Well, I tried it for the first time.
Joggling that is. Running and juggling at the same time. Well, technically I have done it before while performing, running across the stage back and forth while juggling. However, the actual sport of joggling was new to me, juggling while running a sustained distance.
I was inspired to try this by Michal "the joggler" Kapral, three time world record holder and fellow member of RunningMania.com. I asked him for some tips, which he graciously provided - and well - I gave it a shot. On the treadmill. Why the treadmill?
a) it's where I do most of my running, though the temp outside is getting more bearable.
b) I figured I could work on my cadence and the throwing.
c) No one would see me...not that I am shy but I'd like to be somewhat competent when I "take it to the streets..."
Anyway I juggled - er, joggled for almost a full mile before my first drop. Not bad considering I fiddled with the speed (ranging from 5-7 mph), and the lighting in my basement is the absolute shits for juggling. I slowed the thing down, picked them up and joggled to the one mile point.
It was a great workout, I was concentrating more on my balls than on running....that sounds deceptively bad...I will have to keep working on it...especially during my LSDs...
I think I may have a new hobby. And I think I heard Kara roll her eyes at me somewhere....
Have fun y'all, stay active yourselves...
Scotty
31.8.07
29.8.07
First Speedwork
Last night I did my first real effort at speedwork since starting really training again.
I am following Hal Higdon's Intermediate Half Marathon Plan, but in this months Runner's World it focused on the Half. In the article and accompanying plan there was a session of speedwork included weekly. I thought adding some speedwork might be a pretty good idea to mix it up and well, maybe improve my runing.
I do almost all my running exclusively on the treadmill. Keeps me out of the humidity and I can set up my laptop and either watch a show or listen to music. The treadmill we have has some decent programs on it that allow for elevation increase and decrease, so I rarely run at a level plane.
Anyway, the scheduled run was for 3.5 miles, just shy of six km. So what I did was the following.
First .5 m was a light warm up, started at 5m/ h and increased .2 mph every .1 miles... confused yet?
any way once at .5 miles I sprinted for .4 of a mile and rested for .1...
0 - 0.5 warmup
0.5 - 0.9 sprint 7.2mph
0.9 - 1.0 rest 4 mph
1.0 - 1.4 sprint 7.5mph
and on until 4 miles topping out at at 8.4 mph.
Probably did nothing but make me tired but felt like a great workout last night.
Ha ha I am not a trained professional, do not try this at home...
I am following Hal Higdon's Intermediate Half Marathon Plan, but in this months Runner's World it focused on the Half. In the article and accompanying plan there was a session of speedwork included weekly. I thought adding some speedwork might be a pretty good idea to mix it up and well, maybe improve my runing.
I do almost all my running exclusively on the treadmill. Keeps me out of the humidity and I can set up my laptop and either watch a show or listen to music. The treadmill we have has some decent programs on it that allow for elevation increase and decrease, so I rarely run at a level plane.
Anyway, the scheduled run was for 3.5 miles, just shy of six km. So what I did was the following.
First .5 m was a light warm up, started at 5m/ h and increased .2 mph every .1 miles... confused yet?
any way once at .5 miles I sprinted for .4 of a mile and rested for .1...
0 - 0.5 warmup
0.5 - 0.9 sprint 7.2mph
0.9 - 1.0 rest 4 mph
1.0 - 1.4 sprint 7.5mph
and on until 4 miles topping out at at 8.4 mph.
Probably did nothing but make me tired but felt like a great workout last night.
Ha ha I am not a trained professional, do not try this at home...
28.8.07
The New Truth
Hey Casual Readers and Friends! So how about we go in a completely different direction? We take a departure from thoughts of Afghanistan, and we take a look at something new.
Still with me?
Ok. I joined Weight Watchers. Three weeks ago. Now I have already dealt with the questions from various sources, and of course it makes me feel like I have to justify myself. So I will write out my reasons, not as a justification because I have no need to vindicate myself.
For the past, sheesh, eight years (off and on) I have hovered between 190-200 pounds. I have carried this weight relatively well – and there are periods when I haven’t! My face has been rounder at times; my 36-inch waist pants have ranged from loose to tight. My 32-inch pants have ranged from tight to obscene! Those who have known me a long time will know I have never been a slave to fashion and I have worn my clothes on the potato sack side of loose, so being “a little chubby” is easy to hide.
Here are the beginning stats:
14 August – 188.6. This is lower than 190 because of Afghanistan.
And in no particular order are my reasons:
1) Kara and I have a scale, it is a cool scale that is able to measure weight, body fat, hydration, and a couple other things. I currently, at the start of Weight Watchers, had a body fat percentage over 30%!! This is after a six-month tour in Afghanistan, which saw me going to the gym four to five times a week!! Granted I still made poor food choices, but I should have sweated something off right? Back when I worked at Bridgetown Junior High School the gym teacher there measured my body fat, it was 35%. So considered my weight and appearance haven’t fluctuated that much I have been consistently over 30% for the past decade!!
Healthy range is any where from 18 –25%, a good fitness level 14-17%. Given these numbers it is reason enough for me to do something. Given a bunch of calculations, which I will put in later, at 20% body fat I should get down to about 155-160 lbs.
2) My dad has a fair number of health problems, most of them exacerbated by his love-hate relationship with food. I understand that I have a genetic predisposition to these health issues. But I’ll be damned if I will help them along.
3) One of my big reasons is Kara. She is obviously one of my more favourite people. And she has struggled the last while. She has been through a lot with me away, being a single parent of two small kids. The situation has made it hard for her to build and develop a “no-fail” environment. Especially when in some ways it would mean a complete upheaval of the status quo! But in the past few years she has had tremendous successes and of course some backsliding. I know for a fact that before when she was in WW and I wasn’t I drove her absolutely crazy when I would ask her “How many points for..?” Usually the point value would shock me and then I’d eat it anyway. Leaving her glaring at me for being an asshole. I never really got it.
Or even worse instead of being her support mechanism I would actively (though not truly consciously) sabotage her with pizza and alcohol and, nachos and, and…
So now the two of us have made a commitment to this. We are both happy with this decision. There is still a bit of playful tension as I do have more points than her, which causes some friction considering we eat together most meals. But our partnership in this has led to our current 30 day “challenge” - No Alcohol For 30 Days!! (I say current 30 day challenge because I foresee more) This No Alcohol Policy was inspired by two horrendous binges we shared since my return, which sabotaged her weight again. This is a bit of a sacrifice, since I went six dry months. But it had to be done if we were going to really commit to this.
This Policy will require will power and planning, for example my boss is having a meet and greet and his house this weekend. It will not be a drunk fest but there will be casual drinking. And we will abstain. We can have fun without booze.
Anyway if Kara and I can succeed together it makes the lifestyle changes we make more likely to stick because we both bought into it.
4) Running – I am not sure if this is a reason because I am competitive, or because I am tired of sweating out bacon fat when I run!
Running is both an incentive and a method for my weight loss. One of the ‘lightest’ periods in my life that saw me in the 170s is when I trained for the Fredericton Half marathon and the Cabot Trail Relay Race early in 2006. Even while eating whatever the Hell I wanted I dropped pounds.
Now I have set a goal of running the Moncton Legs For Literacy Half in November. So I can use the training for this as a method to shed pounds and stay active. But also if I control my eating and slim down then my running will become easier and faster. (fingers crossed LOL).
Plus I consider myself to be a professional soldier, and my fitness level has to be at a ‘superior’ level if I am doing my job correctly.
5) The UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship) – I can see the confused looks now. NO! I am not training to be a cage fighter, at all. However, I am a big fan of watching the UFC. And in doing so on my return home I had an AHA!!! moment. The vast majority of fighters who are my height fight in the 155 lb category. Granted the majority of these fighter are elite athletes, both very muscular and less than 10% body fat. But if you consider the fighters who are my weight they were either short and the size of the Incredible Hulk or they were at least half a foot taller than me!!
I have no illusions of being an elite athlete - but I have a vision of being athletic.
So there. Those are my reasons at the time of writing.
I have now weighed in three times, which means I have been really following the plan for two weeks. What are some of the things I have learned?
1) I ate too much shit
2) I ate too much of it.
3) Simple things like grabbing lunch at the mall can be an absolute nightmare if you are trying to stick to your points and you don’t want to ruin your count with a point laden (yummy tasty) hamburger/ pizza/ plate of deep fried Chinese food/ ice cream.
(lengthy pause here as I count to ten recounting trip to mall yesterday...)
4) Portion control.
5) Losing weight and being healthy can be relatively easy. Once you acknowledge the problem, and engage fully in the solution. Sounds tres Dr. Phil, but you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge. You have to be conscious, awake, and aware of what is going on in your life.
I will continue to update as time goes on. I am sure my thoughts on “easy” will go out the window once I go back to work, or something comes up so you can laugh at me, cheer me on, or say I told you so then…
And just for shits and giggles.
14 Aug 188.6
21 Aug 187.6
28 Aug 183.8
Total two week loss 4.8 lbs. With no huge sacrifices, meaning first week I drank two nights all night, and the second week after the No Alcohol policy I had a couple huge cinnamon buns and nachos, and pizza…
Comments welcome.
Until next time....
Still with me?
Ok. I joined Weight Watchers. Three weeks ago. Now I have already dealt with the questions from various sources, and of course it makes me feel like I have to justify myself. So I will write out my reasons, not as a justification because I have no need to vindicate myself.
For the past, sheesh, eight years (off and on) I have hovered between 190-200 pounds. I have carried this weight relatively well – and there are periods when I haven’t! My face has been rounder at times; my 36-inch waist pants have ranged from loose to tight. My 32-inch pants have ranged from tight to obscene! Those who have known me a long time will know I have never been a slave to fashion and I have worn my clothes on the potato sack side of loose, so being “a little chubby” is easy to hide.
Here are the beginning stats:
14 August – 188.6. This is lower than 190 because of Afghanistan.
And in no particular order are my reasons:
1) Kara and I have a scale, it is a cool scale that is able to measure weight, body fat, hydration, and a couple other things. I currently, at the start of Weight Watchers, had a body fat percentage over 30%!! This is after a six-month tour in Afghanistan, which saw me going to the gym four to five times a week!! Granted I still made poor food choices, but I should have sweated something off right? Back when I worked at Bridgetown Junior High School the gym teacher there measured my body fat, it was 35%. So considered my weight and appearance haven’t fluctuated that much I have been consistently over 30% for the past decade!!
Healthy range is any where from 18 –25%, a good fitness level 14-17%. Given these numbers it is reason enough for me to do something. Given a bunch of calculations, which I will put in later, at 20% body fat I should get down to about 155-160 lbs.
2) My dad has a fair number of health problems, most of them exacerbated by his love-hate relationship with food. I understand that I have a genetic predisposition to these health issues. But I’ll be damned if I will help them along.
3) One of my big reasons is Kara. She is obviously one of my more favourite people. And she has struggled the last while. She has been through a lot with me away, being a single parent of two small kids. The situation has made it hard for her to build and develop a “no-fail” environment. Especially when in some ways it would mean a complete upheaval of the status quo! But in the past few years she has had tremendous successes and of course some backsliding. I know for a fact that before when she was in WW and I wasn’t I drove her absolutely crazy when I would ask her “How many points for..?” Usually the point value would shock me and then I’d eat it anyway. Leaving her glaring at me for being an asshole. I never really got it.
Or even worse instead of being her support mechanism I would actively (though not truly consciously) sabotage her with pizza and alcohol and, nachos and, and…
So now the two of us have made a commitment to this. We are both happy with this decision. There is still a bit of playful tension as I do have more points than her, which causes some friction considering we eat together most meals. But our partnership in this has led to our current 30 day “challenge” - No Alcohol For 30 Days!! (I say current 30 day challenge because I foresee more) This No Alcohol Policy was inspired by two horrendous binges we shared since my return, which sabotaged her weight again. This is a bit of a sacrifice, since I went six dry months. But it had to be done if we were going to really commit to this.
This Policy will require will power and planning, for example my boss is having a meet and greet and his house this weekend. It will not be a drunk fest but there will be casual drinking. And we will abstain. We can have fun without booze.
Anyway if Kara and I can succeed together it makes the lifestyle changes we make more likely to stick because we both bought into it.
4) Running – I am not sure if this is a reason because I am competitive, or because I am tired of sweating out bacon fat when I run!
Running is both an incentive and a method for my weight loss. One of the ‘lightest’ periods in my life that saw me in the 170s is when I trained for the Fredericton Half marathon and the Cabot Trail Relay Race early in 2006. Even while eating whatever the Hell I wanted I dropped pounds.
Now I have set a goal of running the Moncton Legs For Literacy Half in November. So I can use the training for this as a method to shed pounds and stay active. But also if I control my eating and slim down then my running will become easier and faster. (fingers crossed LOL).
Plus I consider myself to be a professional soldier, and my fitness level has to be at a ‘superior’ level if I am doing my job correctly.
5) The UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship) – I can see the confused looks now. NO! I am not training to be a cage fighter, at all. However, I am a big fan of watching the UFC. And in doing so on my return home I had an AHA!!! moment. The vast majority of fighters who are my height fight in the 155 lb category. Granted the majority of these fighter are elite athletes, both very muscular and less than 10% body fat. But if you consider the fighters who are my weight they were either short and the size of the Incredible Hulk or they were at least half a foot taller than me!!
I have no illusions of being an elite athlete - but I have a vision of being athletic.
So there. Those are my reasons at the time of writing.
I have now weighed in three times, which means I have been really following the plan for two weeks. What are some of the things I have learned?
1) I ate too much shit
2) I ate too much of it.
3) Simple things like grabbing lunch at the mall can be an absolute nightmare if you are trying to stick to your points and you don’t want to ruin your count with a point laden (yummy tasty) hamburger/ pizza/ plate of deep fried Chinese food/ ice cream.
(lengthy pause here as I count to ten recounting trip to mall yesterday...)
4) Portion control.
5) Losing weight and being healthy can be relatively easy. Once you acknowledge the problem, and engage fully in the solution. Sounds tres Dr. Phil, but you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge. You have to be conscious, awake, and aware of what is going on in your life.
I will continue to update as time goes on. I am sure my thoughts on “easy” will go out the window once I go back to work, or something comes up so you can laugh at me, cheer me on, or say I told you so then…
And just for shits and giggles.
14 Aug 188.6
21 Aug 187.6
28 Aug 183.8
Total two week loss 4.8 lbs. With no huge sacrifices, meaning first week I drank two nights all night, and the second week after the No Alcohol policy I had a couple huge cinnamon buns and nachos, and pizza…
Comments welcome.
Until next time....
23.8.07
A Must Read on Our Success in Afghanistan
This is a rant - a well written and erudite rant posted on Army.ca. It has been reprinted here with permission of the author.
Please read it and pass the link to your friends, whether you support it or not. We will get the other side of the story heard...
"I've had enough. Consider this my rant against ignorance; my protest against agendas, half-truths, and lies. For almost two years I have been closely following the news from and about Afghanistan and it has been demoralizing to say the least. I spent a year in Kabul with the Strategic Advisory Team and watched the media only report the deaths our Forces suffered rather than the successes we (not just the SAT) achieved. I have watched "experts", editorialists, politicians, protesters, activists and pundits mangle facts, misread situations and push agendas. Most of what I have read and seen has been flawed to one degree or another. As a result many Canadians I have spoken to are wholly unaware of what we are doing there and why we are doing it. The debate has been so muddied by poor reporting and incomplete information that most people are stunned when they hear of our successes.
At the same time I have heard only reactive, ineffective whimpers from our establishment. Our government and DND in particular has done a poor job of getting the message out. Granted things are improving but you only have to look at the News Room on the DND website to see that the majority of news releases concerning Afghanistan concern the deaths and injuries we have suffered in Kandahar. In other words we are playing into the media's "if it bleeds, it leads" approach to coverage.
