10 rocket attacks, 1 day

This morning you probably heard your alarm, pressed snooze and then eventually crawled out of bed and began your morning.

This morning I awoke to the jarring sound of a rocket attack alarm, jumped to lay flat on the floor with my hands over my head and stayed there for my 2 minute snooze until I could get up to hurriedly make my way to the bunker.  After the 6 alarms went off, I stood there for about an hour.  Then we got the "all clear," and I made my way back inside to start my morning and get ready for work.

Tonight after work you maybe worked out, grabbed a bite to eat, and watched some tv. 

Tonight after work on my way to the gym, a rocket attack alarm blared as we heard the impact of it hit base somewhere very nearby, my coworker slammed on our van brakes and flew in reverse to “park” our van in the middle of the road as we jumped out to race to the bunker at the corner we heard another explosion.  Upon entering the bunker I reacted with a, “Holy sh*t” as yet another explosion pierced through the sky and shook the ground below us making the rocket feel closer than I’ve ever experienced in a year, and then there was one more thud to follow. 

10 rocket attacks, 1 day.

Obviously, I am safe and sound and so are all my friends out here, and this is not a "usual" day.  Also, I am fully aware I knew where I signed up to work and I don't want you to think I'm complaining; I wanted to rather explain.  With the end of Ramadan, the Taliban now have full bellies to complement their full souls of hatred making this week thus far particularly violent.  

I still went and did my job after the morning attacks.  I still got smoothies with my friends after the night ones.  That’s life out here.  You adapt to a “new normal.”  We’re the USO.  Their terror has no home here.

And we make each other laugh, because if you didn’t, you might just cry.

Judging by Facebook status updates and news stories in the past few weeks people in the states were scared...as they should be.  Mother Nature was attacking them with earthquakes, hurricanes and floods.    I watched interviews where residents said they were terrified thinking that a decision made in just one moment could make them lose it all.  I couldn't help but think that's horrible... but try feeling that for 365 days. 

That’s how long a soldier is fighting a fight out here, so you will hopefully never have to feel that kind of manmade terror back home ever again.

Living dreams

I believe youth is the chance to forget the rest of the world and just focus on your own little one so one day you can figure out your place in it. 

In high school I wanted to be a forensic scientist (because I loved CSI), date the class clown, and be a super popular wise cracking couple.  In college I fell in love with writing and yearned to move to North Carolina (partly due to Nicholas’ Sparks portrayal of its beauty in every novel) and marry a reporter to become this journalism power couple of the south.  Now I’m not claiming these are big dreams, but I worked my ass off for them.  My senior year of high school I took Anatomy 2, Chemistry 2 and Physics.  I even drove to the crush’s house and put a can of chicken noodle soup on his porch when he was sick because I was a hopeless romantic.  In college I stayed up late, skipped some (not all) partying and worked my butt off to get good grades in journalism, then I moved to NC with a nanny gig just to get there and left one of the reporter boys in the dust hoping for him to pull through with a big romantic gesture. 

Obviously none of my youthful dreams panned out.  I’m not combing through DNA, married to my high school sweetheart, living in NC or part of the noon news power couple.  But that’s okay because new dreams replace the old ones and you realize that the old ones sufficed at the time but just like old shoes, don’t really quite fit right now, so you feel a little fit of glee as you toss them in the trash and know you will never wear them again.

Well a year and a half ago I didn’t have a dream, big or small.  I racked my brain trying to think of what I wanted to do.  I remembered my college professor, Neff saying at graduation that I wanted to travel internationally and work for a non-profit.  I realized I had not taken a single step in the direction of that dream.  So, I started working toward it.  Now I’m here working for the USO in Afghanistan and I love it, but like the dreams in the past one day I will eventually out grow it, and scour for another that fits better.

Throughout all of these fleeting dreams of my youth, there has always been one thing that has brought me pleasure that I haven’t had to force and hasn’t disappointed me in any way like all the dreams before. 

Since as young as I can remember our family dinner time was wrought with my sisters interjecting in the middle of one of my wretchedly long drawn out dream sequence stories that “nobody cares, Sarah” or “get to the point already, snotface!”  Yet my parents would always hush the table and encourage me to finish as I would meander my way through the riveting climax of the nightmare I had with some big scary animal that was doing something horrible at some point in some kind of woodland scene that was somewhere.  In high school I would make up stories my friends and I called “scenarios” about sweeping romantic gestures our crushes would make (not a single one happened, they were more the fodder for Dawson Creek scripts than how a real live high school boy would ever act).  In college I wrote stories in my journalism classes and for the school newspaper, The Parthenon.  For the past two years I told the story of my college experience to prospective students every day. 

