Run Forrest, Run!

There’s a lot of food here. They have four formal feedings a day. For the sake of the buttons on my pants, I only partake in three. The fourth is a midnight chow and I’m usually in bed by then, except for the occasional Saturday when I have to stay up late to watch college football. So I’ve had a couple midnight meals but they are the exception.

I treat every meal as if it is the last time I will see all the food available. You never know when somebody is going to take out one of the food delivery trucks or if Pakistan will close the border again. So In my mind, if I don’t get a taste of everything good they have to offer, I may not get the chance again. Who knows if jambalaya will ever make a return to the menu? And what if the ocean runs out of crab legs? I’d kick myself for not getting one last taste. And my favorite meal of the day, breakfast, features a made-to-order omelet station. It’s my responsibility to keep the host nation griddle master employed so he doesn’t turn into an insurgent.

If that wasn’t enough, they have a snack shelf. It’s full of potato chips from Dubai, Pop-Tarts from Battle Creek, and Beef Jerky from wherever Jack Links is manufactured. So you grab these and stuff them strategically in your office and in your room. Then my Mom and sister, Karen, send me a box of cookies and snack mix, and I ask them for more, and receive more. Then my coworkers get Tasty Cakes and they share. Then some random middle school sends care packages full of Girl Scout cookies, homemade cookies, candy and crackers.  With a surge in troops came a surge in calories.

So after about a month, I was 8 pounds heavier. At first I thought the gravity was stronger on this side of the planet, and it was throwing off the scale. It turns out that wasn’t the case because of something stupid called physics.  I then blamed the mandatory malaria pills for making me bloated. It turns out crazy dreams are the side effects of malaria pills and not bloating, and we’ll save that topic for a future post.

I’ve acknowledged there is an imbalance between calories in and calories out. So to compensate, I’ve started hitting the gym more, and running, lots of running. The perimeter road, in fact the only road, on base is about a kilometer once around. I try to do at least 3 or 4 laps each run. It turns out I’m not the only one who likes to run. Besides seeing many others out there for a jog, we’ve had a couple 5K races that I’ve participated in.

The first one celebrated the U.S. Air Force’s 63^rd birthday. Some Navy guy won it.

The second was for Hispanic Heritage month. Some white guy won it. In fact, the same guy who won the Air Force 5K. Apparently Navy submarines are great training grounds for distance runners.

The base has decided to suspend all future 5K’s until that Navy guy goes back home.

Below are some pics of Air Force Birthday event, my official 5K t-shirt, and the Hispanic Heritage month 5K run.

The official T-Shirt of the 63rd U.S. Air Force Birthday 5K.

Ceremony honoring the USAF 63rd Birthday later that day.

The start of the Hispanic Heritage Month 5K. I'm the crazy civilian wearing blue.

The final straightaway to the finish line.

Same old, same old.

We’re creatures of habit. We like to follow routines. Wake up at the same time; eat dinner at the same time. Do your morning routine in the same fashion while getting ready. Etc.

When I came over here I viewed it as an opportunity to change things up. Try living in new ways, and get away from having things always in a certain sequence. I was determined to bring some variety into my life and not get caught up in everyday routines.

Well, it’s hard. And I quickly fell into the routines of working out at the same times doing the same exercises, having egg white omelettes and oatmeal for breakfast each morning, and going through the same order of things when I get into the office.

On Fridays, it is considered a “low battle day.” That means we can start work a little later, perhaps 9:30 or 10 a.m. instead of the usually 7 a.m. So this past Friday I decided I would change things up, go in a little later than usual, and work out in the morning. I ran the perimeter road counterclockwise instead of clockwise. I was breaking my normal routine and it was going to be a great day because of it.

Our showers are located in a large tent that has about twelve individual shower stalls. Since I was on a mission of change, I decided I would pass up the third stall on the left, my usual, and go to the fifth stall. It was going to be a great day.

I went to move the showerhead so the initial spray was directed away from my head, and the showerhead broke off. Great. So I moved to the fourth stall on the left.

I adjusted the showerhead in this one and turned on the water. It came out in a tiny, hard stream. It was like a super-soaker squirt gun stream, but really hard. I was not about to take a shower with a stinging squirt gun as my water source. So once again I moved…to the third stall on the left.

I was back in my usual place. It felt good to be there. I turned on the water. It was cold. No hot water today.

Son of a #$%&*! They better have egg whites at breakfast.

ESPN's Monday Night Buzkashi

Salaam Alaykom.

I recently took some basic Dari language and cultural awareness training. It’s part of the counter-insurgency strategy to have a better understanding of the local culture and how to deal with it effectively.

 

Salaam Alaykom means “hello, peace be upon you.”

A proper response is Wa Alaykom Asalaam, which means “and peace be upon you.”

I practice these sayings and others with the cleaning crew, who I believe is a mother with her two teenage kids and one of their buddies.  When I say hello in Dari to them, they get a kick out of asking me questions in Dari to see if I know what they are saying. The worst part is they know English quite well, but enjoy watching me stumble through their language.  I’m still learning swear words in Dari so please don’t ask me to share those words until I practice them more.

In most countries outside of the United States, football is the national sport. Not football in the sense of the NFL , but soccer. But Afghanistan is one of the few countries where soccer is not the national sport. It’s popular, but there is something better.

It’s called Buzkashi.

Translated, it literally means “goat grabbing.”

It’s a field game of 10 to 12 players per side. The teams must transport the headless carcass of a calf or goat, weighing up to 130 lbs., the length of a football field and back, and then over a goal Line, without dropping it or allowing someone from the other team to wrestle it from them. No knives or the direct physical attack of the person carrying the carcass is allowed.

[photo obtained from training presentation]

The origins of this game are believed to go back to the era of the Mongol conquest, when the Mongol riders would hunt, kill and pick up goats without dismounting from their horses. The story goes that Afghan horseman learned to fight back and retook their animals from the Mongols who wanted to ride away with the livestock. Today it is the official national sport of Afghanistan.

Supposedly one of their star buzkashi players retired two years ago, then cried on TV and said he wanted to come back. He went to a new team, then again said he was done. Then cried again and came back. What a crazy country!

The training also provided background on the various ethnicities, traditions, and history of this country that I’ll share in future posts. One startling fact is that the country was more advanced and progressive in the 1950’s than it is today. Due to decades of wars (Soviet occupation, civil war) and the working of the Taliban and their ultra-conservative ways, Kabul went from a city with theaters and other modern luxuries, to a virtually destroyed metropolis with two traffic lights and unreliable electricity.

The below images are of a Girls Scout meeting and women at a record store, both in the 1950’s. It looks no different than pictures of America in the 1950’s. 

[photos obtained from training presentation]

Hopefully the younger people here like those cleaning our offices will realize what they are missing and bring this place into the 20^th century.

Roz e Khush.

Have a nice day.