Here is my attempt to right some wrongs and dispel some of the misinformation out there:
1) "We cannot win in Afghanistan because insurgencies are impossible to win" I swear that if I hear one more "expert" or politician with no military experience say this I will reach through the TV and choke someone. I have spent the last three years of my life reading everything I can find on insurgencies as part of my work towards a Masters and I can tell you this - insurgencies can and have been defeated many times in the past. There are ways to defeat an insurgency and I can tell you from my study of this topic and my year of experience working at the strategic level in Afghanistan that we are doing far more right than we are wrong. Furthermore, the insurgency we face is hardly one of the most daunting ever faced. The Taliban are unlikely to ever get past Mao's first stage of insurgency and, more importantly, they lack support from much of the population. To reference Mao again, the Taliban are "fish" swimming in a very small "sea" as their support is mainly limited to one Pashtun tribe in an ethnically diverse country. NATO can defeat the Taliban and with every passing year, Kabul extends its influence and the lives of Afghans improve. This insurgency will be defeated by stability, prosperity and justice and we can see that all are improving gradually.
2) "No one has ever won in Afghanistan so we will never win" Not only does this statement display a gross ignorance of Afghan history, it also represents a laughable logical fallacy. It's akin to saying: "the Ottawa Senators didn't win the Cup last year, therefore no one will ever be
able to win the Cup!" Comparing the conscript Soviet Army to ISAF defies comprehension - every conceivable aspect of the Soviet experience differs fundamentally from our experience there. Goals, tactics, training, equipment, popular support, international legitimacy are all vastly different, to name but a few.
3) Attention editors/politicians/protesters: Afghanistan is not Iraq!
Rather than displaying your incredible ignorance of geography, history and international relations, how about you nail down this one fundamental difference? You can disagree with what's happening in Iraq while agreeing with our mission in Afghanistan and vice versa. But, you cannot use your opposition to Iraq as a basis for your opposition to Afghanistan - that's a non sequitur.
Here's a little game you can play: read articles by columnists, in on-line forums or even in the "comments" section following on-line G&M articles and you'll see something very telling. Most people opposed to our mission in Afghanistan make reference to Iraq or George W. Bush at least once when explaining why they are opposed to Afghanistan. I don't get it. Are we really
that mad with conspiracy theories that we think that our mission in Afghanistan is in some significant way related to US policy towards Iraq? A more likely explanation is that the crushing ignorance that drowns the debate on Afghanistan is the cause. People are too lazy and too poorly informed to understand the differences between Iraq and Afghanistan and those with agendas encourage this ignorance to reinforce their own arguments.
4) "All that's happening in Afghanistan is combat" Ruxted has countered this one in detail but no one seems to want to listen. What really riles me is that DND (or Foreign Affairs, or CIDA) is not just inundating the media with facts and stories about how this is simply not true. 83% of Afghans have access to medical care now where fewer than 9% did before 2001. GDP per capita has doubled and Afghanistan has the fastest growing economy in Asia. Etc., etc. These facts are all out there and available to editors and politicians and yet no one reports these facts. Why? Are they so intent on vilifying Harper that they can't report the facts? I just don't get
it.
So what?
Please, all of you who know these facts and more - talk to people.
Tell friends, family, strangers. Write letters to the editor if you can or write your MP to tell them you think these points need to be discussed. Ruxted and similar organizations are doing a great job but we all need to back them up and do our part. Consider it a grassroots effort to counter the one-sided stories in the media."
Please read it and pass the link to your friends, whether you support it or not. We will get the other side of the story heard...
"I've had enough. Consider this my rant against ignorance; my protest against agendas, half-truths, and lies. For almost two years I have been closely following the news from and about Afghanistan and it has been demoralizing to say the least. I spent a year in Kabul with the Strategic Advisory Team and watched the media only report the deaths our Forces suffered rather than the successes we (not just the SAT) achieved. I have watched "experts", editorialists, politicians, protesters, activists and pundits mangle facts, misread situations and push agendas. Most of what I have read and seen has been flawed to one degree or another. As a result many Canadians I have spoken to are wholly unaware of what we are doing there and why we are doing it. The debate has been so muddied by poor reporting and incomplete information that most people are stunned when they hear of our successes.
At the same time I have heard only reactive, ineffective whimpers from our establishment. Our government and DND in particular has done a poor job of getting the message out. Granted things are improving but you only have to look at the News Room on the DND website to see that the majority of news releases concerning Afghanistan concern the deaths and injuries we have suffered in Kandahar. In other words we are playing into the media's "if it bleeds, it leads" approach to coverage.
Here is my attempt to right some wrongs and dispel some of the misinformation out there:
1) "We cannot win in Afghanistan because insurgencies are impossible to win" I swear that if I hear one more "expert" or politician with no military experience say this I will reach through the TV and choke someone. I have spent the last three years of my life reading everything I can find on insurgencies as part of my work towards a Masters and I can tell you this - insurgencies can and have been defeated many times in the past. There are ways to defeat an insurgency and I can tell you from my study of this topic and my year of experience working at the strategic level in Afghanistan that we are doing far more right than we are wrong. Furthermore, the insurgency we face is hardly one of the most daunting ever faced. The Taliban are unlikely to ever get past Mao's first stage of insurgency and, more importantly, they lack support from much of the population. To reference Mao again, the Taliban are "fish" swimming in a very small "sea" as their support is mainly limited to one Pashtun tribe in an ethnically diverse country. NATO can defeat the Taliban and with every passing year, Kabul extends its influence and the lives of Afghans improve. This insurgency will be defeated by stability, prosperity and justice and we can see that all are improving gradually.
2) "No one has ever won in Afghanistan so we will never win" Not only does this statement display a gross ignorance of Afghan history, it also represents a laughable logical fallacy. It's akin to saying: "the Ottawa Senators didn't win the Cup last year, therefore no one will ever be
able to win the Cup!" Comparing the conscript Soviet Army to ISAF defies comprehension - every conceivable aspect of the Soviet experience differs fundamentally from our experience there. Goals, tactics, training, equipment, popular support, international legitimacy are all vastly different, to name but a few.
3) Attention editors/politicians/protesters: Afghanistan is not Iraq!
Rather than displaying your incredible ignorance of geography, history and international relations, how about you nail down this one fundamental difference? You can disagree with what's happening in Iraq while agreeing with our mission in Afghanistan and vice versa. But, you cannot use your opposition to Iraq as a basis for your opposition to Afghanistan - that's a non sequitur.
Here's a little game you can play: read articles by columnists, in on-line forums or even in the "comments" section following on-line G&M articles and you'll see something very telling. Most people opposed to our mission in Afghanistan make reference to Iraq or George W. Bush at least once when explaining why they are opposed to Afghanistan. I don't get it. Are we really
that mad with conspiracy theories that we think that our mission in Afghanistan is in some significant way related to US policy towards Iraq? A more likely explanation is that the crushing ignorance that drowns the debate on Afghanistan is the cause. People are too lazy and too poorly informed to understand the differences between Iraq and Afghanistan and those with agendas encourage this ignorance to reinforce their own arguments.
4) "All that's happening in Afghanistan is combat" Ruxted has countered this one in detail but no one seems to want to listen. What really riles me is that DND (or Foreign Affairs, or CIDA) is not just inundating the media with facts and stories about how this is simply not true. 83% of Afghans have access to medical care now where fewer than 9% did before 2001. GDP per capita has doubled and Afghanistan has the fastest growing economy in Asia. Etc., etc. These facts are all out there and available to editors and politicians and yet no one reports these facts. Why? Are they so intent on vilifying Harper that they can't report the facts? I just don't get
it.
So what?
Please, all of you who know these facts and more - talk to people.
Tell friends, family, strangers. Write letters to the editor if you can or write your MP to tell them you think these points need to be discussed. Ruxted and similar organizations are doing a great job but we all need to back them up and do our part. Consider it a grassroots effort to counter the one-sided stories in the media."
20.8.07
It's been awhile.
Hello all.
My apologies as this post will lack wit and well...wit.
I will also apologize for the long delay in the reading material posted here. I am home now safe and sound and thank you to all who followed and supported the journey.
I will be posting about my final days in KAF soon as I put it all together.
But to recap.
New house - moving soon!
Back to work - happening soon!
Back at running - sweating soon!
See you all soon.
My apologies as this post will lack wit and well...wit.
I will also apologize for the long delay in the reading material posted here. I am home now safe and sound and thank you to all who followed and supported the journey.
I will be posting about my final days in KAF soon as I put it all together.
But to recap.
New house - moving soon!
Back to work - happening soon!
Back at running - sweating soon!
See you all soon.
26.6.07
The Market Experience: Scotty's Guide to Surviving the Sale
There are a few universal truths about a deployment to Afghanistan, if the wind blows the wrong way this place stinks, Tim Horton’s is an international phenomenon, the Brits drive with reckless abandon making even a 16km/h speed limit dangerous, and Saturday is Baazaar Day, a fixture on which you can set your genuine Rollexe watch on.
There is little pomp and ceremony to the market, though it does hold a certain splendour and attraction, reminiscent of a renaissance fair minus the jugglers, and musicians. But it does have swords, and exotic fabrics, and trinkets, and smiling men in Man-jammies. It is very much like a flea market, it is outdoors, and divided into stalls - and full of stuff you really don’t need. Well, except for Scorpions Frozen In Resin Paperweights. Nothing says, “I am a Man Who Has Everything” like an amber coated resin arachnid. I own two, but I digress.
Shopping at the market can be broken down into categories: Movies and Software, Marble and Stone, Rugs and Pashmina, Jewellery and Watches, Trinkets and Antiques, and Weapons and Guns. Hm, welcome to Trivial Pursuit: the Afghan Edition. Instead of answering skill-testing questions you barter your way to pie.
Bartering, there is a learned skill. It is essentially the real fun behind the market experience, meaning to take away nothing from collecting keepsakes and touristy bits for family and friends. And the activity and novelty of just spending money, even boring American money, helps you feel normal again.
The script is the same, though the quality of broken English will vary:
Honest and Upfront Vendor - “Come sir, look watches (insert any merchandise here)”
Eager and Intrepid Shopper – “Oh no, just looking” Coy, slick smooth
Honest and Upfront Vendor – “No for you my fren’ I make good deal. Half price.”
Eager and Intrepid Shopper – “Oh I dunno” Aloof.
And then you stare at each other a bit, and feign indifference, even though you have to buy this marble tea set because your spouse in Canada has placed their order.
Eager and Intrepid Shopper – “How much?”
Now either the vendor say something three times what you’d pay or, retorts with “make an offer.” Which of course you do and it is taken as a playful insult. Then the great debate begins, and eventually ends with a handshake.
Definition of a bargain: a transaction in which both parties believe they have fleeced the other and got the better of a deal.
There are some popular purchases. Marble, particularly marble chess sets.
The (ahem) “New Release” movies are exceptionally popular. Sometimes there is little else to do than fire up the laptop and watch a movie still in theatres. Except buyer beware, you can’t tell the guy in front of you to put his head down, or tell the girl on the left to eat a little quieter.
For those who call KAF home we all look forward to Market Day, it is the highlight of the week. Starting late Friday with the “What are you looking for this week?” conversations, and punctuated with the Saturday evening, “Oh man you got a steal/ you got rooked!” conversations. Followed by a couple days of “strategy building”. It passes the time, and provides memories and stories.
Oh, and if it rains on a Friday the disappointment starts to spread. A nervous chatter begins wondering if the market will happen the following morning. Even insurgents get angry if there is a chance the Market will be cancelled, and show it by lobbing a couple of “warning shots” at us. Yep, the market is a big deal. And for you my friend, half price.
There is little pomp and ceremony to the market, though it does hold a certain splendour and attraction, reminiscent of a renaissance fair minus the jugglers, and musicians. But it does have swords, and exotic fabrics, and trinkets, and smiling men in Man-jammies. It is very much like a flea market, it is outdoors, and divided into stalls - and full of stuff you really don’t need. Well, except for Scorpions Frozen In Resin Paperweights. Nothing says, “I am a Man Who Has Everything” like an amber coated resin arachnid. I own two, but I digress.
Shopping at the market can be broken down into categories: Movies and Software, Marble and Stone, Rugs and Pashmina, Jewellery and Watches, Trinkets and Antiques, and Weapons and Guns. Hm, welcome to Trivial Pursuit: the Afghan Edition. Instead of answering skill-testing questions you barter your way to pie.
Bartering, there is a learned skill. It is essentially the real fun behind the market experience, meaning to take away nothing from collecting keepsakes and touristy bits for family and friends. And the activity and novelty of just spending money, even boring American money, helps you feel normal again.
The script is the same, though the quality of broken English will vary:
Honest and Upfront Vendor - “Come sir, look watches (insert any merchandise here)”
Eager and Intrepid Shopper – “Oh no, just looking” Coy, slick smooth
Honest and Upfront Vendor – “No for you my fren’ I make good deal. Half price.”
Eager and Intrepid Shopper – “Oh I dunno” Aloof.
And then you stare at each other a bit, and feign indifference, even though you have to buy this marble tea set because your spouse in Canada has placed their order.
Eager and Intrepid Shopper – “How much?”
Now either the vendor say something three times what you’d pay or, retorts with “make an offer.” Which of course you do and it is taken as a playful insult. Then the great debate begins, and eventually ends with a handshake.
Definition of a bargain: a transaction in which both parties believe they have fleeced the other and got the better of a deal.
There are some popular purchases. Marble, particularly marble chess sets.
The (ahem) “New Release” movies are exceptionally popular. Sometimes there is little else to do than fire up the laptop and watch a movie still in theatres. Except buyer beware, you can’t tell the guy in front of you to put his head down, or tell the girl on the left to eat a little quieter.
For those who call KAF home we all look forward to Market Day, it is the highlight of the week. Starting late Friday with the “What are you looking for this week?” conversations, and punctuated with the Saturday evening, “Oh man you got a steal/ you got rooked!” conversations. Followed by a couple days of “strategy building”. It passes the time, and provides memories and stories.
Oh, and if it rains on a Friday the disappointment starts to spread. A nervous chatter begins wondering if the market will happen the following morning. Even insurgents get angry if there is a chance the Market will be cancelled, and show it by lobbing a couple of “warning shots” at us. Yep, the market is a big deal. And for you my friend, half price.
What HLTA tought me
Well I am back, and to be honest faithful reader it was not until I was on the long plane ride back that I started to consolidate my thoughts into what I could say to sum up my time home. I could mention how odd I felt, when I went to the drivers side of my minivan to get in as a passenger, to when we went to the mall and saw so many people, and men and women without weapons, and I did not have to barter a price for my produce, though I wished I could.
And yes, I was eager to get to come back to Afghanistan, to get back to this dangerous little sandbox. Don’t get me wrong I enjoyed my time home, immensely, and I put every effort into “being there” with my wife and my kids, my family and friends. But I knew when I went home that my time was not over, and bits of my job would travel with me lodged in my brain forcing me to think, create, solve, debate, and somehow deal with them. In no effort to delude myself I believe/ know that my wife knew this as well.
My time home made one thing become very clear. In all movies, except those crafted to not have closure, there is a climax. There is an ending, satisfactory or not. Sports provide the same thing- all sports. Our culture is dictated by pop culture events that have definite, and often times, immediate results. In NHL playoffs there are winners and losers, game-by-game, series by series. The quality of play and anticipation make the game-to-game series to series excitement something palpable. TV shows, even long running series often have single episodes that introduce ‘conflict’, show our antagonists and protagonists, their struggle and always - resolution.
