? With a kid in tow? Both?) There are more but I'm getting close to work time. So for at least the time being, I don't have to relive the bad parts but by some mirabcle of God, the moments that I do want to repeat are ones that I actually get the oportunity to relive over and over again. Not right now since I'm far away but soon. Here's to the hope of my last deployed birthday.

Sandstorm

So there I am out last night on an evening run and I'm thinking, "damn this is gonna be GREAT!! It's only 105 degrees and I'm actually going to get a workout in before 10 o'clock tonight. I'm stylin!" Slam a Lemon Sublime Gu, charge the camel back, put on that ridiculous reflective belt and off ya go now. I started out on my usual run out of the Pods, past the wash racks and a left turn towards the "back 40" of Zone 6. The run takes me down the dirt and gravel road that runs the perimeter of one portion of the base. Good news is that it's desolate and lonely and no one give me shit for wearing sleeveless shirts or tank tops (stupid Army!). Bad news is that it's desolate and lonely and I have to carry aphone not because I'm tied to it for my job (which I am....stupid albatross!) but because if I end up close to morting, I want to be able to call someone to tell them where to find my dead body in the desert. Soooo....left turn past the wash racks and head down the road. It's a nice evening (relatively speaking) with a nice light breeze at my back which is good news because when I turn around and head back, it'll be a nice light breeze in the face to dry some of the sweat. Yes, for those who keep telling me it's a dry heat, go pack sand. It's not a dry heat any more. About 10 minutes (I won't give away the distance for fear that everyone will now know how slow I run...er, jog) down the road, there are flashes behind me which resemble flickers of the lights set up along the perimeter fence. They are generator run and flashes seem a bit odd but what the hell, it's Kuwait....everything's odd. A little further down the road...more flashes. I finally turn around and this is pretty much what I see. Though it's dark, there's still enough cultural lighting that I can pretty much see the hand of God Himself as this cloud of dust just like this is about 200 yards from me at my back. Seriously, if you've never seen something like this, it's bound to scare the livin' shit out of you. I've lived through some interesting weather and flown aircraft through storms that are better left in the past (was in an airplane struck by lightening....now that's interesting) and it didn't quite feel like this. For a half second (the half second that immediately followed the half second where I said, "oh f*@k..."), I said to myself, "oh yeah, this isn't that big a deal, I can keep going." Yeah, ssscreeeeech....freeze gopher! The wind went from about 3-5 knots to about 40-50 knots in the matter of about 10 seconds. Just unreal and no exaggeration. Then it started "mudding". That's the Kuwait version of raining. There's so much crap in the air that when the rain falls, by the time it gets to us on the ground, it's mud. Yeah....ick. Sooooo, there I am about 11 minutes worth of jogging from home which would probably equate to 20 minutes of walking - if I could actually see where to walk in a 50 knot wind getting whipped by sand with no eye protection in the dark. Along with me was a stranded dog (there are quite a few feral dogs out here) and it felt like armageddon. We were roaches looking for cover when the kitchen lights get turned on. Most of the structures out here are designed to withstand the wind (except for the tents which always seem to sustain a bit of damage - then you have to ask yourself, why do we still have tents after being here for so freakin' long? That's another story...) There are periodic shacks along the perimeter fence that collect weather data - they have thermometers and anamometers - small but just large enough to provide cover for one stranded idiot. Too bad I didn't have snickers with me because I wasn't going anywhere for a while. Imagine that worst snow storm. Snow blowing sideways, duning up around buildings and fences. Blowing hard enough to really hurt. Then make it sand and the temperature over 100 degrees. About 15 minutes into my wait, some guy shuffled by and all I could think of was, "sh!t, to add insult to injury, this guy is going to assault me". (Yes, this is how I think. It's tough being paranoid all the time.) Wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake? And I'm here to tell you with all that sand, it would have been really decidedly uncomfortable. So the feral dog went his way, my would-be attacker went his and I waited another 15-20 minutes before I decided it was time to press on. With the wind down to about 30 knots, it was bearable to head back but without eye protection, it ended up being backwards...at a jog. One good thing to come out of all this was the discovery that one does not, in fact, need to ride a bike for four hours to do a good brick. All one has to do is run backwards for about 1/2 mile then turn around and run regular. I guarantee that this will make your legs feel like you have just gotten off a Tantalus ride. Finally I made it back home with sand in every pore of my body. Seriously. I was still digging out sand from my ears tonight, 24 hours later and my eyes are still getting rid of dirt. I looked as if I rolled in sand and not the good kind like you find at Kailua Beach. This is more the kind you find at a beach on Lake Erie or Lake Michigan. That dirty brown sand that sticks like goopy glue. My scalp was finally clean after two washings but no doubt, my shoes will never be rid of the sand that is now entrenched in every stitch. Tonight when it came time for another workout, I was really looking forward to making up that run when I saw more lightening. It turned out to be a great interval ride on the Q-Roo... :)

