Hydration, Hydration, Hydration

Everywhere we go we hear "Hydrate!" "Hydration is Critical!" This follows the government/military penchant to use a multi-syllable Latin-derived word to show that a given task must be done. "Drink!" would not work because it would lead to the smartass retort "Drink What?" then "Drink Beer!" So we hydrate. But not always.

Because when one hydrates, one will sooner rather than later need to un-hydrate. Which is more of a problem than you would think. If we listen to closely to the all the calls to hydrate then get on a bus, no one is going to stop the bus. The hydrated soldier might have a couple of hours of serious discomfort before being allowed the natural consequences of following his orders.

And since we travel in groups, we line up for everything. That means the poor soldier in the back of the bus does the un-hydration dance in a long lane waiting for one of six portajohns with lines of 50 at each one. Like every other health pronouncement, one size never fits all and some people hydrate to the point of pissing away necessary salts. So they end up full of water and with dehydration effects.

I would hydrate more if I knew I could take a leak when I needed to. But it is quite clear the opposite is true. If I hydrate I will be sitting in a bus or Humvee think that nothing could be more beautiful than a brown plastic Kamal Al-Sultan (the local contractor) Portajohn. So I drinking slowly and often, same as when I am racing, and pay attention for signs that I need more water. And since much of our hydration is by individual half-liter plastic bottles, I always make sure I keep at least one empty with me in case we are confined and my personal emergency becomes dire.

Home on the Range. . .or Not

Today Echo Company range a small arms range for several hundred soldiers. It was not the exhaustive marksmanship test we went through in Oklahoma, just a few rounds to make sure the weapons are working. Even so it takes a long time for that many soldiers to fire, so we were on the range for hours. I was one of ten range safety soldiers. We kept the people who were on the firing line in line and made sure everyone was keeping their weapons pointed down range.

In Oklahoma or Pennsylvania, this job would simply be boring. In Kuwait the high temp was 102 degrees (40 Celcius) under clear skies. We are at 29 degrees north latitude, about the same as Daytona Beach, so the is much closer to straight up in the sky than we ever see in the northern states.

It was hot and we were standing on hot sand. After two hours I was starting to melt. By the end of the day when the safeties fired, I was worn out. I know I will acclimate eventually, but while it is always good to be in shape, in a place like this it is better to be young and in shape.

Flush with Happiness

Here in Kuwait we all have Battle Buddies. Everywhere we go--except stumbling out to the PortaJohns in the middle of the night--we go with our Battle Buddy. The main thing is that we go nowhere alone. So we can travel with just about any other soldier, but most of us have one soldier we travel with more than others.

My Battle Buddy is another old guy (48) who, is a conservative Presbyterian and likes quiet. We are hoping to room together if we end up in a place with 2-man rooms. We room together now, of course, along with 76 others.

For all of us happiness comes in different small luxuries. My Battle Buddy is fond of saying "It's the small things that matter." For him, the discovery that brightened his life (literally) was the latrines 1/4 mile from our barracks that have indoor plumbing and LIGHT. It seems my BB does not like sitting in a dark latrine. Now he knows he can have BOTH flush toilets and lights, he is a happy man.

Speaking of happiness, I could not stop laughing the second day we were here over a joke one of the soldiers made at my expense. In the morning we walk 50 meters west to the PortaJohns and if you want to make a more efficient trip, you can walk 50 meters south to the outdoor running water sinks and brush your teeth. At 530 am I was walking (more like stumbling) toward the PortaJohn holding my toothbrush to make the two-destination trip. A young soldier passed me on his way back from the PortaJohns and said quietly, "Sgt Gussman. The've got some really good blue mouthwash in those PortaJohns."

I thought it was funny at the time. It is typical of the jokes here.

Food

[NO PHOTOS ALLOWED IN THE DFAC. . .IT LOOKS LIKE A CAFETERIA]

The food in the Kuwait DFACs (Dining Facilities) really is better than Oklahoma. A lot better. The two DFACs serve the same food, but the one close to us has plastic throwaway plates and silverware. The one farther away has washable plates and real silverware. It even has a fountain between the chow lines.

But before I get to the food, the luxury DFAC also has the Sweat Nazi (SW). The SW is a really old school sergeant who believes this DFAC is her DFAC and acts like it. She is tall, never smiles that I ave seen and is constantly checking food on the serving lines and eying the soldiers in line. If you come in her dining facility with sweat on obvious on your clothes, you are ejected. Now this might seem to be a reasonable rule, but it gets very hot here.

Back to the food. In both DFACs you wash your hands upon entry. There are a half-dozen sinks inside the door along with reminders about cleanliness, about not putting headgear on the table and that weapons must lie flat on the floor. We sign in by scanning our ID cards, then choose the short order or main lines. At breakfast, the short order means scrambled eggs along with bacon, sausage, creamed beef, potatoes, and either pancakes or French toast. Main line adds omlettes and eggs to order to all of the above.

That's the hot food choices.

The next line is two-sided and is about 150 feet of fresh and dried fruit, coffee, juices, cereal, milk and other things like yogurt and cottage cheese.

For lunch and dinner, short order is burgers, chicken, grilled cheese and cheesesteak from a grill, plus fried chicken, pizza, fries and onion rings. Main line could be pork, turkey or beef roast, fish, pasta, ravioli, cooked vegetables, potatoes of various kinds and other hot choices. The second line is a 50 item salad bar, a cold meat sandwich line, plus all the drinks above. Tables seat 20 and are wooden.