My stay in Afghanistan, and that for many soldiers here will not have closure, a climax, or a satisfactory ending in the conventional sense of the word. This is no video game, sporting events, or episode of Friends. There will be no battle that signifies the defeat of the Taliban and insurgents, and results Afghan civilians dancing in the streets, and NATO soldiers returning home to ticker tape parades, and roll credits.
There will not be a final school or hospital opened in the next three months that will have the general Canadian public rejoicing that we have educated/ healed the masses of Afghanistan.
What I am saying is that we will return home to Canada making way for the next wave of soldiers. What will dictate that our job is done, and that we ‘won’? For many soldiers out in the sand sweating, fighting, and surviving the mere act of returning home, whole and alive may be enough of a climax. But for those of us in the relative safety of KAF this is less of a victory, still felt, but not on the same scale. We will return home, heroes all, but without that pop culture sense of victory. Is that why so many of us volunteer so easily to come back? To finish the job? Soldiers do not define success by adhering to a fabricated and often times irrational “Exit Strategy” but by mission completion, and mission success.
Perhaps we can take solace in the fact that for these six months we were at the top of our professional game, for all the strife and struggle we were at the top of the pyramid. For some this will be the culmination of more than a year of dedication to training and deployment here. For others this will be step two or step three in a revolving door of continuous assignments to Afghanistan. To some soldiers this will mark a fitting twilight on long careers, for others a bright and lucky start to a career. So maybe we aren’t bringing a gold medal home when we touch down on that tarmac, but the sense of accomplishment will be no less, and families will recognize the relieved but wistful looks in our eyes when we think about what’s next.
And yes, I was eager to get to come back to Afghanistan, to get back to this dangerous little sandbox. Don’t get me wrong I enjoyed my time home, immensely, and I put every effort into “being there” with my wife and my kids, my family and friends. But I knew when I went home that my time was not over, and bits of my job would travel with me lodged in my brain forcing me to think, create, solve, debate, and somehow deal with them. In no effort to delude myself I believe/ know that my wife knew this as well.
My time home made one thing become very clear. In all movies, except those crafted to not have closure, there is a climax. There is an ending, satisfactory or not. Sports provide the same thing- all sports. Our culture is dictated by pop culture events that have definite, and often times, immediate results. In NHL playoffs there are winners and losers, game-by-game, series by series. The quality of play and anticipation make the game-to-game series to series excitement something palpable. TV shows, even long running series often have single episodes that introduce ‘conflict’, show our antagonists and protagonists, their struggle and always - resolution.
My stay in Afghanistan, and that for many soldiers here will not have closure, a climax, or a satisfactory ending in the conventional sense of the word. This is no video game, sporting events, or episode of Friends. There will be no battle that signifies the defeat of the Taliban and insurgents, and results Afghan civilians dancing in the streets, and NATO soldiers returning home to ticker tape parades, and roll credits.
There will not be a final school or hospital opened in the next three months that will have the general Canadian public rejoicing that we have educated/ healed the masses of Afghanistan.
What I am saying is that we will return home to Canada making way for the next wave of soldiers. What will dictate that our job is done, and that we ‘won’? For many soldiers out in the sand sweating, fighting, and surviving the mere act of returning home, whole and alive may be enough of a climax. But for those of us in the relative safety of KAF this is less of a victory, still felt, but not on the same scale. We will return home, heroes all, but without that pop culture sense of victory. Is that why so many of us volunteer so easily to come back? To finish the job? Soldiers do not define success by adhering to a fabricated and often times irrational “Exit Strategy” but by mission completion, and mission success.
Perhaps we can take solace in the fact that for these six months we were at the top of our professional game, for all the strife and struggle we were at the top of the pyramid. For some this will be the culmination of more than a year of dedication to training and deployment here. For others this will be step two or step three in a revolving door of continuous assignments to Afghanistan. To some soldiers this will mark a fitting twilight on long careers, for others a bright and lucky start to a career. So maybe we aren’t bringing a gold medal home when we touch down on that tarmac, but the sense of accomplishment will be no less, and families will recognize the relieved but wistful looks in our eyes when we think about what’s next.
9.5.07
Sombre on Easter
It is amazing how ordinary days can turn extraordinary; for better, or for worse. In one simple radio transmission a slow Sunday turns into the worst nightmare of everyone; those in the field, those in the Command Post, and those at home.
It took a few minutes for the reality to set in, that this was no ordinary call for a Medevac helicopter. This was brutally serious. And as the situation would evolve and unfold there is a certain powerlessness that comes with being in a room listening to the radio.
In the aftermath, you can look back and realize that there are defining moments in every situation, and those moments generally revolve around leadership. This moment for me on that day is when 3 Priority E (VSA’s - Vital Signs Absent) turned to 6. There was a noticeable change in the atmosphere in the Command Post. In individual persons, this mood or reaction could be likened to the onset of panic, of doubt, of fear. In a collective perhaps it can be likened to confusion, or distraction, or genuine helplessness. No doubt sensing this 2nd Royal Canadian Regiment Battle Group’s Deputy Commanding Officer, Major Russell King, spoke softly yet strongly, and said simply, “You guys are doing a good job, see it through.” I believe calm and focus returned to everyone in that very moment.
As I made my way back to my room, just after midnight on Easter Sunday there were no glowing faces of the usual late night masses that normally burn up the wireless Internet, chatting and emailing home. Tonight would have been an exceptionally popular night under normal circumstances, but tonight there is no chatting, there is no Internet there is no phones. There are few people out an about. It is very quiet.
There were some of the normal clots and mobs of people hanging out, but they were all subdued, quiet, reflective- sombre.
Tonight on the tarmac, it was hot. There was no breeze even as the sun dropped behind the mountains. There was no respite. We all gathered to send our six comrades home. Emotion is raw, the sorrow is palpable. As we stand again shoulder-to-shoulder-to- shoulder we watch flag draped coffin, after flag draped coffin pass us by. Before, I once spoke of the feeling surging across you in a wave; this time it was wave after wave crashing against us. So relentless and strong is this feeling that I am almost completely numb, save for acknowledging the beads of sweat that course down my back, and the tremble in my arm as I salute my fallen comrades.
I find it funny, in that odd sense of funny, that my thoughts would turn more to those in Canada, than to my colleagues. Maybe this is a natural reaction. As saddened as I am to know that six of my comrades have fallen, I am equally horrified by the thought that someone’s mother, father, spouse, or child, ignorantly prepping the Easter meal, or waking to an Easter egg hunt, or preparing for a pilgrimage to church, have this become the worst Easter ever.
My thoughts turn to my own family then; my boy who is five, and my little girl who will turn 4 in just over a week. How do I teach them about grief, and mourning? How do I reassure them about daddy? As the bagpipe stops and fades away I think to myself I will have to teach them about duty, and compassion, and camaraderie, and loyalty.
In Canada my hope is that reaction and the inevitable tide of media frenzy does not just focus on the body count or raise the trite political questions of commitment. For it was not the decision of any political party that caused the death of these six brave soldiers; it was no faulty planning or consideration of our leadership that killed these Canadian sons. It was a wilful and deliberate act by our enemy; it was a cunning and catastrophic attack.
In its wake should not follow questions of our strategies or second-guessing our “need to be here”; what needs to follow is typical Canadian courage. The same courage and resolve we unconsciously expect from our other Canadian athletes, businessmen, farmers, labourers, citizens, and heroes. For do not forget the soldiers that make up this military are solidly built characters hand hewn from everyday Canadian values: grace, integrity, physical and moral courage, and loyalty.
My hope is that my fellow Canadians do not insult the shining memory of these six young men with political posturing, doubt, and insecurity. I am not talking about blind revenge, or mindless pursuit. I speak of grim yet determined resolve, which does make up the back bone on which our country is erected. The same character and determination we are trying to impart on the innocent civilians of this country.
In some ways I feel like an impostor, discussing and sharing grief that must be eclipsed by the feelings of the close friends and family of H Company, and I mean them no disrespect in doing so. I can do nothing more than relate emotion and events as I see them and experience them. Hopefully through my personal story, the only one I am qualified to tell, I can tell their story.
For all of us when all is said and done, we must remember that; “all gave some, some gave all.” So, in those dark moments to come my heart will stay with the six families equally, and for my fellow soldiers. And on Easter, it is unfortunate, but fitting, to acknowledge the ultimate sacrifice these six soldiers made for the betterment of all; Afghan and Canadian.
Stand Easy Gentlemen, Stand Easy.
It took a few minutes for the reality to set in, that this was no ordinary call for a Medevac helicopter. This was brutally serious. And as the situation would evolve and unfold there is a certain powerlessness that comes with being in a room listening to the radio.
In the aftermath, you can look back and realize that there are defining moments in every situation, and those moments generally revolve around leadership. This moment for me on that day is when 3 Priority E (VSA’s - Vital Signs Absent) turned to 6. There was a noticeable change in the atmosphere in the Command Post. In individual persons, this mood or reaction could be likened to the onset of panic, of doubt, of fear. In a collective perhaps it can be likened to confusion, or distraction, or genuine helplessness. No doubt sensing this 2nd Royal Canadian Regiment Battle Group’s Deputy Commanding Officer, Major Russell King, spoke softly yet strongly, and said simply, “You guys are doing a good job, see it through.” I believe calm and focus returned to everyone in that very moment.
As I made my way back to my room, just after midnight on Easter Sunday there were no glowing faces of the usual late night masses that normally burn up the wireless Internet, chatting and emailing home. Tonight would have been an exceptionally popular night under normal circumstances, but tonight there is no chatting, there is no Internet there is no phones. There are few people out an about. It is very quiet.
There were some of the normal clots and mobs of people hanging out, but they were all subdued, quiet, reflective- sombre.
Tonight on the tarmac, it was hot. There was no breeze even as the sun dropped behind the mountains. There was no respite. We all gathered to send our six comrades home. Emotion is raw, the sorrow is palpable. As we stand again shoulder-to-shoulder-to- shoulder we watch flag draped coffin, after flag draped coffin pass us by. Before, I once spoke of the feeling surging across you in a wave; this time it was wave after wave crashing against us. So relentless and strong is this feeling that I am almost completely numb, save for acknowledging the beads of sweat that course down my back, and the tremble in my arm as I salute my fallen comrades.
I find it funny, in that odd sense of funny, that my thoughts would turn more to those in Canada, than to my colleagues. Maybe this is a natural reaction. As saddened as I am to know that six of my comrades have fallen, I am equally horrified by the thought that someone’s mother, father, spouse, or child, ignorantly prepping the Easter meal, or waking to an Easter egg hunt, or preparing for a pilgrimage to church, have this become the worst Easter ever.
My thoughts turn to my own family then; my boy who is five, and my little girl who will turn 4 in just over a week. How do I teach them about grief, and mourning? How do I reassure them about daddy? As the bagpipe stops and fades away I think to myself I will have to teach them about duty, and compassion, and camaraderie, and loyalty.
In Canada my hope is that reaction and the inevitable tide of media frenzy does not just focus on the body count or raise the trite political questions of commitment. For it was not the decision of any political party that caused the death of these six brave soldiers; it was no faulty planning or consideration of our leadership that killed these Canadian sons. It was a wilful and deliberate act by our enemy; it was a cunning and catastrophic attack.
In its wake should not follow questions of our strategies or second-guessing our “need to be here”; what needs to follow is typical Canadian courage. The same courage and resolve we unconsciously expect from our other Canadian athletes, businessmen, farmers, labourers, citizens, and heroes. For do not forget the soldiers that make up this military are solidly built characters hand hewn from everyday Canadian values: grace, integrity, physical and moral courage, and loyalty.
My hope is that my fellow Canadians do not insult the shining memory of these six young men with political posturing, doubt, and insecurity. I am not talking about blind revenge, or mindless pursuit. I speak of grim yet determined resolve, which does make up the back bone on which our country is erected. The same character and determination we are trying to impart on the innocent civilians of this country.
In some ways I feel like an impostor, discussing and sharing grief that must be eclipsed by the feelings of the close friends and family of H Company, and I mean them no disrespect in doing so. I can do nothing more than relate emotion and events as I see them and experience them. Hopefully through my personal story, the only one I am qualified to tell, I can tell their story.
For all of us when all is said and done, we must remember that; “all gave some, some gave all.” So, in those dark moments to come my heart will stay with the six families equally, and for my fellow soldiers. And on Easter, it is unfortunate, but fitting, to acknowledge the ultimate sacrifice these six soldiers made for the betterment of all; Afghan and Canadian.
Stand Easy Gentlemen, Stand Easy.
8.4.07
Reassess Strategy?
I recently received a care package from my parents, inside was the best morale booster of all, my mom’s homemade fudge and Rockets…I love them candies! But inside the box was a Daily News Paper from 7 March. It was noticeable immediately because Cpl Kevin Megeney stood smiling out at me from the cover, with “We’re so very, very proud” as the major headline.
As I read through the paper I flipped through the Editorial section, then came across a letter by Mr. John van Gurp from Halifax. His letter was entitled “Reassess Strategy”. Mr van Gurp comes to his point immediately – “Through the government’s misguided military aggression, support for insurgency is the only option for many Afghans.” The article goes on to end with “Canada needs to adopt policies that will win trust and confidence in Afghanistan and must end U.S.-style blind aggression before the challenges become insurmountable.” Reading such comments dishearten me, as it is a shame to see the nobility of our action in Afghanistan be trivialized down to an assumed political puppetry assimilation, and poor leadership.
Before the Canadian’s and coalition military involvement there were two options for Afghans, brutal conformity or death. There is now a greater force than religious extremist tyranny in Afghanistan and it is in the form of well-guided and restrained military action. This has created a third option, hope and the development of trust.
I guarantee Mr. van Gurp and his compatriots that there are no better soldiers in this theatre at winning hearts and minds than Canadians. Our entire focus is centred on policies to support the initiatives and actions of a fledgling democratic government. There is no such concept as blind aggression with regards to our military action and to state so is an insult to each and every single soldier in this theatre. Extensive planning, and legal, political, economic, and tactical consideration guide every military action, regardless of size or objective.
The letter states after describing conditions in local hospitals, “This callous disregard for ordinary citizens, coupled with crushing poverty and growing resentment of coalition troops, is a perfect recruiting environment for Taliban forces.” Recently, a Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Device (VBIED) in Kandahar City struck a Canadian convoy; the vehicles they were in protected the Canadian soldiers. The children in the street were not protected, and the measures taken trying to save these children should make commentators like Mr van Gurp blush with shame. And if you still doubt, be aware that the death of these children was met with a universal and deep sadness, regret, and a hardened resolve to rid this country of the real enemy who would perform such despicable acts of selfishness.
Mr. Van Gurp wrote, “Canada needs to urgently reassess our strategy. We need ongoing humanitarian aid, economic development and the establishment of functioning health-care and education systems to win the hearts and minds of ordinary citizens.” These two sentences are in direct opposition to one another, because that is our strategy. However, this development, and campaign of hearts and minds is not an immediately quantifiable goal. It does take time to build something from nothing. As we work diligently to provide a sense of normalcy to the country, we cannot compare the end result immediately to Western standards that just is not fair to all parties involved, and will set an unrealistic goal in the short-term.
The one thing seemingly forgotten is that there is a cunning, and insidious enemy in this country (who do come from other countries as Afghanistan is the front line for Islamic extremists) who has no regard for human life whatsoever; an aggressive enemy that will use children as a leverage and shield. They use brutal methods of intimidation and coercion that requires incredible bravery from citizens just to live with, let alone rebel against.
