I went for a run this morning, in the beautiful falling snow. I wore a sweatsuit, figuring that would be enough, as running would provide plenty of body heat.

I was only out for eleven minutes, because it's been many years since I've been running in below-freezing temperatures. And while my running certainly kept my core temperature at a good level, my ears and fingers went numb in a hurry. After five minutes, I decided frostbite would be a bad thing, so I turned around and headed home. I didn't even make a mile and a half distance. Not exactly a shining moment in athleticism.

Tomorrow I'll be wearing gloves and either earmuffs or a hat.

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After work last night, we played softball. My shop reserved the field, so we showed up first to claim it and do all the paperwork nonsense. It took a while before the rest of the crowd arrived, so the three of us took batting and fielding practice, which was very useful, as I have no experience at this sort of sport.

Seriously. I never played Little League. I think in middle school gym we did baseball for about a week, but I didn't like it and didn't do very well.

But with some practice, I discovered that I am actually a pretty good fielder. Being a soccer player taught be to judge where a ball is coming down, and soccer goalies of course catch balls all the time. So I just had to adjust to the smaller sphere. And then there's this glove thing, which seemed like cheating, because it made it so much easier. I think Football : Rugby :: Baseball : Cricket.

Eventually everyone arrived, and we played a game against another unit that had been using the other field. They were serious competitors, while we were (a) drinking, (b) exhausted from a 65 hour workweek. So we lost 17-7.

When I mentioned I discovered I had some softball skills, I should make it more clear. I can hit, sort of, but without much power. And I can't throw very far at all. So I elected myself first baseman, where the key skill is just to catch the ball consistently. I did well there, getting quite a few outs, with no errors. Although my soccer skills did leave me astray. A goalie always jumps for a ball, because if it's too high overhead to reach, then it's over the top of the goal and thus not a problem. So when someone threw a ball too high, I jumped for it. The correct play would have been to immediately run for the fence that the ball was going to hit; I could pick up the ball and hold them to the single, as if they ran for second I'd be in a position to throw. But jumping and then landing delayed me for about three crucial seconds, which they used to good effect.

My hitting was also unimpressive. I didn't strike out, but I also batted .000. I had three infield grounders into outs; the only time I reached was a fielder's choice. (Which is when the guy that got the ball could have got me out, but he decided to get the guy at second out instead.)

So, a fun time. But my feet really hurt today. My cleats are kind of tight when we PT in the morning. As you may know, one's feet tend to swell during the day. So playing in the evening, they really were a size to small, and crushed my feet in a most unpleasant fashion.

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You may recall me not having much fun playing football last week, and threatening soccer as vengeance.

I sold the rest of the guys on it, but we didn't have enough people- four on four soccer is kind of lame. So we challenged the Airframes shop. They accepted, and the date was on: Friday at the gym's soccer field, at 0500.

First some preparations needed to be made. We needed a soccer ball. Also, I wanted some cleats, as my running shoes don't work that well on grass, especially grass wet from the morning dew. I'd seen the sign for a soccer shop not far from the base gate, so I drove over and went shopping.

The shop was acually a soccer clothing shop, containing team jerseys for every team I'd ever heard of in the major European leagues, and plenty of teams that were new to me. I didn't particularly need a Man U shirt. The only actual soccer gear they had were two models of balls, only one in a adult size. So I bought that one.

I drove on to the PX, hoping for some cleats. They only had one type of soccer cleats, but they had a pair that fit me, and they were only $17, which is a plus. They also had soccer balls, including the same one I'd bought out in town, for half the price. Whoops. I also picked up a pair of shin guards.

The game itself was a lot of fun. We were eight on eight, with no goalies (because the nominal purpose was excercise, so everyone was to be running around the field.) I don't have a very high PFT, and I can't play football or baseball, so people assume I'm unathletic. But I can play soccer quite well, thank you very much. I'm not a great shot, although my dribbling skills were sufficient to keep away most of the inexperienced opposition. My primary skills are on defense, and I showed them to good effect. I don't think I was beat one-on-one a single time.

The game ended after an hour with an honorable score: tied, one all. Now we're trying to decide who to challenge for next week.

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Back in my college days, my circle of friends once decided to play indoor soccer. Only a handful of us had even played soccer before, but we would not be denied. So we practiced three or four times and joined the intramural league. I don't remember what our team name is, anymore. Pity, that.