The title of this post is "I'm not creative enough to come up with a title"

I swear this picture isn't put here to complain. Since this is a chronical of my journey in Kuwait, I would actually be remiss if I didn't include a snapshot of the weather. Rumor has it, it gets worse in July and August. When you're standing outside, in the shade and the fronts of your knees are sweating in 6% humidity, you know it's hot. And cram all that shit about "it's a dry heat". OK, 115 degrees is FREAKIN' HOT NOT MATTER HOW LOW THE HUMIDITY. Just putting that out there for posterity and emphasis. Rumor also has it that when the wind blows from the SE off the Gulf instead of from the NW off the desert, it does in fact get humid here. After my experience in Bahrain in 2003, that's not something I relish.

So, yeah, it's hot. Eventually, however, it all becomes relative. I wake up frequently in the middle of the night and have to walk outside. Last night it dipped into the high 80's and it felt so pleasant. Almost makes you want to head out for a run. This morning, despite the already rising temps, it was a lovely day. In fact, I saw blue sky for the first time in weeks. The sky here is usually a muddy white/light tan color from all the dust in the air. So even if there are no clouds, there is still no blue sky. With luck, I'll actually get baked while swimming at lunch.

Recently, we had to drive north to another base and once you leave the inhabited areas, it's actually rather scenic. It's not Painted Desert scenic but then, again, everything's relative. The inhabited areas come with miles and miles of stucco buildings (many uninhabited because they don't move people in until entire neighborhoods are complete). It's also full of electrical infrastructure (miles and miles and miles of the huge towers that carry wires) not to mention the oil industry. Plus it's the middle east - it's freakin' dirty....everywhere. At night when you drive by the piers and oil refinery facilities, you can see the not-so-distant sky line lined with huge burning beacons. They look like ginormous Olympic torches but are actually the fires that burn off the methane from the oil refineries. At night, it's pretty - they look festive but during the day, it's just plain ugly to see them burning. Leaving this behind for plain open desert dotted with camels and sheep makes the open scene "pretty".

Some interesting tidbits about Kuwait. Their roads are dangerous. We're not talking driving in LA or New York dangerous. I'm talking the "It is God's Will" dangerous. Muslims have an expression, "inshallah". It means basically "If God wills" meaning whatever happens, bad or good, preventable or not, is God's will. Based on what I have been told by some of the locals, they really take this to heart. Seatbelts? Don't need 'em. Kids running loose in the back seat of a vehicle going 160 clicks? No worries. Driving at 200 clicks (125 mph)? What-ehv... So they do whatever they want and if God wants them to live, He'll keep them alive. The car wrecks here are unreal. Talk about crash and burn. I'm waiting for some really good ones to take photos as I whiz by at my slow 90 mph to prove that I don't make this up. Just hope I'm not actually in one.

Some interesting tidbits about the Army. Their insane. No really. They do things that make no earthly sense. While I was amidst some of this insanity last week, I wrote a poem about it. Disclaimer - I'm not a poet. This isn't going to win any prizes... And for the record, I got distracted while writing the end and then couldn't get a good line so if this makes no sense, refer to picture at the end of yesterday's post.

24 May, Exercise Lucky Warrior, Day #1

I've got sand and sun, it's so much fun

It's like we're at the beach

But camels, dust and all that stuff

Put fun just out of reach

It's 50 cee without a cloud

The wretched desert heat

Has sapped my strength, my will to live

I need a quick retreat

I chose this o'er a carrier cruise?

I must be full insane

To think that being on Army time

Would be so much less ass pain

It's bad for me that Army life

Is run my masochists

Troops line up all in a row

Symetric, sick sadists

"Let's make it harder, make it hurt!!"

They all yell as one

"Let's slip and slide on our bare hides

get rashes on our buns!!"

"Kick my balls and smack my face

run sandpaper 'cross my nose!

Smack my fingers with a hammer

Then drop it on my toes!!"

Between the heat and Army nuts

I'm in a living hell,

God rescue me and make it stop

oooo....hey something sparkly....