As our brave young soldiers go out into the countryside to declare our presence, be face-to-face with community and religious leaders, building and forging trust through dogged determination and consistency there is a looming darkness in every single moment. In an instant that smiling man can wield an axe or detonate himself or his vehicle in an effort to kill, maim, and destroy; in an effort to kill civilians, children, soldiers, leaders, and to destroy the Canadian public’s resolve and faith in its soldiers and their leadership.
When I read letters such as Mr. Van Gurp’s I liken it to being in a car with teenagers. You may be on a long car trip to somewhere nice and beautiful; a veritable paradise, imagine you decide to drive to Disney World from Halifax NS. It is a long trip with many ways to get there, and you don’t have everything you need when you left, and having to make some of it up as you go.
Then from the backseat you hear “I’m bored.” - “are we there yet?” And as the trip continues maybe through some rough patches you hear “This is stupid” - “You went the wrong way” distracting you from driving. Everyone wants to be there right now with absolutely no regard or concern for how long it takes to get there. These are great kids, these teenagers; the people you live for and do everything for but as smart as they are they may not totally understand the world around them.
This is a one-way trip; there is no going back. We have set a journey in motion that must be carried out. This military action in support of a democratically elected government that needs us and wants us is historic and monumental. We as Canadians and as a coalition are in the midst of changes that will define an entire generation of Afghans, and Canadians. The success and strength of our country was created over hundreds of years with no real enemy seeking to undermine our forward progression, I do not comprehend how we build Afghanistan into something similar in twelve months.
Bottom line in simple terms, the Canadians in this country are your brothers, sisters, mothers and daughters and of course your sons and fathers; some of them are diplomats, humanitarians, social workers and leaders. Although this mission requires a “Team Canada” approach, we wear one uniform, we are soldiers, and there is an enemy standing in the way, and sometimes the best way to win the hearts and minds of the local population is to eliminate this enemy, permanently. We are committed to achieving the measurable goals of the “Afghanistan Compact” to accelerate development, increasing security, tackling the drug trade and strengthening governance by identifying three critical and interdependent “pillars” of activity: security; governance, the rule of law and human rights; and economic and social development.
In closing I would like to assure Mr. Van Gurp and those who share his concerns that we are here to achieve your goals—Canada’s goals. With diligence, dedication, and understanding we will achieve our aims, we will reach our destination.
For reference, the original Letter to the Editor which appeared in the 7 March 07 Halifax Daily News has been included in this post.
Reassess strategy
To the editor:
Last week we learned of yet another innocent Afghan killed by Canadian
soldiers. Through the government’s misguided military aggression, support for
insurgency is the only option for many Afghans. Each incident results in a
further erosion of the reputation of coalition forces and an increase in the
strength of the Taliban.
Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s approach, through trigger-happy Gen. Rick
Hillier, ignores all the lessons learned in regional counter-insurgency
experiences.
Afghanistan is rapidly becoming the main recruitment centre for Taliban
fighters. Canada’s approach is making already impoverished Afghans feel
alienated and hostile toward the international community.
According to the Senlis Council’s recent report, NATO makes no effort to
provide health care to civilians, and the main hospitals in Kandahar and Helmand
provinces remain “dilapidated, barren and filthy,” and lack “basic war zone
trauma treatment, medical diagnostic equipment, medicines, oxygen and trained
staff.”
This callous disregard for ordinary citizens, coupled with crushing poverty
and growing resentment of coalition troops, is a perfect recruiting environment
for Taliban forces. Canada needs to urgently reassess our strategy. We need
ongoing humanitarian aid, economic development and the establishment of
functioning health-care and education systems to win the hearts and minds of
ordinary citizens.
Canada needs to adopt policies that will win trust and confidence in
Afghanistan and must end U.S.-style blind aggression before the challenges
become insurmountable.
John van Gurp
Halifax
As I read through the paper I flipped through the Editorial section, then came across a letter by Mr. John van Gurp from Halifax. His letter was entitled “Reassess Strategy”. Mr van Gurp comes to his point immediately – “Through the government’s misguided military aggression, support for insurgency is the only option for many Afghans.” The article goes on to end with “Canada needs to adopt policies that will win trust and confidence in Afghanistan and must end U.S.-style blind aggression before the challenges become insurmountable.” Reading such comments dishearten me, as it is a shame to see the nobility of our action in Afghanistan be trivialized down to an assumed political puppetry assimilation, and poor leadership.
Before the Canadian’s and coalition military involvement there were two options for Afghans, brutal conformity or death. There is now a greater force than religious extremist tyranny in Afghanistan and it is in the form of well-guided and restrained military action. This has created a third option, hope and the development of trust.
I guarantee Mr. van Gurp and his compatriots that there are no better soldiers in this theatre at winning hearts and minds than Canadians. Our entire focus is centred on policies to support the initiatives and actions of a fledgling democratic government. There is no such concept as blind aggression with regards to our military action and to state so is an insult to each and every single soldier in this theatre. Extensive planning, and legal, political, economic, and tactical consideration guide every military action, regardless of size or objective.
The letter states after describing conditions in local hospitals, “This callous disregard for ordinary citizens, coupled with crushing poverty and growing resentment of coalition troops, is a perfect recruiting environment for Taliban forces.” Recently, a Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Device (VBIED) in Kandahar City struck a Canadian convoy; the vehicles they were in protected the Canadian soldiers. The children in the street were not protected, and the measures taken trying to save these children should make commentators like Mr van Gurp blush with shame. And if you still doubt, be aware that the death of these children was met with a universal and deep sadness, regret, and a hardened resolve to rid this country of the real enemy who would perform such despicable acts of selfishness.
Mr. Van Gurp wrote, “Canada needs to urgently reassess our strategy. We need ongoing humanitarian aid, economic development and the establishment of functioning health-care and education systems to win the hearts and minds of ordinary citizens.” These two sentences are in direct opposition to one another, because that is our strategy. However, this development, and campaign of hearts and minds is not an immediately quantifiable goal. It does take time to build something from nothing. As we work diligently to provide a sense of normalcy to the country, we cannot compare the end result immediately to Western standards that just is not fair to all parties involved, and will set an unrealistic goal in the short-term.
The one thing seemingly forgotten is that there is a cunning, and insidious enemy in this country (who do come from other countries as Afghanistan is the front line for Islamic extremists) who has no regard for human life whatsoever; an aggressive enemy that will use children as a leverage and shield. They use brutal methods of intimidation and coercion that requires incredible bravery from citizens just to live with, let alone rebel against.
As our brave young soldiers go out into the countryside to declare our presence, be face-to-face with community and religious leaders, building and forging trust through dogged determination and consistency there is a looming darkness in every single moment. In an instant that smiling man can wield an axe or detonate himself or his vehicle in an effort to kill, maim, and destroy; in an effort to kill civilians, children, soldiers, leaders, and to destroy the Canadian public’s resolve and faith in its soldiers and their leadership.
When I read letters such as Mr. Van Gurp’s I liken it to being in a car with teenagers. You may be on a long car trip to somewhere nice and beautiful; a veritable paradise, imagine you decide to drive to Disney World from Halifax NS. It is a long trip with many ways to get there, and you don’t have everything you need when you left, and having to make some of it up as you go.
Then from the backseat you hear “I’m bored.” - “are we there yet?” And as the trip continues maybe through some rough patches you hear “This is stupid” - “You went the wrong way” distracting you from driving. Everyone wants to be there right now with absolutely no regard or concern for how long it takes to get there. These are great kids, these teenagers; the people you live for and do everything for but as smart as they are they may not totally understand the world around them.
This is a one-way trip; there is no going back. We have set a journey in motion that must be carried out. This military action in support of a democratically elected government that needs us and wants us is historic and monumental. We as Canadians and as a coalition are in the midst of changes that will define an entire generation of Afghans, and Canadians. The success and strength of our country was created over hundreds of years with no real enemy seeking to undermine our forward progression, I do not comprehend how we build Afghanistan into something similar in twelve months.
Bottom line in simple terms, the Canadians in this country are your brothers, sisters, mothers and daughters and of course your sons and fathers; some of them are diplomats, humanitarians, social workers and leaders. Although this mission requires a “Team Canada” approach, we wear one uniform, we are soldiers, and there is an enemy standing in the way, and sometimes the best way to win the hearts and minds of the local population is to eliminate this enemy, permanently. We are committed to achieving the measurable goals of the “Afghanistan Compact” to accelerate development, increasing security, tackling the drug trade and strengthening governance by identifying three critical and interdependent “pillars” of activity: security; governance, the rule of law and human rights; and economic and social development.
In closing I would like to assure Mr. Van Gurp and those who share his concerns that we are here to achieve your goals—Canada’s goals. With diligence, dedication, and understanding we will achieve our aims, we will reach our destination.
For reference, the original Letter to the Editor which appeared in the 7 March 07 Halifax Daily News has been included in this post.
Reassess strategy
To the editor:
Last week we learned of yet another innocent Afghan killed by Canadian
soldiers. Through the government’s misguided military aggression, support for
insurgency is the only option for many Afghans. Each incident results in a
further erosion of the reputation of coalition forces and an increase in the
strength of the Taliban.
Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s approach, through trigger-happy Gen. Rick
Hillier, ignores all the lessons learned in regional counter-insurgency
experiences.
Afghanistan is rapidly becoming the main recruitment centre for Taliban
fighters. Canada’s approach is making already impoverished Afghans feel
alienated and hostile toward the international community.
According to the Senlis Council’s recent report, NATO makes no effort to
provide health care to civilians, and the main hospitals in Kandahar and Helmand
provinces remain “dilapidated, barren and filthy,” and lack “basic war zone
trauma treatment, medical diagnostic equipment, medicines, oxygen and trained
staff.”
This callous disregard for ordinary citizens, coupled with crushing poverty
and growing resentment of coalition troops, is a perfect recruiting environment
for Taliban forces. Canada needs to urgently reassess our strategy. We need
ongoing humanitarian aid, economic development and the establishment of
functioning health-care and education systems to win the hearts and minds of
ordinary citizens.
Canada needs to adopt policies that will win trust and confidence in
Afghanistan and must end U.S.-style blind aggression before the challenges
become insurmountable.
John van Gurp
Halifax
23.3.07
Haircuts
I try to appreciate the ironies of life, to see them - recognize them, and either love them or hate them. Or so I tell myself.
Everything about living, working, and existing in this place called KAF is a Stephen King step away from being normal. There is a sense of replication here, a sense that this base is simply trying to emulate life from “back home”. This is obviously shaded, hmm - tinted by the many nationalities that are here. Therefore creating a true feeling that I am almost 100% positive exists nowhere else on earth. And if you dwelled on it for any length of time you would likely feel very isolated, or at least as if suffering from an odd sense of vertigo.
This –emulation – (like buying XBOSS games at the market) of course applies to how different countries, approach recreation, and how different countries HA! even how different companies from the same countries army do business on the battlefield. It affects absolutely everything; even down to the most mundane functions. Like getting your haircut.
For some a haircut is an important thing, an important ritual that can define how people perceive themselves and carry themselves. Most people I know have a dedicated person they go to; a person they seem to seek out when first moving somewhere. And will only avoid going to under the threat of severe bodily harm. They build up a trust, a bond, an unspoken agreement. My father has got his haircut in the same place for the last twenty-five years. I can guarantee their conversations have changed slightly, but their relationship hasn’t, I know my dads hairstyle hasn’t.
I have taken after my father in many ways, some frighteningly so. But I agree on finding a consistent and reliable barber or hairstylist to cut my hair, and heaven knows my hairstyle can change little. Even so there is a certain way I like to have my haircut, and if it fails to happen I feel odd and out of place, catching grimacing looks from myself in reflective surfaces. This lasts until I go get it fixed, or I forget about it. In the end, I’m not that vain.
So, under those conditions imagine walking into a small little American trailer the size of a camper, in the middle of Kandahar Airfield to have your haircut by two Russian women who have no grasp of the English language.
I know I will stereotyping horribly in the next couple lines, but not just in retrospect. It was clear these women were of some Russian decent in appearance, one looked remarkably like a woman I had seen in a Vodka commercial, though not dressed in a bikini, and she was not enjoying herself on a glacier with a Smirnoff Ice. Anyway it could have been as simple an observation as to notice the tattered Russian / English dictionary and phrase book on the counter.
While waiting I felt a curious dropping in my stomach as I looked at the faded and yellowed haircut selection pictures, ones that Judge Reinhold would have sported at least a decade ago. I said to myself, “Self,” I said, “this is going to go badly.” Then I got the gruff nod - great my turn. It would look weird to run away now.
So after a complicated series of hand gestures, saying “One” in three different languages, none of which was Russian mind you, and making exaggerated scissor motions did I get the message across to the woman from the Vodka commercial. Who then tossed the robe across me and regarded me with a look of sympathy reserved for the village idiot.
At one point during the haircut the woman started a very animated, and completely incomprehensibly soliloquy that had me curiously alarmed as she was looking directly at me in the mirror. I was beginning to formulate my plan of just saying “Da!” as that would be easier than getting the fact across that I did not have my secret decoder ring on. But much to my relief the woman cutting my Warrant’s hair responded with a low mumble. They both nodded. Hunh? Wonder what that was about.
Anyway about eight minutes later I walked out, fortunately not looking like a shaved poodle, and passed by the tall lanky nervous looking Aussie on his way in. As I left I seriously contemplated taking my own picture of that moment - to take back with me the next time. So I could point and say, “Do this again.”
The next time you go to get your hair cut, or styled by your regular barber or whomever, appreciate that moment. And tip them well.
As we drove back to work, my Warrant and I, in the Toyota Surf with right side drive he looked at me and said without a hint of jocularity, “You know…their fathers probably served here once.”
Hm, talk about perspective. Ha, talk about irony.
Everything about living, working, and existing in this place called KAF is a Stephen King step away from being normal. There is a sense of replication here, a sense that this base is simply trying to emulate life from “back home”. This is obviously shaded, hmm - tinted by the many nationalities that are here. Therefore creating a true feeling that I am almost 100% positive exists nowhere else on earth. And if you dwelled on it for any length of time you would likely feel very isolated, or at least as if suffering from an odd sense of vertigo.
This –emulation – (like buying XBOSS games at the market) of course applies to how different countries, approach recreation, and how different countries HA! even how different companies from the same countries army do business on the battlefield. It affects absolutely everything; even down to the most mundane functions. Like getting your haircut.
For some a haircut is an important thing, an important ritual that can define how people perceive themselves and carry themselves. Most people I know have a dedicated person they go to; a person they seem to seek out when first moving somewhere. And will only avoid going to under the threat of severe bodily harm. They build up a trust, a bond, an unspoken agreement. My father has got his haircut in the same place for the last twenty-five years. I can guarantee their conversations have changed slightly, but their relationship hasn’t, I know my dads hairstyle hasn’t.
I have taken after my father in many ways, some frighteningly so. But I agree on finding a consistent and reliable barber or hairstylist to cut my hair, and heaven knows my hairstyle can change little. Even so there is a certain way I like to have my haircut, and if it fails to happen I feel odd and out of place, catching grimacing looks from myself in reflective surfaces. This lasts until I go get it fixed, or I forget about it. In the end, I’m not that vain.
So, under those conditions imagine walking into a small little American trailer the size of a camper, in the middle of Kandahar Airfield to have your haircut by two Russian women who have no grasp of the English language.
I know I will stereotyping horribly in the next couple lines, but not just in retrospect. It was clear these women were of some Russian decent in appearance, one looked remarkably like a woman I had seen in a Vodka commercial, though not dressed in a bikini, and she was not enjoying herself on a glacier with a Smirnoff Ice. Anyway it could have been as simple an observation as to notice the tattered Russian / English dictionary and phrase book on the counter.
While waiting I felt a curious dropping in my stomach as I looked at the faded and yellowed haircut selection pictures, ones that Judge Reinhold would have sported at least a decade ago. I said to myself, “Self,” I said, “this is going to go badly.” Then I got the gruff nod - great my turn. It would look weird to run away now.