Now, I tell my story here.  I tell soldiers’ stories here.  I tell the stories of my family, friends, roommates, coworkers, vacations, tragedies, triumphs, and training. 

This is how I live a dream I never knew I always had.

One smoothie at a time

30 Americans Killed in Afghanistan.  My mind immediately starts racing, who do I know in that province?  What was that SEALs name that did a United Through Reading a couple weeks ago?  Where there any MarSOCs or any other Special Forces in the crash?  What about our volunteer who is a Chinook pilot, I haven’t seen him a while?  I’m searching news websites for pictures, e-mailing friends and asking coworkers. 

Just a year ago these were just stories, this year this is my life. 

Every day I get a chance to help troops, and in this situation I feel absolutely helpless.  I can’t do anything to make it better.  I can’t take away the pain those families are feeling.  My heart aches for them.

I don’t think I knew any of the troops killed that day; I’m honestly still not 100% sure, but even if not, it does not make it any better.  There are still 30 families hearing the worst news of their lives wondering how they’ll make it through.  I read in an article that they interviewed a widow on the Today show and it was heartbreaking to listen to her as she had to correct herself from describing her husband as “is” to “was.”  Then there’s the 10 year old boy who lost his father and posted a picture to CNN because he didn’t want anyone to forget his daddy.

I just finished reading a moving book last week written by a Navy SEAL called, “The Heart and The Fist” by Eric Greitens.  He was a humanitarian volunteering in Rwanda and Croatia, then realized he wanted to do more and became a Navy SEAL.  He explains his reason for joining the SEALs:

We can certainly donate money and clothing, and we can volunteer in the refugee camps.  But in the end these acts of kindness are done after the fact.  They are done after people have been killed, their homes burned, their lives destroyed.  Yes, the clothing, the bread, the school; they are all good and they are all much appreciated.  But I suppose we have to behave the same way we would if any person – our kids, our sisters, brothers, parents – were threatened.  If we really care about these people, we have to be willing to protect them from harm.

These fallen heroes did just that.  They tried to make the world a better place for all of us.

 And a good life, a meaningful life, a life in which we can enjoy the world and live with purpose, can only be built if we do more than live for ourselves. – Greitens

This all still left me with a hollow feeling of what can I do to somehow make sense of this.  I can remember on September 11^th when the world was crashing down around us and no one had any idea what was going on, I came home from high school and my mom simply said, “these chairs need painted for Angela (my sister).”  We spent the afternoon not talking about the fear or uncertainty, but painting chairs.  The horrific acts of September 11th were beyond our control, we couldn’t change the outcome, so we did something productive for someone else.  We found silence in our minds and some comfort in our hearts by working with our hands for others.

Today was my first day back from vacation and I had the honor of visiting the Wounded Warriors' housing and making them smoothies with my coworkers.  For 2 hours even though I was surrounded by literally suffering - these men have been blown up and have holes shot in them, I had a non-stop smile on my face.  At first they were a bit timid and shy, but even while limping they offered to help us carry boxes.  Then once the blenders got whirring, they came out of the woodwork!  I loved putting a smile on their face, and letting them crack me up too!  We were waiting on some of the other soldiers to show up and one of the Wounded Warriors said yeah they’re all the guys with concussions to which another soldier quickly responded, “Yeah they probably forgot how to get here.”  :D

I worked at a smoothie shop for 6 months during my senior year of college, but I don't remember a single customer.  Today's smoothies made in the middle of a warzone, in the middle of summer, in the middle of a room filled with wounded soldiers, I'll never forget.  It wasn’t much what we did, but damn it felt good.

Across the globe, even in the world’s ‘worst places,’ people found ways to turn pain into wisdom and suffering into strength.  They made their own actions, their very lives, into a memorial that honored the people they had lost. - Greitens

The Beginning and the End

I originally wrote this post on 28JUN11.

Working for the USO and being one of those rare breeds on base we like to call females, I get to see some cool things.  I’ve flown on a Marine logistics flight to other FOBs, I’ve ridden in an MRAP and I’ve taken a tour with the PJs.