The only night everyone had the evening free to play was the night of the "competitive" league, not the "collegial" league, meaning our opponents were all-male, out-for-blood types. Our mixed-gender, largely untrained team got smoked every single game. We didn't even get a goal until the final game of the season. Which is not to say we were completely hapless; although Paul had never played soccer, his years of hockey meant that few people challenged him for the ball near the boards a second time. That's because they realized they could just wait for him to have to pass it or dribble away from the boards, and it's harder to check someone when there's nothing to check them into.

The last game of the season, I got my right thumb bent backwards, breaking one of the bones. I'm stubborn about such things, so I just iced it down for two days, until the swelling was so dramatic that my friends essentially dragged me to the clinic for X-rays.

I mention this because for today's PT*, Gunny decided we'd have some fun, and the six of us played three-on-three one-hand-touch football, on a greatly shortened field. I devised a method to randomly pick teams, which was good that there were no last-guy-picked nastiness, but bad because it ended in unbalanced teams. My team had me, the soccer player; LCpl "Tron", who was a fencer (and has a cold); and Cpl W, who was a distance swimmer and soccer player. The other team had Gunny, who played football; Cpl O, who played lacrosse; and Cpl McG, who also played football.

As you might imagine, we got smoked. Lost 12 touchdowns to 7.

And I told the story at the top because I got my left thumb bent back, and it feels a lot like the right one did back when I broke it. Hmmm. I'm going to ice it for a while before I go to medical, though. It might just be strained.

And for next week, Cpl W and I are going to bring a soccer ball, and we're going to play with the same teams.

*Footnote: Yes, it's Saturday. Of course we're working. We always work. I had a weekend off two weeks ago, and it was a miracle.

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Three weeks ago, it was Cpl Ose's turn to lead PT. He led us on a medicine ball run. That's a variant of an indian run, where you all run in a single file, and the last guy in line has to run up to the front, then the new last guy sprints to the front, etc. For the variant, we had a fifteen pound medicine ball, and you had to sprint to the front carrying the ball. At the front, you passed it to the guy behind you, he passed it behind him, and so on, until the ball is in the back and that guy runs to the front with it.

At first I thought it wouldn't be bad, because all the time passing the ball means you do less sprinting. But that ball is heavy. And passing it back means you can't relax while you're in the middle of the pack. All in all, it was a brutal three-mile pain train, in the cold rain.

Our poor gunny put out like a champ, keeping up with the younger guys. [N.B. I am not a younger guy.] He put out so much he came down with pneumonia that morning, and has been on antibiotics for three weeks now. Sucks to be him.

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Monday morning, 0500, PT time. In the rotating cycle of who leads the session, today is Gunny's, mine is Wednesday.

Except that Gunny is on leave, so we skipped over him. Whoops. Wish I had a plan.

It was cold and drizzling a slow, steady, depressing rain. As we stretched out, the Lance Corporal gallery started to mutter about what they were going to do in the weight room after I took us to the gym, where it was nice and dry. I can't stand being seen as too predictable, so I took us off running along the Habu Trail, the base perimiter track. Did I mention it was raining? My glasses fogged and misted up, making them so useless I put them in my pocket so I could at least see things nearby. We ran out about a mile and a half, stopping twice for calisthetics, then ran back about a mile. The last half mile I cut everyone loose for an individual effort run back to the barracks.

Then I got to share a bitch session with Cpl O on that last individual effort section, as we were the two in the back. LCpl C falls back every group run, complaining that his knee hurts. He's been to the sports medicine clinic, and they can't find anything wrong with him. But after trailing all morning, whenever we call individual effort back to the house, he takes off like a jackrabbit. So he can run fast when he wants to. Cpl O's and my opinion was that he's undoubtedly in pain. But guess what, we two old guys hurt every time we PT. Setting a pace to stress 19 year olds is murder on us 30+ types. But we do it, because it's our job as Marines, and because being fast can save your life in combat. So our pain-wracked legs and backs give us very little sympathy for someone that complains it hurts when he runs, but then makes great time when it's in his personal interest.

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We PT as a shop three times a week, which is the Marine Corps standard. Mondays and Wednesdays are standard issue running around and doing calisthetics. Fridays we try to mix it up with something more fun, usually a game of some kind.

Today we met outside at 0500, where Cpl P (whose day it was) announced that we were going to run to the gym (a mile), then play raquetball. Now, unusually, our OIC had showed up. That's unusual because officers do not generally PT with enlisted. Running PT is an enlisted function, and if officers are there it can interfere with the NCO's authority. In addition, officers can almost always carve an hour or two for PT out of their normal workday, so they don't have to get up extra-early like we do. Lastly, leaders are expected to be more enduring than their troops, so if the officer falls out, it looks bad.