So after a complicated series of hand gestures, saying “One” in three different languages, none of which was Russian mind you, and making exaggerated scissor motions did I get the message across to the woman from the Vodka commercial. Who then tossed the robe across me and regarded me with a look of sympathy reserved for the village idiot.
At one point during the haircut the woman started a very animated, and completely incomprehensibly soliloquy that had me curiously alarmed as she was looking directly at me in the mirror. I was beginning to formulate my plan of just saying “Da!” as that would be easier than getting the fact across that I did not have my secret decoder ring on. But much to my relief the woman cutting my Warrant’s hair responded with a low mumble. They both nodded. Hunh? Wonder what that was about.
Anyway about eight minutes later I walked out, fortunately not looking like a shaved poodle, and passed by the tall lanky nervous looking Aussie on his way in. As I left I seriously contemplated taking my own picture of that moment - to take back with me the next time. So I could point and say, “Do this again.”
The next time you go to get your hair cut, or styled by your regular barber or whomever, appreciate that moment. And tip them well.
As we drove back to work, my Warrant and I, in the Toyota Surf with right side drive he looked at me and said without a hint of jocularity, “You know…their fathers probably served here once.”
Hm, talk about perspective. Ha, talk about irony.
Care Packages
The life of a soldier, though surrounded by the comrades you hope you don’t have to die for can be a lonely, lonely existence. No matter who we are we have left someone behind – a mother, father, wife, husband, girlfriend, boyfriend, children. There is a feeling like time is on hold here, at least for me, and that when I go home it will still be the Monday I left, maybe a few hours later. But time is an evil trickster and often it can also seem that it is double timing it through the deployment. Young children mature and go to college and marry. I sometimes feel that I am going to go home and see my grandkids.
One way to stay connected is via email and phone, but they lack the decided capability to fill your day with an actual physical presence from home. So frankly to me the best thing in the world is the care package. I have read many letters so far that are signed: To any Canadian Soldier, and you would not believe the impact on morale they have. For some person 4 to 94 to take the time to write us a letter to say thank you even for something that they may not completely understand is all the thanks I need. That and a Timmies coupon…
But when those packages arrive from friends and family the day takes on a whole new colour. You feel like, “wow they remembered me”; it feels like Christmas. Each package is met with excitement and anticipation, both from the receiver, and the ton of guys hanging around to see “wutcha got?”
And you end up surrounded it is inevitable. The joy of a care package is to be shared with your buddies. We gather to see who got what candy, or to see who got the latest Maxim or Stuff magazine, you know the ones chock full of hard hitting journalistic debates on the transient natures of conservative civil libertarianism, haha who am I kidding, it may be sad but true but seeing Jessica Alba in a skirt the size of a paper napkin can be the second best little bit of morale that a loved one can send. In the end there is nothing better than passing around a scented envelope, full of love and promise, which screams “REMEMBER ME? THIS IS WHAT I SMELL LIKE, REMEMBER?” I am being a bit facetious but ladies, women, darlings, we do remember, and we miss you, but we will tease the life out of each other regardless. And for clarity sake the contents always remain personal, and cherished. I recognize, as well, that I am writing this from a decidedly male point of view. But go with what you know, I really only know one female soldier well enough to comment, and she sent herself sweaters.
I had been waiting knowing I was going to receive something and then came a day that I got two packages, much to my surprise…as I opened my ‘gifts’ with excitement to find a Calculus text book in one envelope chock full of Timmies coupons, and also a package full of tea, candy and Tuna Filets. One of my soldiers looked at me with dead earnestness and said, “Calculus and Tuna? I don’t think you’re friends like you so much.”
True, I’m not a Tuna fan, but the remainder of candies and goodies, and teas was enough to completely fill my day. And seeing both things sitting on the desk was enough to make me feel like I was not that far from home. Then I chuckled and offered out the tuna.
So the tuna made someone else happy, and when I get tired of trying to understand the complexities of complex military and humanitarian operations in a sun blasted, war torn post repression state I will turn to calculus. Those of you who know my skills in math will know that I will quickly turn back to Islamic radicalism and think it a much easier set of quadratic derivatives to solve.
One way to stay connected is via email and phone, but they lack the decided capability to fill your day with an actual physical presence from home. So frankly to me the best thing in the world is the care package. I have read many letters so far that are signed: To any Canadian Soldier, and you would not believe the impact on morale they have. For some person 4 to 94 to take the time to write us a letter to say thank you even for something that they may not completely understand is all the thanks I need. That and a Timmies coupon…
But when those packages arrive from friends and family the day takes on a whole new colour. You feel like, “wow they remembered me”; it feels like Christmas. Each package is met with excitement and anticipation, both from the receiver, and the ton of guys hanging around to see “wutcha got?”
And you end up surrounded it is inevitable. The joy of a care package is to be shared with your buddies. We gather to see who got what candy, or to see who got the latest Maxim or Stuff magazine, you know the ones chock full of hard hitting journalistic debates on the transient natures of conservative civil libertarianism, haha who am I kidding, it may be sad but true but seeing Jessica Alba in a skirt the size of a paper napkin can be the second best little bit of morale that a loved one can send. In the end there is nothing better than passing around a scented envelope, full of love and promise, which screams “REMEMBER ME? THIS IS WHAT I SMELL LIKE, REMEMBER?” I am being a bit facetious but ladies, women, darlings, we do remember, and we miss you, but we will tease the life out of each other regardless. And for clarity sake the contents always remain personal, and cherished. I recognize, as well, that I am writing this from a decidedly male point of view. But go with what you know, I really only know one female soldier well enough to comment, and she sent herself sweaters.
I had been waiting knowing I was going to receive something and then came a day that I got two packages, much to my surprise…as I opened my ‘gifts’ with excitement to find a Calculus text book in one envelope chock full of Timmies coupons, and also a package full of tea, candy and Tuna Filets. One of my soldiers looked at me with dead earnestness and said, “Calculus and Tuna? I don’t think you’re friends like you so much.”
True, I’m not a Tuna fan, but the remainder of candies and goodies, and teas was enough to completely fill my day. And seeing both things sitting on the desk was enough to make me feel like I was not that far from home. Then I chuckled and offered out the tuna.
So the tuna made someone else happy, and when I get tired of trying to understand the complexities of complex military and humanitarian operations in a sun blasted, war torn post repression state I will turn to calculus. Those of you who know my skills in math will know that I will quickly turn back to Islamic radicalism and think it a much easier set of quadratic derivatives to solve.
8.3.07
Fallen
A deployment to Afghanistan for myself has been one of many firsts. This past week saw one I had hoped to never experience. It was my first ramp ceremony. All available Canadians- soldiers, and civilian collected at the airfield. There was conversation and light banter, and an avoidance to discuss the reason we all gathered.
The sun had set a while ago but it was still warm, relatively so. There was a continuous breeze blowing, and if you believe in such things it could have easily been taken as prophetic. We gathered and formed with a bit more purpose than I’ve usually seen of large groups of soldiers gathering, there was little complaining, little noise.
Things progressed quickly and soon we found ourselves on the march to take our positions. We made the solemn, and quiet march through the hazy darkness. The only sound was the mild and continuous wind in my ears, and the muffled staccato of hundreds of combat boots on the tarmac. We marched from the weak light of the hanger through the darkness towards the looming brightly lit beacon that was the Hercules waiting.
As we Canadians formed, tightly packed, shoulder-to-shoulder-to-shoulder three deep in a long line, we formed a corridor that would act as the final Kandahar road for a fallen comrade. As we shuffled into position, quietly, reverently I heard something that surprised me; though it shouldn’t have. Row after row of soldiers from other countries, marines, Brits, Aussies, Dutch all formed row after row behind us.
I was positioned in the front rank about 30 feet from the yawning open end of the Herc. We waited for what seemed an eternity, lined at attention. The precision, formality, and ambiance reminded me of ancient Viking tributes, or final tributes to fighting Kings. It made me think in that moment, that it is only in death we soldiers, we average Canadian men and women are Kings and Queens, if only to our peers.
Then there was a whine from a microphone, as it itself caught the wind. The Padres spoke their lines, and they were no longer the trivial platitudes of Remembrance Day of yesteryear. The words reverberated, and stuck. They were quick, efficient, and articulate.
The emotion was thick and palpable. And then the command sang out. “Task Force Afghanistan to your Fallen Comrade salute.”
I have always been moved by the haunting skirl of the bagpipes, but hearing it here, under these circumstances was like an emotional punch in the gut. I think we all stood there steeling ourselves, but still the weight of it hits you like a tidal wave. It was a slow moving tsunami that started at the far end of the lines, and then progressed as the slow cadence brought another Nova Scotian son his last 500 meters across Kandahar Airfield.
The procession was slow, as if purposely driving the point home, building and building. I watched the Padres, then the coffin itself pass in front of me, so close that I could have reached out and touched it. Then world was then like a kaleidoscope, colour and light blurry and refracted. The wave passed me by then, and I hitched in a deep breath. A few minutes later there were the muffled footsteps inside the belly of the aircraft.
I watched the faces of those across from me. Many of which I knew were like me, and did not know Cpl Megeny. But he was Canadian, he was young, and he may only be the first of our rotation. So, there etched on many face were grim looks, made even more fierce in the weird shadows cast by the spotlights, and there were the telltale glistening sparkles of tears in eyes and cheeks.
You haven’t seen anything until you have seen soldiers cry. I hope I never see it again.
The sun had set a while ago but it was still warm, relatively so. There was a continuous breeze blowing, and if you believe in such things it could have easily been taken as prophetic. We gathered and formed with a bit more purpose than I’ve usually seen of large groups of soldiers gathering, there was little complaining, little noise.
Things progressed quickly and soon we found ourselves on the march to take our positions. We made the solemn, and quiet march through the hazy darkness. The only sound was the mild and continuous wind in my ears, and the muffled staccato of hundreds of combat boots on the tarmac. We marched from the weak light of the hanger through the darkness towards the looming brightly lit beacon that was the Hercules waiting.
As we Canadians formed, tightly packed, shoulder-to-shoulder-to-shoulder three deep in a long line, we formed a corridor that would act as the final Kandahar road for a fallen comrade. As we shuffled into position, quietly, reverently I heard something that surprised me; though it shouldn’t have. Row after row of soldiers from other countries, marines, Brits, Aussies, Dutch all formed row after row behind us.
I was positioned in the front rank about 30 feet from the yawning open end of the Herc. We waited for what seemed an eternity, lined at attention. The precision, formality, and ambiance reminded me of ancient Viking tributes, or final tributes to fighting Kings. It made me think in that moment, that it is only in death we soldiers, we average Canadian men and women are Kings and Queens, if only to our peers.
Then there was a whine from a microphone, as it itself caught the wind. The Padres spoke their lines, and they were no longer the trivial platitudes of Remembrance Day of yesteryear. The words reverberated, and stuck. They were quick, efficient, and articulate.
The emotion was thick and palpable. And then the command sang out. “Task Force Afghanistan to your Fallen Comrade salute.”
I have always been moved by the haunting skirl of the bagpipes, but hearing it here, under these circumstances was like an emotional punch in the gut. I think we all stood there steeling ourselves, but still the weight of it hits you like a tidal wave. It was a slow moving tsunami that started at the far end of the lines, and then progressed as the slow cadence brought another Nova Scotian son his last 500 meters across Kandahar Airfield.
The procession was slow, as if purposely driving the point home, building and building. I watched the Padres, then the coffin itself pass in front of me, so close that I could have reached out and touched it. Then world was then like a kaleidoscope, colour and light blurry and refracted. The wave passed me by then, and I hitched in a deep breath. A few minutes later there were the muffled footsteps inside the belly of the aircraft.
I watched the faces of those across from me. Many of which I knew were like me, and did not know Cpl Megeny. But he was Canadian, he was young, and he may only be the first of our rotation. So, there etched on many face were grim looks, made even more fierce in the weird shadows cast by the spotlights, and there were the telltale glistening sparkles of tears in eyes and cheeks.
You haven’t seen anything until you have seen soldiers cry. I hope I never see it again.
5.3.07
"Its hard to fathom" - a run report from KAF
It is hard to fathom, at 0430 with a gentle but steady rain falling, that this land could be a harsh daunting desert. But several days ago I had the opportunity to experience at least a glimpse at the possibility of such a thing.
I had seen the signs around, advertising the “KAF Jogging Route” (knowing full well that the use of the word jogging would send some of my RunningManiac friends into cardiac arrest, or at least begin again a spirited debate on semantics). Feeling particularly keen and able one day I armed myself with a 500ml bottle of weak Gatorade and started on an epic journey.
The ground here is often hard, concrete-like packed dirt, often littered with golf ball sized rocks that pester and annoy, and threaten to turn your ankle and leave you a hobbling victim at any time. This phenomenon is not exclusive to sneakers, as even in my combat boots I have felt the awkward and biting turn of an ankle. The ground in places is also a thick spongy mud, remnants of previous rains that evaporated before they were absorbed into the impervious soil. And after a few days when covered in dust can spring up on you like the terrible sinking pits reminiscent of the quicksand in the Princess Bride. After a few steps through this it collects on your boots or sneakers, weighing them down. Then you run across gravel and you end up with a weird gravel encrusted coral on your sneakers (or boots).
But for running, at least for the somewhat lazy runner like myself, the terrain is billiard table flat. Though running at about 3000ft above sea level, you run a smooth eerily flat course.
The running route almost immediately takes me parallel to the airstrip, and for any kid who has ever grown up and dreamt of Top Gun you feel a surge of adrenaline that takes you back. I stretch my legs out here, picking up the pace bit. Feeling the breeze. I pass people from other nations who smile and nod, like serious runners do. Ha-ha.
Then I round the far corner of the airfield, and come face-to-face with the mountains I have seen through cloudy hazes, dusty hazes and sunny hazes. Now seemingly close enough to touch the late afternoon sun shines like a spotlight on them. You cannot help but immediately get the sense of something great and terrible as you look towards the naked mountains. They are daunting rocky crags, reminiscent of a Tolkien yarn. They signify the rigid backbone of this nation. And they are beautiful. You cannot help but thinking “Hm, that is where they launch the rockets from.” And you cannot help but hate the mountains then.
From my vantage points around the airfield you see the true level of constant activity packed into this patch of dirt. This activity is an enormous plethora of air assets, some which threaten to shake my teeth loose from their very spot. As well, there is an enormous amount of construction activity, with workers of seemingly many nations, being supplied by continuous road convoys.
A word about the vehicles in these convoys. The term often used to define these vehicles is “Jingle Trucks” for they are often gaily painted and have some manner of chains adorning them so as they move they well, jingle. You get a feeling of a sense of pride from many of these drivers, who race along at 10 miles an hour and with big smiles. Many times either walking the base, or on this run (that I am trying to get around to describe) I was met with many smiles and waves. But these vehicles are rusted, old, and battered in many cases; however, they have been looked after to the point that they are at least serviceable.
But I digress.
This running route sometimes shows me the roads within the vicinity of the base, and these roads are a curious mix of some civilian vehicles as well as military vehicles coming and going. I run past the uncharted minefields that surround us. I watch convoys of military vehicles drive on doing their duty, or returning from. I know that this is a war zone, and with no levity I state that still with the amount of activity and varying levels of technology evident in this base I feel like I am in a weird dream that is a mixture of the computer games SIMCity and Civilization.
As I continue around nearing the end of my journey I realize then that the base is completely surrounded by this jagged mane of mountains, and with heat blazing off the small section of “blacktop” I feel as though I am running a route around the inside of and electric griddle. I get back to my room after about 11km, and about 75 minutes. I am covered in a pasty dust muck that coats my skin like some expensive ex-foliant. My shirt and shorts are drenched, yet dusty. My throat is a little raw from dust. But I feel good and exhilarated.