The whole place is nearly cold with air conditioning. None of us will starve. And with all that, KFC, Subway, Nathan's, the pizza place and all the other fast food places seem to do a brisk business.

No one will starve here.

Happier in Kuwait than Oklahoma?

It's true. More soldiers today told me how much happier they are now that they are in Kuwait than they were in Fort Sill.

Not me.

I am sitting outside in 90-degree weather on a metal bench trying to get a decent internet signal. We have no internet in the barracks which, as I noted before are 78-man tents. The food is much better, I will grant that. But we are confined to a few square miles of hot sand and bad weather is forecast for tomorrow and Friday--that means sandstorms. We hear the sandstorms are so bad you can barely see to walk the 50 meters to the portajohns, let alone the 1/4 mile to the indoor plumbing or the chow halls.

But today I got a reasonable explanation from one of the fuelers in our unit. He said he has known about this trip for a year and a half and for him, he is glad to be one step closer to our final destination. He also said that in Kuwait he does not have to fight against temptation the way he did in Oklahoma. Back there normal life was just outside the gate. Beer was sold 1/4 mile away in the Post Exchange. In minutes you could be in a bar or at least drinking. Here in Kuwait the whole place is under General Order #1 so nobody drinks and if you go off post here, there is not going to be a bar right outside the gate.

Closer to the goal, further from temptation--that makes sense.

Complaining Against God

Tomorrow Remedial PT begins again as does regular PT. The basic drill is the remedial group has PT at 6am Monday - Friday, except 520am on Wednesday. The others have PT Monday-Wednesday-Friday. I caught myself complaining about remedial PT, not that I have to do it, but that I am in charge of it. Again, it is not the exercise, but it is a piece of human nature that I don't like.

So when that happens I am complaining against God. The piece of human nature I am complaining against is the universal tendency of people who know a subject but don't do it to be experts in it in their own mind.

So as soon as members of the remedial group knew they actually had to do a certain exercise, they immediately have their own grand ideas about what they should be doing for an exercise program. It makes no difference that they consistently have failed to meet the standard of fitness the Army expects--they know better.

Their view of the world extends to every part of life. Who is more strident than a fat, inert couch-potato fan about what the players on the field should be doing. Players know those decisions are complex and they are much less likely to condemn other players.

No one knows more about faith than people who talk about it, but do not actually suffer, sacrifice, care for orphans, and the other things that every faith holds in common as virtuous.

Is there anyone on earth who knows more than a political talk show host about how to run the government? It is interesting to watch the commentators who actually held office versus the ones who never held office. The former office holders may howl about their favorite topic, but they also know the limits of politics--they are former office holders and generally lost an election before becoming a talking head.

Since the tendency is universal, I am guilty of it myself whenever my knowledge exceeds my practice in any given field. Most every human tendency has a good and bad side. I would like to know the good side of this one.

In the meantime I will be hearing soldiers grumble that PT is to hard, too early, too much aerobic, not enough, etc. On the bright side, they do not have pulpits and radio shows to make their ignorance influential.

New Bike for Kuwait

This morning I bought a bicycle at the PX. It's a no-name mountain bike that is too small for me. It has front and rear suspension. I can't take it with me when we leave Kuwait. So why would I buy this bike? It's $99. I am going to give it away when I leave. I have paid up to $40 to rent a good road bike for one day in San Francisco, so $99 for two or three weeks seemed like a bargain. And if I give it to a local guy when I leave, there will be one more person who likes Americans--even if he thinks we are crazy.

There are only about four miles of paved roads and the whole base is flat, so it won't be a very varied workout. But it will allow me some solitude and something to do while we wait to find out what we are doing next.

Thursday we are supposed to get sand storms. Sandstorms mean we all stay inside the tent. that should be interesting!

Sandbox: Good and Bad

Saturday disappeared for us on a flight lasted from early evening Friday till midnight Saturday. Then unloading and loading baggage and travel to our new home stretched until 10 the next morning. At that point we got the very good advice to stay up until eight pm and get our bodies into local time.

By 2pm everybody was asleep (including everyone who gave that sage advice) in our new accommodations--a 78-man tent with no empty bunks. A couple of us went to the gym at 4pm. It's a 24-hour gym which is great. The food here is also amazing. Omelettes to order for breakfast, short order and regular food for lunch and dinner, midnight chow for late workers.

The internet is spotty, but not as bad as everyone said it would be. And there's lots of sand here.

William Tell without the Apple

One night I was in the dayroom playing pool when two young soldiers (under 21) decided to start showing off for two young women they are interested in. They were playing darts and throwing the darts way too fast and not very accurately. I was not paying much attention, but I saw one of the two throwing darts and noticed the other member of this demeted duo had his head against the lower half of the dart board with the top of his head touching the bullseye. I saw another dart hit the board above William-Tell-target-wannabe's head and said, "Stop that shit right now. There is now way you two are going to stick darts in each other while I am in the room." The target idiot moved away from the board and started complaining. Target said, "He got to throw darts at me. It's my turn now. How come the white guy gets to throw darts at me and I don't get my turn. It's prejudice." I told him to file an Equal Opportunity complaint. . .and put down the darts.

If You are Reading This, I am Overseas

We left Friday afternoon. By the time you read this, I should be 6,000 miles east of home.