PJs are Pararescue Jumpers.  These men are in the US Airforce Special Operations, and they are responsible for the recovery and medical treatment of the wounded in a combat environment. (I knew all that but wikipedia just said it more concisely).  These are called MEDEVAC missions (medical evacuation).  They have to go to a specialized school for 2 years.  They must complete airborne school, survival school, underwater training, free fall parachutist school, and paramedic training among others.  Their motto is, “That Others May Live.”  They are basically badasses who save lives on a regular basis.

A couple months ago my coworker Duane and I got to tour their Black Hawks.  A PJ named Daniel gave us the tour and showed us all the equipment they use (I was shocked at how little there was, I remember even saying, “This is all it takes to save a life?  Any problem you have these few machines can fix?”  He said, “yes.” )  I put on his “kit” (bulletproof vest with attachments) on.  I nearly fell over from the weight and Daniel responded, “you don’t even have the ruck on yet.”  So then I put the ruck sack on.  It was so heavy, and he puts all this on and then squats or bends over to work on a patient.  They literally slide down a rope out of a chopper to get on the ground and save a troops life who has just been shot or blown up.  Then they throw them in the chopper and go.  Daniel had a large saw, I asked him what it was for, he said British “litters” (cots they put patients on) are longer than American litters and don’t fit on the plane, so they have to cut them down to size.  Of course since we’re in a warzone there is a 50 caliber gun and a Airman’s job who is to be the “gunner.”  Daniel told us a story of once the pilot was shot in the leg and he had to take his ruck and kit off and maneuver himself to slide up and over through to the cockpit to work on the pilot’s leg while they were flying back to KAF. 

I was so grateful for the tour and for what they do.  As we were walking back to get a bottle of water after the tour all of their pagers went off and they took off sprinting toward the choppers.  We got to see them all suit up efficiently and quickly and take off within 2 minutes to go save another life.  It was AMAZING.

Last night, my running coach, Capt. Simmons gave my coworker Randy and I a tour of CASF.  This is the area where they hold the wounded warriors near the flight line until a flight is ready for them to get on to be transported to a more equipped hospital in Bagram (Kabul, Afghanistan) or Landstuhl hospital in Germany.  After taking a tour, Simmons talked his way into letting us up in the control tower on the flight line.  We could see all of KAF.  It was breathtaking.  It is HUGE.  It is a city.  We watched C130s, and Chinooks fly by.  They say Kandahar Air Field has the busiest runway in the world.  It was crazy to be that close to airplanes that were constantly taking off and landing. 

While we were standing on the catwalk outside the tower, two Black Hawks approached.  Simmons told us they were a MEDEVAC mission coming in.  We watched two ambulances wait on the flightline while the two choppers landed.  PJs jumped out and carried the litters to the people waiting on the ground who put the wounded warriors in the ambulance (glorified humvee) and drove them the few feet to Role 3.  Role 3 is the emergency and critical care hospital.  Role 2 would be where you go for a sinus infection or the flu.  They didn’t seem very hurried so we took that as a good sign that the troops weren’t hurt too badly.  Simmons found out today they were Bravo, Alpha is the most critical that’s gun shot wounds or IEDs, Bravo is not as hurt.  As we watched the PJs jump back in and the choppers slicing through the air I thought of how I saw them at the beginning and the end.  The thing is I never want to see the middle.  I thought of my friends who have been MEDEVACd the ones who have died and the one who have lived.  How terrifying of a flight that must be.

Randy and I both said we could stand on that catwalk for hours and watch all the planes fly by.  We started to make our way around the catwalk and back indoors when Simmons pointed out Mortuary Affairs to us.  It is situated right behind the Role 3.  He pointed to the connexes where they keep the heroes (that is what they refer to the deceased as).  Simmons told us how sometimes mortuary affairs will go greet the PJs instead of Role 3.  That broke my heart.  Simmons even talked about how a few times he has volunteered over there to iron flags.  Just thinking about the incredible strength it would take to fill a metal box with ice to place a killed troop in, to iron the flag that will cover his final resting place, to say goodbye to a face that his own mother probably doesn’t even know is dead yet.  I took it all in.