By the time I have finished and am back in my small room, I have a full understanding of the weird paradox this place truly is. In one (relatively speaking) small patch of mine riddled, sun blasted earth the most powerful nations on the planet have sent maybe not all their brightest, not all their best, maybe not even their bravest, but possibly the most dedicated, to a place that is as dangerous as any that exist currently on the globe. These soldiers do not share a religion; do not share a language with the proud innocent civilians of this country. But they share a fundamental humanity, a oneness, and to belittle that to the point of calling it political puppetry or a lost cause or ‘unwinnable’ is to do both sides a disservice. These dedicated, and brave few, (again relatively speaking) have gathered to offer something to this large dirt-poor country. That thing is hope.
I say these things with no arrogance, or expectation of praise for my job is safely within the wire, and I look up to my peers with awe, as well, from here. All I did was go for a run.
I had seen the signs around, advertising the “KAF Jogging Route” (knowing full well that the use of the word jogging would send some of my RunningManiac friends into cardiac arrest, or at least begin again a spirited debate on semantics). Feeling particularly keen and able one day I armed myself with a 500ml bottle of weak Gatorade and started on an epic journey.
The ground here is often hard, concrete-like packed dirt, often littered with golf ball sized rocks that pester and annoy, and threaten to turn your ankle and leave you a hobbling victim at any time. This phenomenon is not exclusive to sneakers, as even in my combat boots I have felt the awkward and biting turn of an ankle. The ground in places is also a thick spongy mud, remnants of previous rains that evaporated before they were absorbed into the impervious soil. And after a few days when covered in dust can spring up on you like the terrible sinking pits reminiscent of the quicksand in the Princess Bride. After a few steps through this it collects on your boots or sneakers, weighing them down. Then you run across gravel and you end up with a weird gravel encrusted coral on your sneakers (or boots).
But for running, at least for the somewhat lazy runner like myself, the terrain is billiard table flat. Though running at about 3000ft above sea level, you run a smooth eerily flat course.
The running route almost immediately takes me parallel to the airstrip, and for any kid who has ever grown up and dreamt of Top Gun you feel a surge of adrenaline that takes you back. I stretch my legs out here, picking up the pace bit. Feeling the breeze. I pass people from other nations who smile and nod, like serious runners do. Ha-ha.
Then I round the far corner of the airfield, and come face-to-face with the mountains I have seen through cloudy hazes, dusty hazes and sunny hazes. Now seemingly close enough to touch the late afternoon sun shines like a spotlight on them. You cannot help but immediately get the sense of something great and terrible as you look towards the naked mountains. They are daunting rocky crags, reminiscent of a Tolkien yarn. They signify the rigid backbone of this nation. And they are beautiful. You cannot help but thinking “Hm, that is where they launch the rockets from.” And you cannot help but hate the mountains then.
From my vantage points around the airfield you see the true level of constant activity packed into this patch of dirt. This activity is an enormous plethora of air assets, some which threaten to shake my teeth loose from their very spot. As well, there is an enormous amount of construction activity, with workers of seemingly many nations, being supplied by continuous road convoys.
A word about the vehicles in these convoys. The term often used to define these vehicles is “Jingle Trucks” for they are often gaily painted and have some manner of chains adorning them so as they move they well, jingle. You get a feeling of a sense of pride from many of these drivers, who race along at 10 miles an hour and with big smiles. Many times either walking the base, or on this run (that I am trying to get around to describe) I was met with many smiles and waves. But these vehicles are rusted, old, and battered in many cases; however, they have been looked after to the point that they are at least serviceable.
But I digress.
This running route sometimes shows me the roads within the vicinity of the base, and these roads are a curious mix of some civilian vehicles as well as military vehicles coming and going. I run past the uncharted minefields that surround us. I watch convoys of military vehicles drive on doing their duty, or returning from. I know that this is a war zone, and with no levity I state that still with the amount of activity and varying levels of technology evident in this base I feel like I am in a weird dream that is a mixture of the computer games SIMCity and Civilization.
As I continue around nearing the end of my journey I realize then that the base is completely surrounded by this jagged mane of mountains, and with heat blazing off the small section of “blacktop” I feel as though I am running a route around the inside of and electric griddle. I get back to my room after about 11km, and about 75 minutes. I am covered in a pasty dust muck that coats my skin like some expensive ex-foliant. My shirt and shorts are drenched, yet dusty. My throat is a little raw from dust. But I feel good and exhilarated.
By the time I have finished and am back in my small room, I have a full understanding of the weird paradox this place truly is. In one (relatively speaking) small patch of mine riddled, sun blasted earth the most powerful nations on the planet have sent maybe not all their brightest, not all their best, maybe not even their bravest, but possibly the most dedicated, to a place that is as dangerous as any that exist currently on the globe. These soldiers do not share a religion; do not share a language with the proud innocent civilians of this country. But they share a fundamental humanity, a oneness, and to belittle that to the point of calling it political puppetry or a lost cause or ‘unwinnable’ is to do both sides a disservice. These dedicated, and brave few, (again relatively speaking) have gathered to offer something to this large dirt-poor country. That thing is hope.
I say these things with no arrogance, or expectation of praise for my job is safely within the wire, and I look up to my peers with awe, as well, from here. All I did was go for a run.
19.2.07
VD Scotty Style!
It has taken me a few days to get to writing this down, but these days my time is not my own. As always I apologize for the length, hopefully it doesn’t take you longer to read it than it did for me to run it.
PreRace
This event would crazily be the one that would see me as a near nervous wreck before it began. This is a curious happenstance, because only twenty minutes before the race when I personally confirmed my availability for the race, (after evaluating genuine work requirements) I had no butterflies whatsoever. I also had no goals or expectations for this race either. It was viewed simply as an attempt to have a sense of normalcy and quell the jealousy of missing out on some of the big RM events this summer.
However, when I rounded the corner and saw the assembled collection of professional looking athletes my stomach dropped faster than a pass to Terrell Owens. There was a whole plethora of international characters assembled in an assortment of team singlets, festooned with set warmup routines, iPods, Garmins, cheering sections, confidence, and muscles.
I had, well, a pair of blue shorts.
For a race that was supposed to have a limited enrolment a crowd of over 100 had assembled to run a casual race to celebrate the opening of the new Canadian Gym. Considering the population on the base, the nature and unpredictability of their work that was a pretty damn good turnout. Of course it was also quite the shock to the six volunteers organizing the race. Race start scheduled for 1700, race actually begins at 1733.
In the week leading up to the event I had chatted several times with Scadian and Jaimer, who had hoped to be able to participate; however, it was not meant to be. Though I did see Scadian before the race and he wished me luck, expressed his disappointment, and snapped a quick picture that I have yet to see.
As I stood in the starting clot, well behind the “pros” I was standing next to a couple American Air Force types, at least that is what was prominently displayed on their T-Shirts. We all looked around nervously and we then shared a look; the sentiment was identical. “Please Allah, God, Buddha don’t let me F&%&%& embarrass myself…”
Let me post here a note on the phenomena of the uniform. Seeing people consistently in uniform can sometimes hide the fact that they are female; you take them just as another soldier. There is an equalizing power to the camouflage. Though, as most know, there is an extremely lucrative market capitalizing on the appeal of athletic men and women in various stages of uniform dress. And here on base you carry a weapon at all times, even in civilian clothes, unless of course you are doing PT, and for some seeing members of the opposite sex packing heat it can be quite stimulating, for others much more terrifying.
At any rate, after sharing the look with my back of the pack counter parts I scanned the crowd again shaking out my arms.
Then I saw a female, and realized ‘wow, it’s a chick!’
WOOOONK!! There goes the air horn. There stood Scotty scared sh%^less.
I didn’t see ‘It’s a chick’ again until I crossed the line.
The Race
As we all know, races are a truth serum. You can delude yourself about the level of training you have achieved and the running you have done to prepare. You can mislead yourself in terms of your mental and physical health. For the past few months I have been beating myself up about the real lack of consistency to my running. Averaging two-three runs a week, with no great distances I was doubtful I could do well in a race.
But as I ran, careful not to run too fast too soon, I felt really good. Though as I ran I started to take inventory of my condition. I had had about 10 hours sleep in the preceding 72 hours, and I had a baseball size bruise and laceration on the back of my calf. Running made it feel like my calf muscle was a bag of marbles.
Great. I had never run a five km race before. But I remember it being described as running at the very edge of uncomfortable for the entire five kms. I started off very uncomfortable and by km two I was still uncomfortable so I must have been doing it right.
The course meandered through the base, which provided a true sense of paradox, and surrealism. Part of the course ran past one of the tall fences, and as I took time to look across the scrubby potentially mine cluttered ground beyond the fence I could see a large flock of small goats trundling along lead by a couple small figures in the distance. Behind them stood one of the massive rocky crags that dot the landscape here. The light was good enough to see the lines and striations in the rock, and it seemed to loom, timeless.
As we ran, people literally of all nations, would clap their hands and would cheer us on. Local Nationals smiled and clapped, no doubt thinking us insane. We were applauded by soldiers, fully-kitted out, rolling by peeking out of armoured vehicles, off to do their thing.
By far one of the most unique race courses in the world.
Meanwhile Scotty trudged along, actually starting to pass people at km four. My watch said 23 minutes and change, I picked up the pace. It was official when I crossed the line, I could no longer breathe. I had been warned about the difference in elevation. The stitch threatening to tear a hole in my kidney let me know it in detail.
I finished 5.2 km in 27:33. No award winning performance and I finished admirably (and proudly) in the middle of the pack, having passed some of the individuals who had intimidated me at the onset.
PostRace
As those who have met me know I am a horrendous ambassador of the sport of running, or pretty much any other activity for that matter. It is not in my nature to be outward or talkative with those whom I do not know, and even after it takes some time for a level of comfort to develop. Regrettably, the lost art of friendly conversation is indeed a lost art with me. Though Kara has done her best to prompt me, guide me, and browbeat me into sociability. I am consoled by the ability to take snapshots of memory and place them in written snippets that allow me to live vicariously through others.
I provide this ‘anti-social’ preamble to tell you that the pre and post race mix of excited conversation was as energetic an event as I have stood in the middle of. And me being me I really did not engage in conversation, choosing instead to stand listening to endless conversations of a truly global community that became a humbling, and exhilarating experience. I stood there sipping my water in the dying Afghan sun listening to the exploits of athletes in myriad accents, and languages; stories of marathons, triathlons, sprints, ultras, and a well spoken agreement that the open sewage lagoon to our east really fricking stank mate.
As I mingled there, cooling quickly as the desert itself was doing in the fading light, I felt so blessed to be with others miles and miles away from home sharing a genuine appreciation for being a part of a simple running event, a pleasant slice of normalcy in a chaotic place. And in the next moment I was all at once reminded of those I have shared running with, and for the first time since I left, I was truly homesick.
This race was not a personal best, there were no great big bags of schwag, no adoring and enthusiastic crowds, and it was a simple somewhat forgettable course. In essence, this race of minimal expectations and non-climactic finish will likely go down in my personal history as one of the most memorable events ever, period. It does not supplant the memories of my first half marathon, or that of the kindred camaraderie and debauchery on the Cabot Trail, but it does possess all in itself a unique character that will never be matched.
Scotty
PreRace
This event would crazily be the one that would see me as a near nervous wreck before it began. This is a curious happenstance, because only twenty minutes before the race when I personally confirmed my availability for the race, (after evaluating genuine work requirements) I had no butterflies whatsoever. I also had no goals or expectations for this race either. It was viewed simply as an attempt to have a sense of normalcy and quell the jealousy of missing out on some of the big RM events this summer.
However, when I rounded the corner and saw the assembled collection of professional looking athletes my stomach dropped faster than a pass to Terrell Owens. There was a whole plethora of international characters assembled in an assortment of team singlets, festooned with set warmup routines, iPods, Garmins, cheering sections, confidence, and muscles.
I had, well, a pair of blue shorts.
For a race that was supposed to have a limited enrolment a crowd of over 100 had assembled to run a casual race to celebrate the opening of the new Canadian Gym. Considering the population on the base, the nature and unpredictability of their work that was a pretty damn good turnout. Of course it was also quite the shock to the six volunteers organizing the race. Race start scheduled for 1700, race actually begins at 1733.
In the week leading up to the event I had chatted several times with Scadian and Jaimer, who had hoped to be able to participate; however, it was not meant to be. Though I did see Scadian before the race and he wished me luck, expressed his disappointment, and snapped a quick picture that I have yet to see.
As I stood in the starting clot, well behind the “pros” I was standing next to a couple American Air Force types, at least that is what was prominently displayed on their T-Shirts. We all looked around nervously and we then shared a look; the sentiment was identical. “Please Allah, God, Buddha don’t let me F&%&%& embarrass myself…”
Let me post here a note on the phenomena of the uniform. Seeing people consistently in uniform can sometimes hide the fact that they are female; you take them just as another soldier. There is an equalizing power to the camouflage. Though, as most know, there is an extremely lucrative market capitalizing on the appeal of athletic men and women in various stages of uniform dress. And here on base you carry a weapon at all times, even in civilian clothes, unless of course you are doing PT, and for some seeing members of the opposite sex packing heat it can be quite stimulating, for others much more terrifying.
At any rate, after sharing the look with my back of the pack counter parts I scanned the crowd again shaking out my arms.
Then I saw a female, and realized ‘wow, it’s a chick!’
WOOOONK!! There goes the air horn. There stood Scotty scared sh%^less.
I didn’t see ‘It’s a chick’ again until I crossed the line.
The Race
As we all know, races are a truth serum. You can delude yourself about the level of training you have achieved and the running you have done to prepare. You can mislead yourself in terms of your mental and physical health. For the past few months I have been beating myself up about the real lack of consistency to my running. Averaging two-three runs a week, with no great distances I was doubtful I could do well in a race.
But as I ran, careful not to run too fast too soon, I felt really good. Though as I ran I started to take inventory of my condition. I had had about 10 hours sleep in the preceding 72 hours, and I had a baseball size bruise and laceration on the back of my calf. Running made it feel like my calf muscle was a bag of marbles.
Great. I had never run a five km race before. But I remember it being described as running at the very edge of uncomfortable for the entire five kms. I started off very uncomfortable and by km two I was still uncomfortable so I must have been doing it right.
The course meandered through the base, which provided a true sense of paradox, and surrealism. Part of the course ran past one of the tall fences, and as I took time to look across the scrubby potentially mine cluttered ground beyond the fence I could see a large flock of small goats trundling along lead by a couple small figures in the distance. Behind them stood one of the massive rocky crags that dot the landscape here. The light was good enough to see the lines and striations in the rock, and it seemed to loom, timeless.
As we ran, people literally of all nations, would clap their hands and would cheer us on. Local Nationals smiled and clapped, no doubt thinking us insane. We were applauded by soldiers, fully-kitted out, rolling by peeking out of armoured vehicles, off to do their thing.
By far one of the most unique race courses in the world.
Meanwhile Scotty trudged along, actually starting to pass people at km four. My watch said 23 minutes and change, I picked up the pace. It was official when I crossed the line, I could no longer breathe. I had been warned about the difference in elevation. The stitch threatening to tear a hole in my kidney let me know it in detail.
I finished 5.2 km in 27:33. No award winning performance and I finished admirably (and proudly) in the middle of the pack, having passed some of the individuals who had intimidated me at the onset.