Now, our OIC falling out is not a credible risk on a normal day, as he's built like a truck. (Callsign: "Shreck"). So I suspect I could dust him on a very long run, but I wouldn't catch up to him until mile five or six.

So anyway, P announces that we're going to play raquetball, and our OIC snickers. "You do realize that not only do I own my own raquet... I own my own gloves and goggles?" But too late now, we set out on our run.

He hadn't brought his gear, so he checked out kit from the gym like the rest of us did. And he was the only one that actually knows the rules, so we just divided up into a group of three and a group of four, and wacked balls around inside the court. All was going well until I took a hard richochet in the face, right over my left eye. Nothing too strange to me, I am used to participating in athletic activities that involve me getting struck by stuff.

The goggles they issue don't fit over glasses, so my regular spectacles were the only protection I had. The impact knocked them off, I cursed as the other guys laughed, I picked the glasses up and put them back on and we got back to business.

My vision was a bit blurry immediatly after the impact, but that's normal, and it goes away in a few seconds. Except it wasn't! After a minute of play, my left eye was still very blurry, although my right was fine. I started to get worried. Was I concussed? Was my eye injured?

Then I realized that my left lens had popped out of the frame. I called a time-out while I found it on the floor, popped it back into the frame, and blessed 20/25 vision was mine once again!

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The excercise is essentially over. Yesterday, I had to get up to be at a practice for manning the rails, at 0900. My normal shop time is 1200. Then I messed up and set my alarm for PM not AM, and slept through it anyway. Whoops. Being late to work is a crime in the military, but my guys covered for me. Thanks, guys.

Then we took all of the aviator's body armor back down to our container in the upper vehicle deck. Basically, down two ladders, across two hundred yards of hanger deck, down a 30° ramp, and another hundred yards. It's long enough that multiple trips get annoying.

We had forty vests, and five people in the shop. The solution seemed obvious, so we put on eight vests each and waddled away. Someone took a photo, I'll try to get a copy. We looked like turtles, peeking out of our shells.

At the end of that evolution, it was still only 1020, and flight quarters wasn't starting until 1100. So I got a chance to go for a run on the flight deck, which is something I've yet to be able to do. I hate treadmills, but normally when I get up we're already in flight ops, so no running up there. Anyway, I only went about two miles, because the armor had been wet and mildewed, and I was having trouble breathing from my allergic reaction.

Done running, I went to the gym and, wonder of wonders, discovered an unoccupied rowing machine. So I put five kilometers on that thing and felt better about my day's efforts.

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(This is my third try at posting this, as my computer is being unstable today. I just installed some new hardware, and it seems to have a bad driver.)

Yesterday, Gunny D came by my shop to personally invite me to join the Mando PT group this morning. They were going to be doing "Something fun, like a treasure hunt." This morning, I discover that I was not the only person to receive this offer; there are normally about a dozen people in Mando, while this morning there were more than eighty.

We divided up into five teams, and each team got a map of the base with a dozen buildings marked. Each marked building had a cone outside, with a note attached. The notes each listed an exercise and a Marine Corps trivia question. The teams were to run to each building, do the exercise, write the trivia answer on the back of the map, and run to the next building. It could be done in any order except that the final question at the start point was to be done last. 

So we take off, my team decided to run straight to the furthest building and work our way back. My GPS says we covered 4.4 miles in 53 minutes, including all the time doing calisthenics and discussing answers. 

We finished fourth, which is bad, except the victor was the team with the most correct answers, with time being only a tiebreaker. We had only two wrong, which was best overall. Go Team Five! Highfives all around! 

Gunny had announced the prize as such: "I will buy the winning team chow this weekend anywhere they want." His wallet must be relieved that our team won, as there were only five of us; the other four teams were all about twenty people. Also, he's a former drill instructor, and he'd call a twelve-course meal at Valabar's in Adrilankha a "chow". So now we need to decide what restaurant we want to go to. He also told us his wife had offered to cook us all a home-style meal, and we may take that option too. I'll let you know how it works out.

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I've not been PTing since we got off the boat. I've been too short on time.

Which is a bald-face lie, as I've had plenty of free time, I've just been using it to do things other than go out running.

So this morning I left at the same time the Mando PT group did, 0515. I jogged to the track, did a bunch of intervals, and ran home. Just over four miles in 40 minutes. That seems a slow time, but intervals are by their nature slower than a constant-speed run.

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