Too many to count, and innocence lost - Boston Marathon 2013

PHOTO BY AP PHOTO/CHARLES KRUPA

I remember the first time I was in the middle of danger.  I hadn't been in Iraq for 24 hours when I was walking to the chow tent for breakfast, and we heard "whiiiiiiiiiiizz", and saw plumes of smoke and flying debris.

I had no idea what a mortar looked like or sounded like.  But really fast, we learned because the closest protective bunker was about 50 yards away.  We literally dodged mortars all around us trying to get there, and when we finally reached the bunker, we stayed in there for a good 5 minutes because the mortars kept coming.  This was unusual - usually its one or two, and they're done.  For insurgents to lob over TWENTY mortars into the base was risky, because it exposed them to be discovered.

Welcome to Mosul, Iraq, friends.  Where six months before, someone walked into the dining hall and self-detonated.  The only thing worse than living through that was calling my husband afterwards, knowing that the attack would be on the news.  He was so brave on the phone, but I know he was dying inside.

And then there was the time when we were in the chow hall, and we heard the explosion - a mortar hit the generator just outside the hall, throwing us out of our chairs onto the concrete floor.

Then there was the time where a mortar landed in the handwashing station just outside the chowhall at 5PM.  It didn't detonate.

Then, two weeks before I was to come home, a mortar landed 20 meters from my CHU (containerized housing unit - a trailer, essentially).  I woke up to the boom, and flying debris hitting my trailer.  At that point, I thought I was going to die.  When I saw my neighbor later that day, she told me that she was on her way to take out her garbage when she decided to start her coffee pot first.  The mortar landed right by the dumpster, and coffee saved her life.

And all these were just from my first tour.  The second tour, shit got closer.  Once when I was in the makeshift bathroom at a command outpost in Tarmiyah (yes, folks, I was sitting on the can, and dirt got in my pants), and the other hit two trailers in my living area, opening up the sides like a tuna can.

Explosions, no matter how few or how many you experience, feel just as frightening as the first time.  The feeling of being knocked off your feet simply by the pressure change these explosions create is surreal, almost Matrix-like.  What's left over is the constant ringing in my ears that keeps me up most nights.

Thankfully, most people in the free world don't experience any of this - and I was always thankful for that.  This all is the bullshit that goes with the territory of being a soldier at war.  But watching what happened at Boston yesterday on the news ripped my heart.  Seeing the runner in the orange jersey fall to the ground from the pressure wave of the blast is something with which I'm all too familiar.  Innocence was lost across so many generations.  And the lives of three - so far, including an 8 year old - are lost.

And sadly, I wasn't surprised.  We can take a million and one precautions and evil will find a way to sneak in.  Frankly, I'm surprised the likes of this had not happened already at Boston or NYC...large events with international presence and the attention of people around the world.  It's a stage that evil craves.

My heart goes out to everyone affected.  And I grieve that my running friends who have nothing to do with Iraq or Afghanistan now have a glimpse of how this feels.

But in the meantime - actually, for a lifetime - we remember those who rushed to help, those who crossed the finish line and then ran to someplace to donate blood.  The residents of Boston who opened their homes to strangers.  Evil wants to leave fear and chaos in it's wake.  And in the short term, it will.  But evil only keeps coming back because it's goal is never achieved here...we stand up, we hold out our hand to others, and we drive on.  Goodness and kindness will always win.

Catch-up (in other words...too much to think of something clever)

Man, where do I start...

A *lot* has happened since I last posted.  D has left for Army training in Missouri for 5 months.  I turned 39.  Work has been busy.  I've been cycling more/running less (I need to reverse that a little).  And I am purchasing a new bike.

Now, there isn't much to say about D leaving.  It happens in military families.  I did it twice in the first three years of our marriage.  He was gone for a year while I was in nursing school.  5 months should be nothing, right?  Well, this time it was so much harder. 

In April, we will celebrate 8 years of being married.  And for the 4th time, we will celebrate apart.  And I think it really hit me this time.  I miss him, terribly.  And yes, people say I should be thankful that he's not in a warzone this time, it is very likely that he will once this school is finished.  And he wants to go.  And I will support him, as he supported me during my two combat tours.

