Christmas is in the air at Fort Leavenworth -- this morning, every soldier on post (and most sailors, marines, airpersons, and more than a few civilians with their dogs or small children) gathered at o-dark-thirty in the crisp morning air for a "fun run." In all my years in the Army, there is still nothing quite so motivating as a 3-mile jog while singing along with 2,500 of your closest friends. The 17-degree temperature brought out the best in everyone: non-uniform snivel gear, mass chaos formations, frozen spittle on the sidewalks, people throwing up in the grass, and even at least one fistfight between two field grade officers. (Apparently they got into it when one called the other a naughty name for a part of the female anatomy because he was running too slow, so he told the first guy what to do with himself, and fists started flying. There were also apparently about two dozen various others who threw up in the grass not even halfway through the run.)
We're all professionals here, right?
It is little wonder that an Air Force friend of mine, who was here at the same school a year ago, told me by December that he had had "too much of the hooah."
Gecko-6 bowed out of this one, opting instead to play the "old man" card and save my knees. I'm proud to say I showed up, stood around shivering with my classmates for half an hour, saluted the flag, and drove home in my warm car as they all shuffled along. Sounds like I didn't miss much.
With that in mind -- remember as you celebrate Christmas this year, wherever you are in the world, that we are fighting for at least one person's right to be an idiot.
Sounds like one person is guaranteed coal in her stocking on Dec. 25 -- and should be beaten senseless with it.