Tonight Randy and I attended a ramp ceremony for 3 Marine heroes and 1 Army hero.  Before when I attended ramps I just felt a numbing sorrow.  This time I could picture it every step of the way, from the PJs getting the call, to the flight in, and the Role 3 and mortuary affairs.  It gave me some small sense of comfort to know that every single step of the way there were people trying with every last millimeter of their bodies’ limits to honor that troop.  The pilot of the chopper was racing to get to him, the medic on the ground was racing to keep him alive, the PJs were desperately trying to keep him going on the flight to Role 3, the doctors there tried their hardest too, and then mortuary affairs tried their best to prepare the body.  And me, well I’m a part of it too, because I’m trying my hardest with every ounce in my body to stand tall, place my hand over my heart while Amazing Grace plays, and honor that hero. 

Tomorrow I will write 4 new names on my hand when I run.  That’s one way I have found to honor them.  I encourage you to find a way.  When you send cookies to the troops deployed, adopt a soldier through Soldiers' Angels, make cards for our troops to send home through Operation Write Home, write a sister’s boyfriend’s best friend’s cousin who is deployed, donate to an organization that supports Wounded Warriors, thank any troop you see anywhere for their service, that’s how you can honor them.

I’ve seen the beginning and I’ve seen the ending, and I think both are in God’s hands.  It’s the middle, what you do with it, that’s what counts.  

I ran.

Armed with an iPod full of GirlTalk (thanks everyone for the playlist suggestions, keep them coming!), and motivation on my hand I hit the treadmill.  I went to the NATO gym (also known as 2 Shoes, because you have to bring a second non-dusty poo pond remant-y pair).  I saw a trainer I know, JD.  I haven't seen him in a while so I told him about my marathon plans and he gave me some great tips on training.  According to him I need to add in some speed interval training, or at least I think that's what he said, I was a little enamored by his gorgeous Irish accent.


My goal was 6 miles, the furthest yet.  I ran 10K, 6.2 miles instead, (mostly because the treadmill is set to kilometers in the gym and my poor math skills only get me so far) in a time of 63 minutes, not outstanding, but awesome for me!  I felt like I hit my perfect stride midway through and that I could run for miles.  I even cranked up the pace for the last kilometer.


The craziest part of it all was an Air Force pilot who was on the treadmill next to me came up to me when I was stretching afterward and said, "You are my inspiration.  I wanted to run 6 miles, but I just couldn't do it, but I saw you just running along like it was no big deal, and I thought I can do this too.  Well I didn't make 6 miles, but you got me further than I would have."


Wow.  24 hours ago I didn't want to run an inch, then somehow I found the inspiration through the sacrifices of our troops.  Now, unintentionally, I passed it on to a troop.  I love the way sometimes life just surprises you. :)

Race Idea

So in November I’m going to run a marathon, that's 26.2 miles!  It's the Soldier Marathon in Ft. Benning, GA.  Today I ran a 5K race.  So far in my marathon training I am up to 5 miles, so a 5K should be nothing, I do it every other day.  Well, I started too fast, and it was super dusty, needless to say I’m making excuses for the fact that I was burning out toward the end.  I looked down at my wrist, saw Daren’s name and got an instant second wind.  I thought of all the sacrifices he made, and realized my running 3 little miles and donating 5 dollars to a military non-profit really is not that big of a deal, I can do this.  I also received some help from an extraordinary running mentor, SSG Jeremy Logan, who finished the race in 20 minutes (a “crap time” according to him, he usually finishes in 18), then jogged back down the course to find me and help me keep pace and motivation to get to the finish line.  A couple months ago Logan ran 46 miles in less than 24 hours for a charity run!

I’m also blessed enough to have Air Force Captain Robert Simmons as my running coach.  He has run some marathons including some 50 milers!  He is the one who has agreed to meet me 4 days a week in the wee hours of the morning to run, and never bailed on me even once!  He also helped correct my form so I wasn’t hurting my shoulders anymore (You’re wondering how do you hurt your shoulders running?  Well, let’s just say I looked like a drunk kangaroo when I ran).  Anyway, back to the race idea.