PostRace
As those who have met me know I am a horrendous ambassador of the sport of running, or pretty much any other activity for that matter. It is not in my nature to be outward or talkative with those whom I do not know, and even after it takes some time for a level of comfort to develop. Regrettably, the lost art of friendly conversation is indeed a lost art with me. Though Kara has done her best to prompt me, guide me, and browbeat me into sociability. I am consoled by the ability to take snapshots of memory and place them in written snippets that allow me to live vicariously through others.
I provide this ‘anti-social’ preamble to tell you that the pre and post race mix of excited conversation was as energetic an event as I have stood in the middle of. And me being me I really did not engage in conversation, choosing instead to stand listening to endless conversations of a truly global community that became a humbling, and exhilarating experience. I stood there sipping my water in the dying Afghan sun listening to the exploits of athletes in myriad accents, and languages; stories of marathons, triathlons, sprints, ultras, and a well spoken agreement that the open sewage lagoon to our east really fricking stank mate.
As I mingled there, cooling quickly as the desert itself was doing in the fading light, I felt so blessed to be with others miles and miles away from home sharing a genuine appreciation for being a part of a simple running event, a pleasant slice of normalcy in a chaotic place. And in the next moment I was all at once reminded of those I have shared running with, and for the first time since I left, I was truly homesick.
This race was not a personal best, there were no great big bags of schwag, no adoring and enthusiastic crowds, and it was a simple somewhat forgettable course. In essence, this race of minimal expectations and non-climactic finish will likely go down in my personal history as one of the most memorable events ever, period. It does not supplant the memories of my first half marathon, or that of the kindred camaraderie and debauchery on the Cabot Trail, but it does possess all in itself a unique character that will never be matched.
Scotty
13.2.07
Something to amuse you
There is an American coffee shop here, Green Beans, it is open 24 7 and the coffee is quite good (so I’m told) but they also have several green teas. Anyway (we) found a second one, deeper in the American lines. It is in with their gym and shit. Well it is a big warehouse and when we went in it was like visiting a dance club in the projects. They have a music room and the music was loud. But all the Americans were dressed in civvies, it was totally surreal. Big guys with baggy jeans, and bandanas, sunglasses (at night), and BLING!! And chicks in there Friday night whore clothes…
So the music stopped at 11, the “curfew” and then they all hung out outside smoking wondering what else to do. But there are some almost “gang”-like issues Army vs AF vs Marine. White vs Black..etc…and they’re all talking smack and armed !!!!!! Felt like I was going to be witnessing an episode of cops….
So the music stopped at 11, the “curfew” and then they all hung out outside smoking wondering what else to do. But there are some almost “gang”-like issues Army vs AF vs Marine. White vs Black..etc…and they’re all talking smack and armed !!!!!! Felt like I was going to be witnessing an episode of cops….
1.2.07
Rick Mercer for PM!!
The text speaks for itself. Thanks Rick!!
By Courtesy (St. John's)
The Independent
Friday, January 26, 2007
By Rick Mercer
For The Independent
Poor Noreen Golfman. She wrote in her Jan. 12 column (Blowing in the Wind …
) that her holidays were ruined by what she felt were incessant reports about
Canadian men and women serving in Afghanistan. So upset was Noreen that, armed
with her legendary pen, sharpened from years in the trenches at Memorial
University’s women’s studies department, she went on the attack. I know I should
just ignore the good professor and write her off as another bitter baby boom
academic pining for what she fondly calls “the protest songs of yesteryear,” but
I can’t help myself. A response is exactly what she wants; and so I include it
here. After all, Newfoundlanders have seen this before: Noreen Golfman, sadly,
is Margaret Wente without the wit.
Dear Noreen,
I am so sorry to hear about the interruption to your holiday cheer. You say
in your column that it all started when the CBC ran a story on some “poor sod”
who got his legs blown off in Afghanistan.
The “poor sod” in question, Noreen, has a name and it is Cpl. Paul
Franklin. He is a medic in the Forces and has been a buddy of mine for years. I
had dinner with him last week in Edmonton, in fact. I will be sure to pass on to
him that his lack of legs caused you some personal discomfort this
Christmas.
Paul is a pretty amazing guy. You would like him I think. When I met him
years ago he had two good legs and a brutally funny sense of humour. He was so
funny that I was pretty sure he was a Newfoundlander. You probably know the type
(or maybe you don’t) — salt of the earth, always smiling, and like so many
health-care professionals, seemingly obsessed with helping others in need. These
days he spends his time training other health-care workers and learning how to
walk again. That’s a pretty exhausting task for Paul … heading into
rehabilitation he knew very well his chances of walking again were next to none,
considering he’s a double amputee, missing both legs above the knee. At the risk
of ruining your day Noreen, I’m proud to report that for the last few months he
has managed to walk his son to school almost every morning and it’s almost a
kilometre from his house. Next month Paul hopes to travel to Washington where he
claims he will learn how to run on something he calls “bionic flipper cheetah
feet.” The legs may be gone but the sense of humour is still very much
intact.
Forgive me Noreen for using Paul’s name so much, but seeing as you didn’t
catch it when CBC ran the profile on his recovery I thought it might be nice if
you perhaps bothered to remember it from here on in. This way, when you are
pontificating about him at a dinner party, you no longer have to refer to him
simply as the “poor sod,” but you can actually refer to him as Paul Franklin.
You may prefer “poor sod” of course; it’s all a matter of how you look at
things. You see a “poor sod” that ruined your Christmas and I see a truly
inspiring guy. That’s why I am thrilled that the CBC saw fit to run a story on
Paul and his wife Audra. I would go so far as to suggest that many people would
find their story, their marriage and their charitable endeavours inspiring. Just
as I am sure that many readers of The Independent are inspired by your
suggestion that Paul’s story has no place on the public broadcaster.
Further on in your column you ask why more people aren’t questioning
Canada’s role in Afghanistan. I understand this frustration. It’s a good
question. Why should Canada honour its United Nations-sanctioned NATO
commitments? Let’s have the discussion. I would welcome debate on the idea that
Canada should simply ignore its international obligations and pull out of
Afghanistan. By all means ask the questions Noreen, but surely such debates can
occur without begrudging the families of injured soldiers too much airtime at
Christmas?
Personally, I would have thought that as a professor of women’s studies you
would be somewhat supportive of the notion of a NATO presence in Afghanistan.
After all, it is the NATO force that is keeping the Taliban from power. In case
you missed it Noreen, the Taliban was a regime that systematically de-peopled
women to the point where they had no human rights whatsoever. This was a country
where until very recently it was illegal for a child to fly a kite or for a
little girl to receive any education. To put it in terms you might understand
Noreen, rest assured the Taliban would frown on your attending this year’s
opening night gala of the St. John’s International Women’s Film Festival. In
fact, as a woman, a professor, a writer and (one supposes) an advocate of the
concept that women are people, they would probably want to kill you three or
four times over. Thankfully that notion is moot in our cozy part of the world
but were it ever come to pass I would suggest that you would be grateful if a
“poor sod” like Paul Franklin happened along to risk his life to protect
yours.
And then of course you seem to be somehow personally indignant that I would
visit troops in Afghanistan over Christmas. You ask the question “When did the
worm turn?” Well I hate to break it to you, but in my case this worm has been
doing this for a long time now. It’s been a decade since I visited Canadian
peacekeeping operations in Bosnia and this Christmas marked my third trip to
Afghanistan. Why do I do it? Well I am not a soldier — that much is perfectly
clear. I don’t have the discipline or the skills. But I am an entertainer and
entertainers entertain. And occasionally, like most Canadians, I get to
volunteer my professional time to causes that I find personally
satisfying.
As a Newfoundlander this is very personal to me. On every one of these
trips I meet Newfoundlanders who serve proudly in the Canadian Forces. Every day
they do the hard work that we as a nation ask of them. They do this without
complaint and they do it knowing that at every turn there are people like you,
Noreen, suggesting that what they do is somehow undignified or misguided.
I am also curious Noreen why you refer to the head of the Canadian Forces,
General Rick Hillier, as “Rick ‘MUN graduate’ Hillier.” I would suggest that if
you wish to criticize General Hillier’s record of leadership or service to his
country you should feel free. He is a big boy. However, when you dismiss him as
“Rick ‘MUN Graduate’ Hillier” the message is loud and clear. Are you suggesting
that because General Hillier received an education at Memorial he is somehow
unqualified for high command? We are used to seeing this type of tactic in
certain national papers — not The Independent.
You end by saying you personally cannot envision that peace can ever be
paved with military offensives. May I suggest to you that in many instances in
history peace has been achieved exactly that way. The gates of Auschwitz were
not opened with peace talks. Holland was not liberated by peacekeepers and
fascism was not defeated with a deft pen. Time and time again men and women in
uniform have laid down their lives in just causes and in an effort to free
others from oppression.
It is unfortunate, Noreen, that in such instances people like yourself may
have your sensitivities offended, especially during the holiday season, but
perhaps that is a small price to pay. Best wishes for the remainder of 2007; may
it be a year of peace and prosperity.
26.1.07
the agony and the ecstasy
The RM thread post is called “A Thank You Letter to RM”. The Blog version of this account is called “the agony and the ecstasy”. And in reality it is both.
In a few days I depart for A-Stan, and I wanted to leave a last post from homeside; as I do intend to send home frequent updates once over yonder.
I have been with RM, almost since it began, first vicariously through my wife, and then finally courageous enough to hop in. Though my post count would betray my dedication to the site, I have always at least surfed RM whenever I had the chance. It is through RM that I found enjoyment in a previously horrifying endeavour, and it has become an addicti- er, truly enjoyable hobby. Running -not websurfing-. As a result I feel more confident, much healthier, and have experienced that tremendous rush of minor and major running events. And though I would not consider myself comfortable around new people I have made a whole boatload of new friends (those I have met in person and those I have yet to have the honour of meeting in person). So anyway to avoid any semblance of sentimentality let me just say two things;
1) Good luck to everyone on every single run that you do, try to stay healthy, and stay active. Let every event that has a maniac at it be a M&G, among those who are currently members and those who are waiting for us to recruit them.
2) Second, and personally a bit more importantly, a sincere thanks to all of you who have in someway contacted Kara or myself in the last while to offer your encouragement and support on my/ our deployment. I will have a pretty good network of support over there and thanks to you folk she will too.
The ecstasy, the prospect of a tour, especially one to a war zone, is by all accounts highly sought after by those people in my line of work.Sound crazy? Getting chosen, or volun-told, is the equivalent of a young talented junior player being called up to the NHL to play in a high stress play-off game. It is what the majority of my friends and I have joined to do. It is our choice, our duty, and our honour to do so.
And it is not because we are wild Rambo-set-the-world-on-fire-types either, it is just that we revel in being able to do what few others can, or would do The tour itself lasts for six months, but in the past eight months I have spent the equivalent of six months away from home.
Sometimes I was two hours away, others three time zones. Therefore, we must also look to the families and friends we are leaving behind, the Agony. I have yet to step off Canadian soil but my team and I, as aforementioned, have spent a great deal of time away from home preparing. In a way we are also preparing our loved ones for that long separation too.
Remember, and this is the important line; Jaimer, Scadian, and I are three of nearly 2000 people who will head over. And they will all come home, but some will be covered in a Maple Flag.
To conclude simply, thanks to you lot on RM, I am a fitter soldier than I was. Guilt will do that. Just kidding. And for the rest of my family and friends reading this; thanks for the support, I’ll keep in touch, six months isn’t that long. And get your helmets on, ‘war stories’ to follow.
Yours in running, and web-based debauchery,
Scotty
In a few days I depart for A-Stan, and I wanted to leave a last post from homeside; as I do intend to send home frequent updates once over yonder.
I have been with RM, almost since it began, first vicariously through my wife, and then finally courageous enough to hop in. Though my post count would betray my dedication to the site, I have always at least surfed RM whenever I had the chance. It is through RM that I found enjoyment in a previously horrifying endeavour, and it has become an addicti- er, truly enjoyable hobby. Running -not websurfing-. As a result I feel more confident, much healthier, and have experienced that tremendous rush of minor and major running events. And though I would not consider myself comfortable around new people I have made a whole boatload of new friends (those I have met in person and those I have yet to have the honour of meeting in person). So anyway to avoid any semblance of sentimentality let me just say two things;
1) Good luck to everyone on every single run that you do, try to stay healthy, and stay active. Let every event that has a maniac at it be a M&G, among those who are currently members and those who are waiting for us to recruit them.
2) Second, and personally a bit more importantly, a sincere thanks to all of you who have in someway contacted Kara or myself in the last while to offer your encouragement and support on my/ our deployment. I will have a pretty good network of support over there and thanks to you folk she will too.
The ecstasy, the prospect of a tour, especially one to a war zone, is by all accounts highly sought after by those people in my line of work.Sound crazy? Getting chosen, or volun-told, is the equivalent of a young talented junior player being called up to the NHL to play in a high stress play-off game. It is what the majority of my friends and I have joined to do. It is our choice, our duty, and our honour to do so.
And it is not because we are wild Rambo-set-the-world-on-fire-types either, it is just that we revel in being able to do what few others can, or would do The tour itself lasts for six months, but in the past eight months I have spent the equivalent of six months away from home.
Sometimes I was two hours away, others three time zones. Therefore, we must also look to the families and friends we are leaving behind, the Agony. I have yet to step off Canadian soil but my team and I, as aforementioned, have spent a great deal of time away from home preparing. In a way we are also preparing our loved ones for that long separation too.
Remember, and this is the important line; Jaimer, Scadian, and I are three of nearly 2000 people who will head over. And they will all come home, but some will be covered in a Maple Flag.
To conclude simply, thanks to you lot on RM, I am a fitter soldier than I was. Guilt will do that. Just kidding. And for the rest of my family and friends reading this; thanks for the support, I’ll keep in touch, six months isn’t that long. And get your helmets on, ‘war stories’ to follow.
Yours in running, and web-based debauchery,
Scotty
22.1.07
the mall rant
What the Hell is it about anything to do with Walmart, or malls in general that makes people stupid. I mean down right neanderthalic-four-thousand-year-regressive-stoopid?
I have thought about this a lot, but after today’s excursion to the mall it made me want to put it down in writing. We went to simply check out walmart for some cheap clothes for me to take to A-stan with me, and maybe get a bite of lunch.
Keep in mind Kara and I were not in a real hurry, and we had a cart to contain the kids; therefore we had no stress from our side of the bargain. The mall was not particularly busy but getting from point A to point B was like salmon swimming up stream in Niagara Falls. People would be shuffling along and then just stop dead in the middle of the aisle, to check their purses, to answer their cell phones, or check the condition and quality of the goddamned grout around the ceiling. Then they seem majorly offended if you say “Excuse me.”
We encountered this blocking behaviour in the entry way to several stores, as if it may have been some preternatural force conspiring with the good spirits of the universe from spending too much money or realizing that this years fashion trends are reminiscent of 1987 retro garbage.
Then of course there are the aisleways in the majority of these stores that are about 80% of the width of the shopping carts, and 96% of the strollers available on the market. I shared a few commiserating looks with grumpy fathers and embarrassed mothers who were trying to win a futile battle of manoeuvring their life around another goddamned clearance rack.
What’s funny is I have grown accustomed to the slow migratory shuffle of the teenage clones (with far more expensive cellphones than I could ever care to have, or afford). You can see these mindless drones from a mile away and avoid them quite handily, even with a shopping cart and two rambunctious kiddos!
It seems more to be middle-aged folks and families, or female shopping teams that possess this infuriating brain dead tendency. There was a mother who stopped her full cart directly in front the walmart checkouts and blocked literally seven different paying customers from entering a spot with three cashiers. And she was completely and absolutely oblivious, but able to determine that Britney Spears friends are worried about her.