A few days after D left, I turned the big 3-9.  And you know what, I was excited for it.  My 30s were awesome!  I met D.  I served honorably in the Army for 8 years.  I finally finished my nursing degree 10 years after I started.   I started running at 34 and have met a wonderful network of friends through it (and more recently, through cycling).  While D was not here to celebrate, one of my best friends with whom I *thought* I was having a quiet dinner, invited more of my close friends to celebrate with me at TRATA.  I don't think I can ever relay how much that surprise meant to me.  For this transplant, Rochester really felt like home.

"The Corporal's Breakfast"...essentially an Irish Car Bomb with bacon.

Oh.  My.  Cholesterol!  Buttermilk fried chicken with mashed taters!!!

Despite the blizzard on Friday (after working 3 nights in a row), I ventured out in my trusty Subaru to get fitted for a triathlon bike.  Now, the story behind this is interesting, to some. As some may know, my husband has a "hobby" in collecting large implement and equipment.  Think:  Backhoes, bulldozers, tractors.  And yes, this is silly when we live in the city.  But his thinking is that when we are ready to build on our land these will come in handy and save us money in subcontracting the house's foundation.  So, when he also purchased a used pickup truck (for a great price, I'll give him credit for that), I decided then and there that I needed to indulge in a toy myself.  After he did his test drive and asked if he could buy it, I said: "Sure, if I can get my tri-bike in time for next year's racing season."

And there you have it. 

I got fitted at Geneva Bicycle Center, and will pick up my new (two) wheels the first week in March.

And no doubt, I'll get more use out of it in the next four months than that bulldozer will!

Not "All In"...some still do the job and pay the price.

So, General Petraeus succumbed to the very thing that so many soldiers do - booty.

I'm conflicted.  Under his doctrine, essentially, I deployed twice to Iraq.  General Petraeus literally wrote the book on how we do counterinsurgency.  His legacy as a soldier will remain mostly untarnished.  He was stupid, and I'm a little surprised that a four-star general made the mistake that so many lower-ranked/younger/dumb soldiers do, deployment after deployment.  And it's sad to see his career end like this.

There is more to the story, and more to come, I'm sure.  Another 4-star, another woman.  I knew when he resigned, there was more to the story than "just an affair".

So, I'm disappointed.  Really disappointed.  In a man to whom I admired as someone who seemed like a straight-shooter.  Flawless.  A soldier to emulate.  A soldier who was actually not an egomaniac.  People liked him.

And it's sad that with it monopolizing the news, it overshadows three soldiers affiliated with D's Army Reserves Unit in Canandaigua who were killed in Afghanistan.  All in their 20s.  They paid the ultimate sacrifice.  One, unbeknownst to his family because of his natural humility, was already awarded the Bronze Star with Valor for saving the lives of other soldiers earlier this year.  With sadness I watch my husband prepare his uniform to attend funerals all over the state. 

The war is very real.  Don't you forget it. 

D-Day, National Running Day

It is National Running Day. Funny thing is I GUARANTEE that no one gets an interval session like the men of America did on this day in 1944, outrunning machine gun fire on open beaches. Do that for a workout today and I am impressed...OR...at least hold some reverence in your heart for their dedication and sacrifices during your run.  -Scott Stetson, US Army Ranger.

 

 

 

The Surge to Diyala

Every Memorial Day and Veteran's Day, I post this video created by a friend of mine with whom I served in Iraq.  I was part of the "Surge" back in 2007 - after only being home from my first deployment for a year. 


Corey, who created this video, worked with the Provincial Reconstruction Team in Diyala Province - specifically the city of Baqoubah - which was a hotbed of insurgency.


While Baqoubah became safe(er), it was not without the sacrifice of many.


May freedom ring, everywhere....

Rest In Peace, SGT Snyder - my first Patriot Guard Ride

It's taken me a few days to process my emotions from this day...

On Saturday, my husband and I participated in our first Patriot Guard Ride down to Cohocton, NY to pay final respects to US Army sergeant Devin Snyder.  SGT Snyder was a military police officer killed with three others in a roadside bomb blast in Afghanistan on June 4th.

