Run

The running starts slowly, slowly and painfully. Joints ache, bones ache. Tired muscles, sore from yesterday, not used to running. Not breathing heavy yet, not in the first steps, but soon because lungs are tired too. Trot, trot, step, step, step, across the dusty lot in front of the mods, down and up through the empty dry drainage ditch, slight turn onto one of the streets that leads from the middle of Camp Bastion to the perimeter. To the right are the enlisted dorms, tents, with shitty air conditioning and external bathroom trailers. The bathrooms in the mods are small, but at least they're proper and clean, and we each get our own room. To the left is the JFH(A), Joint Helicopter Forces (Afghanistan) operations center run by the British. Good that they let us be here to help, good that they let us fly from Bastion and work side by side. Past that some more trailers and tents, not much I know. Neat blocks of trailers and tents, trailers and tents everywhere. And dust.

Try to think of a song to play in my head while I run. Sometimes Lil' Wayne, sometimes Pirates of the Carribbean, sometimes Pink Floyd, sometimes Dragonball Z. No need for an iPod, screwing with the armband, earbuds uncomfortable, tracks coming on I don't like. I can listen to anything I can remember.

South down the side of the dusty road to the edge of the base, and now a decision. Wind from east to west today so I turn left, into the wind for the beginning and the end of the run. Not bad now and sprints on the back stretch will be easy, but the last leg will be hard. That's fine. Sprints today so I'll be tired anyway. Left across the road and stay on the left side, between the ditch and the cars and trucks. They kick up dust when they come by, dry dust that's hard to breathe but harder to escape. Crosswind is best for the dust while running, into the wind is next best. Bad, but it goes by quickly - breathe in from down low and out to the front. Past the Base HQ and cross the road that leads out the main gate, dodging slow cars, wave of thanks for getting in their way.

Muscles less sore now, still running slow to warm up but the breathing's coming along too. At the end of the block turn north again, down the most boring stretch. Fences on either side, contractors and construction on the left, and helicopter flightline on the right. All the British squadrons first and then we're down at the end, the small compound of a few tents that makes up our home. Not there yet though - not the longest leg of the run here but it seems it for the fences, and today it's where the sprints start too. First one nice and easy, start out slow, make the strides longer bit by bit, build about halfway to a full sprint and stay there for just a moment, then slowly back down and trot some more. Nice and easy, no hurry, just to get used to the idea.

Two more sprints on this stretch, both closer to a full sprint but not quite there yet. Hold it for a little longer, and fast on the third past our squadron. Feet starting to feel lighter, listen to the chorus in my head, all stretched and loose and fast. Slow down again, trot some more. More dust, more ditches, more fences and trailers and trucks. Some days I run free, down and up every ditch, over walls and shipping containers, flowing across everything, but not today. Trot to the end and turn west, out along the long stretch down the backside of the base. Today is about speed.

On my right is a long wall, nothing on the other side but the dump where they burn the garbage. On the left is all construction and logistics, building materials, cement plants, watter bottling, contractor housing. Trailers and tents, down the stretch. Glance at the fence to the left, pick a start for the first sprint, pick something to sprint to. One hundred yards will do, but more or less will do also. This dent in the fence to that culvert there, perfect. Go.

This one's a real sprint, and now I'm light and fast and strong. Two long strides to get going, and then I'm flying with the wind. Twenty yards, forty. Fling the feet into each stride, breathe deep and fast, use the arms and the stomach and the chest and the back, move the legs faster and faster. Can barely feel the ground. Thirty yards to go, twenty, ten. Stay on the gas all the way to the end, nearly there, don't quit early, don't quit, stay fast on the toes, faster faster faster, done! Then relax and skip along as I slow down. Breathing hard but not tired, eager for more. Pick some part of the fence to jog to, let the music calm down and trot along. Recovery comes fast, breathing slows, heart slows. Muscles not sore anymore, ready for another right now but that's not the way to go, rest is important too. Be glad for the rest, be thankful. Plenty of sprints still ahead.