I know we are all the main characters in the movies we call our lives, but at some point people have to W-A-K-E-U-P!!! please. Take whatever goddamned time you want to smell the proverbial flowers, but just be aware that as confident as you may be the world does not revolve around you, and never will.
I have thought about this a lot, but after today’s excursion to the mall it made me want to put it down in writing. We went to simply check out walmart for some cheap clothes for me to take to A-stan with me, and maybe get a bite of lunch.
Keep in mind Kara and I were not in a real hurry, and we had a cart to contain the kids; therefore we had no stress from our side of the bargain. The mall was not particularly busy but getting from point A to point B was like salmon swimming up stream in Niagara Falls. People would be shuffling along and then just stop dead in the middle of the aisle, to check their purses, to answer their cell phones, or check the condition and quality of the goddamned grout around the ceiling. Then they seem majorly offended if you say “Excuse me.”
We encountered this blocking behaviour in the entry way to several stores, as if it may have been some preternatural force conspiring with the good spirits of the universe from spending too much money or realizing that this years fashion trends are reminiscent of 1987 retro garbage.
Then of course there are the aisleways in the majority of these stores that are about 80% of the width of the shopping carts, and 96% of the strollers available on the market. I shared a few commiserating looks with grumpy fathers and embarrassed mothers who were trying to win a futile battle of manoeuvring their life around another goddamned clearance rack.
What’s funny is I have grown accustomed to the slow migratory shuffle of the teenage clones (with far more expensive cellphones than I could ever care to have, or afford). You can see these mindless drones from a mile away and avoid them quite handily, even with a shopping cart and two rambunctious kiddos!
It seems more to be middle-aged folks and families, or female shopping teams that possess this infuriating brain dead tendency. There was a mother who stopped her full cart directly in front the walmart checkouts and blocked literally seven different paying customers from entering a spot with three cashiers. And she was completely and absolutely oblivious, but able to determine that Britney Spears friends are worried about her.
I know we are all the main characters in the movies we call our lives, but at some point people have to W-A-K-E-U-P!!! please. Take whatever goddamned time you want to smell the proverbial flowers, but just be aware that as confident as you may be the world does not revolve around you, and never will.
18.1.07
10.1.07
Tats
The arm belongs to Kara, it is her Koi. It is a custom piece down by Shawn at Inkredible.
The scales were done free handThis is my Laughing Buddha.
What's new.
Well, yesterday was a good day. We signed the kids up for some activities. Sophia will son be starting First Dance, at DancEast. She is really excited...it will be once a week and will last a couple of months. If she likes it she can keep going.
Nathaniel is now signed up for Tae Kwon Do, he is excited to start that as well, and that is like an afterschool program a couple times a week.
I still feel 'guilt!' of all things when it comes to Nathaniel and hockey. Shouldn't every Canadian boy grow up playing hockey? I did and look how I turned out...nevermind, Tae Kwon Do it is. But seriously, I don't know how families afford hockey these days...my god! But the TKD will give him self confidence and he will be active, the same for Sophia, no way I should think she couldn't have played hockey either...but the dancing will get her in with other kids before she starts school, that ius the key right now.
On another note, the hunt for a treadmill has come to an end, Monday we will likely be buying one we found on Sears.ca, I'll put the specifics up later (once I find it again)
And finally my training has started up again. I am on day three of a 8 week 10km program, just to get used to running regularly again, and then when I am in Kandahar I have a 10miler program I want to follow...10 miles is what...16.09344 kms? That is for the first half of the tour. That way I can do a 1/2 or full marathon training plan for the second half.
Anyway, back to work next Monday.
Nathaniel is now signed up for Tae Kwon Do, he is excited to start that as well, and that is like an afterschool program a couple times a week.
I still feel 'guilt!' of all things when it comes to Nathaniel and hockey. Shouldn't every Canadian boy grow up playing hockey? I did and look how I turned out...nevermind, Tae Kwon Do it is. But seriously, I don't know how families afford hockey these days...my god! But the TKD will give him self confidence and he will be active, the same for Sophia, no way I should think she couldn't have played hockey either...but the dancing will get her in with other kids before she starts school, that ius the key right now.
On another note, the hunt for a treadmill has come to an end, Monday we will likely be buying one we found on Sears.ca, I'll put the specifics up later (once I find it again)
And finally my training has started up again. I am on day three of a 8 week 10km program, just to get used to running regularly again, and then when I am in Kandahar I have a 10miler program I want to follow...10 miles is what...16.09344 kms? That is for the first half of the tour. That way I can do a 1/2 or full marathon training plan for the second half.
Anyway, back to work next Monday.
3.1.07
The new Training Plan for 07.
Well, ought seven has hit and I gots me some stuff to do.
I haven't really followed a training plan since my last event. I started a couple times towards other events but with the work training schedule I'd been following the past seven months everything went for a poop.
And leaning on that busy schedule like a crutch (an excuse!) I haven't run consistently for a while. I have been doing the one or two times a week thing, just enough to "remember" how to run. The runs I do now, are at an easy, conversational pace, with no set goal or distance. And that has been kinda working for me.
But kinda not working for me. My weight has started creeping back up again. And I don't like it. So back a plan I go. (Also I have been inspired by the progress the CodFather has had over the last while...)
My focus is on getting back to a strong ten km pace again. I am going to follow a good 8-week plan to get me back on track so I can comfortably run 10km again. There are several issues I am working through here.
1- The weather, the temp has been right, the ground surface has not. And I cannot afford any kind of injury right now.
2- Gonna be in A-stan before the ploan finishes, this is good though, because if I get motivated and stick to the plan then I can keep going once there.
3- Kara and I are looking at buying a treadmill. Likely buying it online, will it get here before I leave? Who knows?
I plan to start the new 10 km plan on Monday the 8th.
Wish me luck, I'll let you know how it goes.
I haven't really followed a training plan since my last event. I started a couple times towards other events but with the work training schedule I'd been following the past seven months everything went for a poop.
And leaning on that busy schedule like a crutch (an excuse!) I haven't run consistently for a while. I have been doing the one or two times a week thing, just enough to "remember" how to run. The runs I do now, are at an easy, conversational pace, with no set goal or distance. And that has been kinda working for me.
But kinda not working for me. My weight has started creeping back up again. And I don't like it. So back a plan I go. (Also I have been inspired by the progress the CodFather has had over the last while...)
My focus is on getting back to a strong ten km pace again. I am going to follow a good 8-week plan to get me back on track so I can comfortably run 10km again. There are several issues I am working through here.
1- The weather, the temp has been right, the ground surface has not. And I cannot afford any kind of injury right now.
2- Gonna be in A-stan before the ploan finishes, this is good though, because if I get motivated and stick to the plan then I can keep going once there.
3- Kara and I are looking at buying a treadmill. Likely buying it online, will it get here before I leave? Who knows?
I plan to start the new 10 km plan on Monday the 8th.
Wish me luck, I'll let you know how it goes.
Fort Minor
Remember The Name
You ready?! Lets go!Yeah, for those of you that want to know what we're all aboutIt's like this y'all (c'mon!)
[Chorus]
This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name!
Mike! - He doesn't need his name up in lights
He just wants to be heard whether it's the beat or the mic
He feels so unlike everybody else, alone
In spite of the fact that some people still think that they know him
But fuck em, he knows the code
It's not about the salary
It's all about reality and making some noise
Makin the story - makin sure his clique stays up
That means when he puts it down Tak's pickin it up! let's go!
Who the hell is he anyway?
He never really talks much
Never concerned with status but still leavin them star struck
Humbled through opportunities given to him despite the fact
That many misjudge him because he makes a livin from writin raps
Put it together himself, now the picture connects
Never askin for someone's help, to get some respect
He's only focused on what he wrote, his will is beyond reach
And now when it all unfolds, the skill of an artist
It's just twenty percent skill
Eighty percent fear
Be one hundred percent clear cause Ryu is ill
Who would've thought that he'd be the one to set the west in flames
And I heard him wreckin with The Crystal Method, "Name Of The Game"
Came back dropped Megadef, took em to church
I like bleach man, why you have the stupidest verse?
This dude is the truth, now everybody be givin him guest spots
His stock's through the roof I heard he fuckin with S. Dot!
[Chorus]
They call him Ryu The Sick
And he's spittin fire with Mike
Got him out the dryer he's hot
Found him in Fort Minor with Tak
Been a fuckin annihilist porcupine
He's a prick, he's a cock
The type woman want to be with, and rappers hope he get shot
Eight years in the makin, patiently waitin to blow
Now the record with Shinoda's takin over the globe
He's got a partner in crime, his shit is equally dope
You wont believe the kind of shit that comes out of this kid's throat
Tak! - He's not your everyday on the block
He knows how to work with what he's got
Makin his way to the topPeople think its a common owners name
People keep askin him was it given at birth
Or does it stand for an acronym?
No he's livin proof, Got him rockin the booth
He'll get you buzzin quicker than a shot of vodka with juice
Him and his crew are known around as one of the best
Dedicated to what they doin give a hundred percent
Forget Mike - Nobody really knows how or why he works so hard
It seems like he's never got time
Because he writes every note and he writes every line
And I've seen him at work when that light goes on in his mind
It's like a design is written in his head every time
Before he even touches a key or speaks in a rhyme
And those motherfuckers he runs with, those kids that he signed?Ridiculous, without even trying, how do they do it?!
[Chorus - repeat 2x]
[Outro - Mike Shinoda]
Yeah! Fort MinorM. Shinoda - Styles of Beyond
Ryu! Takbir! Machine Shop!
I like the sound of this and the chorus. Good message in the chorus.
The December File.
Looking back it is hard to remember that December only had 31 days in it. The first 16-17-maybe 18 days were busier than Hell.
I usually do all of my Christmas shopping in November, then pick small things up as I go. Well this past November I was in Wainwrong Alberta. So all my shopping, and Kara and I did all the shopping for the kiddos in Dec too!
There were a multitude of mandatory events with the Reg't, hence the title "Silly Season" as it is lovingly dubbed. A mess dinner, hockey games, Christmas dinner. All stuff that takes place in Gagetown. 'Cept for the hockey game, twas played in Moncton/ Dieppe this year. And the officers lost.
There was also a mutitude of paperwork to finish, and we had to make numerous trips to Gagetown again to drop off kit.
Anyway enough of that. Christmas itself was low key and an absolute success this year. Kara and the kids were so giddy, they were awake from about 4:30 on. We finally got up around 6:00. Man what a fun time!
A few days later my folks came up from Nova Scotia. The visit was great. My dad looked aftert the kids while Kara and I went out to get our "Christmas" tattoos. (once there are some pictures I will post). That was a lot of fun, Shawn Milton of Inkredible (www.inkredible.ca) is a fantastic artist, helluva guy too.
My mom was so enrapt by the process that I took her back to get her first tattoo!!! That was pretty friggin cool I must say. And no pussy little at for her, she got the Jeff Gordon 24 with flames on her shoulder.
The last thing to say about December was the passing of my grandmother, Nanny Kay. She was the true matriarch of the MacEachern family in every sense of the word. She was an awesome grandmother and will be missed. She would have been 78 on 4 January. Thoughts and a big "Thank You" to you Nanny Kay.
I usually do all of my Christmas shopping in November, then pick small things up as I go. Well this past November I was in Wainwrong Alberta. So all my shopping, and Kara and I did all the shopping for the kiddos in Dec too!
There were a multitude of mandatory events with the Reg't, hence the title "Silly Season" as it is lovingly dubbed. A mess dinner, hockey games, Christmas dinner. All stuff that takes place in Gagetown. 'Cept for the hockey game, twas played in Moncton/ Dieppe this year. And the officers lost.
There was also a mutitude of paperwork to finish, and we had to make numerous trips to Gagetown again to drop off kit.
Anyway enough of that. Christmas itself was low key and an absolute success this year. Kara and the kids were so giddy, they were awake from about 4:30 on. We finally got up around 6:00. Man what a fun time!
A few days later my folks came up from Nova Scotia. The visit was great. My dad looked aftert the kids while Kara and I went out to get our "Christmas" tattoos. (once there are some pictures I will post). That was a lot of fun, Shawn Milton of Inkredible (www.inkredible.ca) is a fantastic artist, helluva guy too.
My mom was so enrapt by the process that I took her back to get her first tattoo!!! That was pretty friggin cool I must say. And no pussy little at for her, she got the Jeff Gordon 24 with flames on her shoulder.
The last thing to say about December was the passing of my grandmother, Nanny Kay. She was the true matriarch of the MacEachern family in every sense of the word. She was an awesome grandmother and will be missed. She would have been 78 on 4 January. Thoughts and a big "Thank You" to you Nanny Kay.
Holy Crap!
It is absolutely incredible and shameful that I have neglected this place since Septemeber. And more than likely I have lost 98% of the Faithful Readers that I had, not that I had that many. Who really wnats to listen to me go on about shite, really?
There are a lot ofthings I would say, since Septmeber yeah sure!!!
I figure I will cover them on a month to month basis.
Sept, hmmm, not much to tell here, not that I can remember. I was in full swing of the training for the tour coming up and spent a lot of my time in Gagetown.
Oct- Nov, This is when I went to Wainwright Alberta for a month. I left on Oct 25, and the whole damn month felt like a continuation of that day. I really don't get the military sometimes, I think it is a real case of too many people trying to control things.
The way I, and my crew of guys, worked it out we were in "away" travelling and there in Wainwright for 30 days, and completed a 13 day exercise. Those 13 days were good and challenging, and laden with more brass than the Boston Pops! But the rest of the time were the exact type of days I try to avoid for my soldiers, sitting on our thumbs essentially doing frick all.
But for us merry few in my little band of ASCC guys it was not as bad as it could have been. We secured our own tent, with the help of our insider, and we were pretty much left alone. The guys all have laptops, and in the end developed a wireless gaming network that had them playing StarWars Battlefront and Command and Conquer head -to- head. This even got some of our counterparts from other sections involved.
At any rate that was the last exercise before deployment. A few more ticks is all that is needed before flying out. When am I flying out?...LOL good f'n question!!!
That has been my biggest complaint with this process. The process of organizing the flights and getting organized in Wainwright was a sheer and utterly embarassing debacle. Getting home was not much better. If getting us to A-Stan is as bad...hear that? That's morale dropping like a stone.
I think I will sum up here. I will post December on it's own.
There are a lot ofthings I would say, since Septmeber yeah sure!!!
I figure I will cover them on a month to month basis.
Sept, hmmm, not much to tell here, not that I can remember. I was in full swing of the training for the tour coming up and spent a lot of my time in Gagetown.
Oct- Nov, This is when I went to Wainwright Alberta for a month. I left on Oct 25, and the whole damn month felt like a continuation of that day. I really don't get the military sometimes, I think it is a real case of too many people trying to control things.
The way I, and my crew of guys, worked it out we were in "away" travelling and there in Wainwright for 30 days, and completed a 13 day exercise. Those 13 days were good and challenging, and laden with more brass than the Boston Pops! But the rest of the time were the exact type of days I try to avoid for my soldiers, sitting on our thumbs essentially doing frick all.
But for us merry few in my little band of ASCC guys it was not as bad as it could have been. We secured our own tent, with the help of our insider, and we were pretty much left alone. The guys all have laptops, and in the end developed a wireless gaming network that had them playing StarWars Battlefront and Command and Conquer head -to- head. This even got some of our counterparts from other sections involved.
At any rate that was the last exercise before deployment. A few more ticks is all that is needed before flying out. When am I flying out?...LOL good f'n question!!!
That has been my biggest complaint with this process. The process of organizing the flights and getting organized in Wainwright was a sheer and utterly embarassing debacle. Getting home was not much better. If getting us to A-Stan is as bad...hear that? That's morale dropping like a stone.
I think I will sum up here. I will post December on it's own.
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