Tonight I was washing my face and dreading the fact that tomorrow morning on my marathon training schedule I have to run 6 miles, the farthest yet.  I started to doubt how I was going to keep my motivation up to keep adding miles and weeks until the marathon in November.  If it was that hard today to run 3 miles, what is it going to be like when I need to run 16, 18, 20?!  Then I thought about how I got through today, by looking down at my bracelet and realizing that in the grand scheme of life my feet hurting, or breath panting, or muscle soreness is nothing.  That discomfort will be gone in mere minutes.  I thought how a family somewhere in the US is mourning the loss of a loved one right now who was killed in the war in Afghanistan or Iraq, how their pain is incomprehensible to mine, and their sacrifice exponentially more.

That’s how the plan came about.  According to my schedule I should run 4 days a week, with one day being speed workouts, and one day being my “long day” and the other two just usual days.  That’s 4 days of motivation needed and an opportunity to honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice. 

I am going to write the name of the heroes who have been killed in action since I last ran on my hand.  For them and their eternal peace, I will run.  For their families and the pain they are enduring, I will run.  For all their fellow troops who miss them, I will run.  For thanksgiving for their sacrifice for my freedom so I can run another day, I will run.  They’ll be my motivation. 

In June of 2010 there were 103 casualties in Afghanistan alone.  Every single day you can check the Department of Defense's website and see the news releases of casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan. 

So tomorrow morning, my 6 miles will be for a Marine hero, Sgt. Mark A. Bradley, 25, of Cuba, NY, who died June 16^th in Helmand province, Afghanistan and an Army hero, Pvt. Ryan J Larson, 19, of Friendship, Wis. who died June 15^th in Kandahar province, Afghanistan. 

This one’s for you.

Let us never forget.

JFK's famous words at Arlington National Cemetery

I’m annoyed this Memorial Day.  On the front page of my hometown paper there is a huge headline, “Memories of War.”  This article features four gentlemen who served for our country…in WWII.  Now while I know that their sacrifices are honorable and deserving respect it perturbs me that this completed the entirety of the coverage. 

I know one of the reasons I'm out here is to show the troops fighting these wars that they are not forgotten, but here in my hometown newspaper is proof that to some they are.  Here are four accounts that are nostalgic, but unrelatable to most of today’s population as the men discuss their war stories from 1944.  Have we forgotten that there are men and women still dying for us TODAY?

Where are the stories this Memorial Day from a soldier, airman, marine, sailor, who just returned from Iraq or Afghanistan?

There are also three editorials in the paper, two of three which mention have no mention of Iraq or Afghanistan.  I think we are doing a disservice to ourselves if this Memorial Day we just sit back and only think of these old troops who are enjoying their golden years, but still haunted by memories of their time at war.  They get to have their golden years.  

We also need to remember this Memorial Day the men and women who lost their lives this past year, and the past ten years. 

Temporary headstones and newly made plots at Arlington eerily waiting for casualties from Iraq and Afghanistan to fill them

The ones who will never get to see their daughter or son grow up.  The ones who were never even old enough to legally drink a beer.  The ones who fought hard and laid down their life for a friend.  The ones who never saw it coming.  The ones who suffered.  The ones who now live, but without a limb.  The ones who have seen a friend die right beside them, but still go out the next day to that same place to do their job.

Along with our WWII and Vietnam veterans we need to remember these men and women, our Iraq and Afghanistan veterans.  We need to not let a day go by that we don’t think about our troops, because that one day you forgot that they are out here at least one family is heartbroken because their brother, sister, son, daughter, husband, wife, friend has been killed.

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

I encourage everyone to join the Facebook group, “Military Wall of Honor.”  It is a group that posts about every troop that perishes in Iraq and Afghanistan.  After posting the war casualty, this dedicated group of volunteers then tries to find as much information as possible about the deceased to make them real to all of us.  They put up pictures from their Facebook profile pics and list comments that people have left on the deceased’s wall.  They also tell the official story of how they paid the ultimate sacrifice for us. 

As I scroll through my news feed laughing at the latest pictures of my friend’s bar hopping or stalking someone’s statuses, I’ll come across a Military Wall of Honor posting.  For a moment when I see that young face of a smiling troop looking back at me, I am reminded he or she is gone now.  I always take a second, even if it is just a second, to say a prayer for the fallen troop and their family and loved ones.  In that moment they are not forgotten.

This is a link to the story, "The Marble of our Heroes' Headstones" shown on CBS News Sunday Morning about the creation of headstones at national cemeteries.  It features the creation of Daren Hidalgo's headstone.