More trucks and cars go by, and with the wind is the worst. They kick up dust all along the stretch, and all of it will blow by me. Hard to breathe, hard to see. But, wave to the drivers anyway. Get a smile and a wave back, that British soldier there, that Pakistani contractor across the road, that gang of local workers. Wave and smile, it goes a long way. Always use the right hand - the left can be an offense here - but I still think the smile counts more.

Next few sprints are great, flying every time. Get to the start and launch, sprint hard, light and fast, letting the vision blur, listening to the song in my head. Blur of speed, to the end, slow down again. Hundred yards sprint, hundred yards rest, hundred yards sprint, hundred yards rest. Sprint to this trailer, rest to that ditch. Sprint past that truck, rest to that next street. Sprint, rest, sprint, rest, all the way down the stretch.

Next to last sprint before the turn, I look ahead to the end. One more after this, a long one, then a long trot to the corner. Getting tired now, getting winded. Each rest seems shorter, each time barely enough to be ready for the next one. Finish the next to last sprint and I'm winded, breathing hard. Rest, look ahead to the last sprint. Hundred yards to that culvert, then a full two hundred trot to the end of the road. One more, then a rest. Launch into the sprint, couple of long strides, decide to slowly build this one. Faster, faster, flying now, lungs straining for air. Fifty yards, seventy-five. One hundred isn't enough, no long rest. Keep going, stay on the gas, sprint a full two and rest half a block. Energy will come from somewhere, it always does. Remember to breathe, remember the music.

I finish the sprint and my lungs are bursting, muscles shaky from the effort. Breathe, breathe, keep the trot going, now the corner's only fifty yards, thirty yards. Round the corner to head south, feel the loss of the wind at my back. This is a good stretch, south down the west end of the base. Gravel processing plant on the right, otherwise looks much like the rest of the base but somehow neater, prettier dirt roads, better looking trailers and tents. Plus it's well away from the exit, so nobody ever comes down here. No foot traffic, no convoys, no contractors. Cement wall, cement guard towers, dusty road, fences, ditches. Peaceful.

Tell myself a couple of easy sprints are deserved here, then ignore myself and run them hard. Each one feels like the last now, two miles in, have to find the energy to keep going. Pick an end for each sprint and then burn trying to get there, broken and out of gas each time, scraping across the finish line. Each rest too short, shaky and gasping, heart pounding. Try and slow it down, try and rest, get ready for the next sprint. Start point's coming, ten yards, five. Maybe rest longer, can't sprint again yet. A few more and you're done, you wimp, sprint again now. Now! Struggle to find some music, struggle to find some air, stagger to the next rest. Four or five sprints down the stretch, each one an eternity of effort and pain.

Round the last corner, back east to the starting road. I tell myself I can rest here, then tell myself I can rest later. Every day the same, not sure how this lie still works on myself, but I sprint anyway. Quarter-mile stretch, and I rest then sprint then rest then sprint again. Second one's long, all the way to the road. Somehow ignore the pain and fly, full speed, past the point of breathing, past the point of seeing, fifty yards, a hundred yards. To that road, wait, to that truck, no, to the end of that fence. Two hundred yards, two-fifty. No more music now, just one long scream, push, push, rage, muscle, heart, feet, dust, bases, trailers, tents, helicopters, convoys, walls, fences, roads, lights, soldiers, guns, fire, war, blood. Run.

The road back to the mods goes the same as always, a slow build, back with the music, some words of wisdom echoing in my mind. After the sprints the build is easy - no reason I can quit now. Great strides by the end, down the road, across the dirt lot to the mods. Finish the same every day, gasping and exhausted, find some water, stretch, try to cool down, try to get some air. Soon it's shower and off to work. Same as yesterday. Same as tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'll decide it's not worth it, maybe tomorrow I'll take a day off. Maybe tomorrow it'll still be worth it though - maybe tomorrow I'll run again.