When Dave and I talked about what his "20 Year Letter" (a form a service member receives after serving 20 years in the Armed Forces, indicating eligibility for retirement) gift to himself would be, we considered our desire to be involved with PGR.  When Dave picked up his motorcycle last fall (a 2011 Harley Davidson Ultra-Classic Electraglide Limited), we were anxious to get out and ride.  This PGR ride was the first extended ride we made together, which seemed fitting as both Dave and I are combat vets; he of Afghanistan, me of Iraq.

I felt a slight connection to SGT Snyder:  we are women who served in a combat zone not from "inside the wire", but going on dangerous missions nearly every day.  I also was in a vehicle that was hit by a roadside bomb, back on Thanksgiving Day 2005.  I survived with injuries which I deal with to this day.  I was sad that I survived but she, and countless others, do not.  I wish in terms of her final mission she was as lucky as I was.

Dave and I went to the meet-up point in Rochester early in the morning, where we were greeted by a fellow Rider named Dan (but he goes by "Gunny")  Gunny gave us a quick synopsis of how the organization works, what we do, how we hold our flags, etc.

As we were talking, someone riding a Vespa scooter pulled up to the group - a group full of Harley Davidsons and sprinkled with just a few Yamahas, Kawasakis and Hondas.  Gunny laughed quietly when he was the Vespa, and said "there's one on every ride."

At 8AM we left the staging point for the hour-long ride down to Cohocton; riding staggered, our group of about 100 stretched as far as I could see down the curves of Route 390 South.  Dave and I were staged a little towards the back of the group, as the Ride Captain asked for those with EMT or medical training to do so.  I tried to capture the moment on a camera phone, but there was no way to focus on how far the group stretched...

We arrived at the Wayland-Cohocton School complex at about 9:15 and found at least 200 more riders from other parts of NY, including a fellow soldier with whom I served in Mosul back in 2005-2006.  We listened to the briefing by the Ride Captain and were instructed that we were to stage only at the cemetery.  The family asked that the funeral be community based, which may make them vulnerable to any protesters but we were told that there were at least 50 PGRs within the community that would certainly take care of any business.

The Ride Captain made himself, and the PGR's mission clear:  Although Westboro Baptist Church members were not seen in the area despite their verbalized intent to show up, we were not to engage ANY protestors.  SGT Snyder's service drummed up enough interest that over 300 people signed up to join PGR in the past 24 hours, and the State Captain and Ride Captain were concerned that many did so that they may counter-protest (which is not the PGR's mission) Many municipalities in New York have recently passed resolutions expanding the "buffer zone" to nearly three football fields, nothing could be guaranteed...and particularly Westboro Baptist Church are well versed in their constitutional right to protest.

Knowing how passionate Dave is about stuff like this (especially since he is a State law enforcement official), I turned to him during the briefing and said "Dave, you aren't a cop today.  Remember that."

Interestingly, many of the members of WBC are attorneys - they know the law, know how to spit hairs with it, and often will have someone videotaping their protests in the event that anyone so much as says "boo" in their direction, so they can sue.  But what makes PGR so awesome is to see hundreds of hard, rough looking bikers who can kick anyone's ass simply turn their backs on these assclowns who call their organization a church (even though they are not part of any Baptist convention in the country).

We left the school complex and headed to the cemetery.  As we travelled through Wayland and Cohocton, citizens stood on their porches, sidewalks, and street corners.  They were waving flags, had their hand over their heart, or both.  These were cute towns, but I could see how an 18 year old would join the military to get out of it and see the world.  While I don't know much about the job opportunities there, I can see where the military may be a kid's only way out.

Zion Lutheran Cemetery sits along side the small access road and exit ramp Route 309 - what a sight for passing motorists to see - over 300 flags waving in the stiff breeze, and a caisson, bagpipes and Honor Guard from Fort Drum bringing SGT Snyder's body into the cemetery.  I wondered if they knew exactly what they were briefly witnessing.