Aloha, rosie

June 4th

Wow, it's been ages since I've had time to write. That seems to be the starter for all my posts. Sorry... The big problem is that I don't know where to begin once I am able to get back to the BLOG. OK, just went back and read the last post. It's been so long that it's already time for another haircut. Aw jeez. I have to share some entries from my "JVB Hard Sayings Log". The HSL for those that don't know it simply a diary of funny things that people say. Around here, considering the people in my office, that could be just about anything on any topic, clean or otherwise. I work with one Army captain, one Airforce captain, one civilian and one enlisted. With me added, that's actually three women in the office. I'm here to tell you that women can often times be worse than men. The stress is pretty much always high in our office. Out mission statement is to basically plan and support Distiguished Visitors who come and go from Kuwait. The visitors take the "DV" portion to heart while we in the office hear "1-star general" and yawn as if to say, "He's only a one star? Wake me when he makes his third." In any case, the job of transporting, planning itineraries and making flight arrangements for DV's can be very stressful especially considering we are mixing both civilian and military bureaucracies. That and the basic human stupidity you find rampant in any very large organization. Thank God for the little pockets of both sanity and intelligence that are hding out here. And we blow off steam in weird ways. The other day, one of my buddies needed some paperwork from me that usually comes out in color. I scanned it for him but unfortunately, the scanner is black and white. He was unhappy with this so I scanned some crayons and emailed that. He found this solution acceptable :). Why I have crayons on my desk is a completely different story... I will say it's interesting that you can actually buy crayons in the PX here. What on earth would anyone here need crayons for in the first place? Wait, don't answer that... From the HSL: My airforce captain has a stuffed pink monkey with velcro on the hands such that it hangs by its arms from her computer monitor. If you're not really paying attention, you may not notice this right off so if...for example...one day said Airforce captain is having computer problems and is getting so frustrated that she blurts out, "I'm going to beat you with my pink monkey!!!" it makes you stop what you're doing and question the meaning and sanity of life right then and there. I may never be the same again. This the day after one of the Aussies said it would be a bad thing to "mount a gutter". I'll leave that to your imagination but it's actually harmless - only sounds bad especially coming from an Aussie. Just as an update, I will say that I'm settling in finally and don't have to ask my captains for answers ever time I answer the phone. Well almost. It is official by the way: I've become "that Commander". The O5 officer that doesn't have a clue and is never paying attention so that they are constantly having to be carried by the staff. If you've ever seen Monsters Vs. Aliens, you're familiar with the character Insectosaurus. This is the giant insect that they control using shiny lights. This is me. Every time I try to actually inject myself, they will shine something shiny my way and totally distract me so that we have conversations like start like this: "Yes, ma'am, I told you that yesterday. Remember you said we could do that?" They could tell me anything and I wouldn't know any better. They end like this: "Yes, ma'am, you told us yesterday we could take the command vehicle, go downtown to a bar and stay out until 2 am and you would cover for us. Don't you remember"..."I said that?"...."Um...yes ma'am."....."Um....ok? When are we leaving?"...."Um...ma'am, you aren't invited."...."Um....ok. Have fun?" Oooohhh....shiiiiiny lights....

May 16th

For the love of God, where did the last ten days go? This is a good thing right? As we say in the Navy, if I sleep 12 hours a day, cruise is only 3 months long. I can extend that principle to say that if I day dream and completely zone out all day PLUS sleep 12 hours a day, I can whittle this baby down to about 12 minutes. The bad news is that 12 hours of sleep all on one day is a pipe dream.

Today was a huge milestone. We passed with flying colors. The girls in my office say that's because I've lowered my standards to the point where shit just doesn't matter any more. That may be entirely true, however, we still passed the milestone. It's the official "First Haircut" day. This is always one of the most tenuous days when you're new on a ship (or military facility - in this case paradise but the tension is the same). The problem it's the proverbial box o' chocolates.

You pray that 1) this person is a woman, 2) they recongnize that I AM in fact a woman as well (it pains me to say that this is not always the case... As a 16 year old, I might buy it but damn! I'm pushing 40 with wrinkles and...like no 5 o'clock shadow. What on earth do I need! Even with ear rings in I get called sir. Really this is exasperating!) and 3) they speaka da englais.

Even when they speaka da englais, you don't know if JUST A LITTLE OFF THE BACK AND OVER THE EARS gets translated to "Please shave my head with a #1 and make it snappy!" The last haircut I got at Camp Smith in Hawaii was before Iron Man. You need to look good for the race photos after all. That was in September. I didn't get another haircut until February. The Filipino woman who Naired my head didn't under stand that a "little off the sides" meant...you know...a little off the sides and not Marine Corps regulation high and tight.

My husband says the solution is fake boobs. I'm a keep-it-real kind of girl. For some reason, I feel that communication is the problem and not the fact that I am slender and have short hair. This is a catch 22 by the way. Short hair begets more short hair.

So we passed hair cut day. I walked into the beauty salon (they call it that by the way - I don't know if "Master Cuts" translates at all in Arabic. If it did, it would something like the worm writing above and then I don't think anyone would know that it was in fact a beauty salon. It would come out like some high pitched warble that could mean anything from "Your sister has warts!" to "My lebnah has mold on it.")

Filipino-woman cut my hair without incident and the world is all good. So despite the sand storm in which we ran our Armistice Day 5K (and so begins the Arifjan T-shirt collection) and being in charge of an office that is about to explode, all is right with the world. Thank God for Hawaiian coffee and good hair cuts :) Aloha until next time.