The ceremony was as beautiful as I would only expect.  I've witnessed only one other military funeral in my lifetime; sadly that of a classmate when I was in the Army Practical Nurse School who died from complications of mononucleosis.  I was sad then, and I was sad now, especially seeing a Major General present the folded flag from the casket, "On behalf of a grateful nation", to SGT Snyder's mother.  I remember the tears that my mother-in-law shed when we buried my younger brother-in-law three years ago when he was killed in an auto accident.

I mourned this solder, but my heart ached for her mother.  No mother should outlive her child.

I encourage anyone - motorcycle or not, veteran or not - who wishes to be part of this organization, to do so!  PGR missions also need cars (or "cages", as the Ride Captains call them) as support vehicles on these missions.  You can join, for free, at http://www.patriotguard.org/ .  Once you join, please e-mail the state captain with the subject line "NEW MEMBER" so you can receive local updates.  PGR not only supports services for those killed in our current conflicts, but also veterans of past wars such as WWII, Vietnam, and Korea.  Thank you.

Rot in hell...

I realized that as a combat veteran, I can't get away from what's in the news today, nor from people asking my whiny-azzed opinion.  So, I'll lay all my cards down here:

At first I felt weird for celebrating UBL's death.  Then, while brushing my teeth before school this morning, I came to the conclusion that UBL is not even a human being, so I just decided to not feel bad anymore.

I hate that this has become a political goat-screw.  I've seen all praises to the current President and plenty of shitting on for our previous President.  Those who know me well know how I feel about our current administration (I don't like it).  That said, I'll give props where props is due, and respect the current administration because it represents the process and democracy I spent 8 years of my life defending.  The current President made a ballsy move with ordering the assault on the compound where UBL was thought to be hiding.  That move was a good one - I'll give him that.

I will always believe that UBL is worth more alive than dead, but I'll take what we can get.

During my time with a Civil Affairs/Psychological Operations unit (two years with a FID/UW...Foreign Internal Defense/Unconventional Warfare CA unit), intel is key.  Yeah, I was a medic, but I never gave anything for free. My job was working with Iraqis:  "Here is your Tylenol...now tell me where the weapons caches are".  I can't expect people who have not had my experiences to appreciate or understand.  But the mudslinging I saw was really depressing, and made me angry.

That said, I believe that we have known where UBL has been for a long time...back to the previous administration.  There is a lot of value in keeping someone alive, finding out how he ticks and how his network ticks.  The fact that he "hadn't been found" until now is something I don't fully believe...I think we had an idea.  Back in 2006 when Abu Musab al-Zarqawi (leader of al Qaeda in Iraq - AQI) was killed, it was after he had been followed for a long time, learn his methods and hierarchy, and only after some key leaders were there as well.

One comment from a FB friend stated "Can't a Black Man (referring to the President) get some credit?"  Seriously?  This is now a race issue AND a political issue?  F*cking bullshit!  The President doesn't get my full credit, and it isn't because he's black.  Sadly, the minority (not a racial descripter) is loud and obnoxious, drowning the logical thinking of most (am I giving too much credit?)  So, instead of respectfully disagreeing, I have to sit here with my thumb up my fifth-point-of-contact and let people say insane things.  Getting into a battle of wits with unarmed opponents has never worked.

The death of UBL will not change our mission in the Middle East.  In fact, I predict that it might get worse before it gets better.  I hope I'm wrong.  But taking out UBL even though it wouldn't change anything in the immediate sense is textbook psychological operations:  Dispose of the leader (figuratively or actual), dealing an emotional - if not logistical - blow to the mission, spin all the dirty croonies into a tizzy and get them running.  Without a place to call home, eventually they will disorganize and fizzle out.  It's not quick, or was it ever meant to be.  It's eating soup with a knife:  It's messy and takes a long time...and it's called "counterinsurgency".

So what does eating that soup mean?  It means that our current President cannot be solely credited for UBLs capture.  The intel to get to this point took over a decade.  While even I can celebrate him signing off the order, anyone who thinks that he's the one who "got it done", "did this" or "finally gave us closure" is incorrect - plain and simple.  You may not like the previous administration either, but if you discount the work they have done (or think that they didn't do anything at all), but I hope that people can be mature Americans (or lovers of America) and recognize that we have an intricate system in which many people played a part...even a prior administration of which you didn't like.