When I Was in Iraq: Part Eleven - the Iraqi Weight Loss Plan

I have struggled with weight for much of my life. I just love food! In particular, I love things like pizza, potatoes, and, of course, Big Macs.

I arrived in Iraq heavier than I wanted to be. But Iraq was going to present the unique opportunity to lose weight in a controlled setting.

The Weight Loss Plan

I would be spending three months total on a US base. I would be eating meals planned and prepared by our kitchen staff. I also would have access to gym equipment. 

So I resolved that I was going to spent those three months strictly avoiding things like sweets and empty carbs. I would also practice portion control. And I would also plan my life around working out every single day.

Now, the base kept things like ice cream and potato chips freely available for anyone who wanted it. So I had to exercise considerable discipline to not indulge myself.

Since the temperature would be reaching potentially 120 degrees in the afternoon while I was there, I fell into a schedule wherein I was lights out at 8:00PM. I slept eight hours and then woke up at 4:00AM. I went to the main building of our base, drank a cup of coffee and worked out. I did a combination of weight training and cardio on an elliptical machine.

The Results

For three months I maintained this regimen. And here's what happened.

Here I am in pictures taken in early July and then in early September.

In total, I had lost thirty pounds in that time frame.

The Position of the Gun

Notice another detail between those two pictures. In early July, I had clearly pulled my holster forward so that my gun was more visible in the picture. I was like, "Hey, look at me! I'm in a war and I'm carrying a gun!"

In September I was still required to be carrying that gun, but in the picture you might not even know it was there, because by then I was like, "Just get me the fuck out of here."

The fact is, I've still spent the next twelve years in yo-yo dieting. I'm heavier right now than I wish I was. I know what I have to do in order to address the situation. And I'll do it, as I've done before. I'll miss you, Big Macs (for a while...;)!

When I was in Iraq: Part Eight

The Second Attack

I had heard the low thuds of car bombs going off in the distant city on June 24. Our base was on the outskirts. I sincerely hoped that my three months could pass without any significant incident in my immediate proximity.

That was all about to change.

I don't remember what day it was. It doesn't matter. As I have described, you are constantly rehydrating in Iraq, so I was on my way to the latrine (in the daytime I treated myself to the bathroom itself).

On my way, I heard someone slam a door so hard, so loudly, that my visceral reaction was anger.

"Why should someone slam a door like that??!!" I thought.

I kept walking. And then it happened again. Someone was slamming a door shut, so hard that it echoed through our compound. And my anger mounted. Why the f%$k was someone slamming a door shut like that?

And that's when I saw it. This object was tumbling end over end through the sky, it landed outside our concrete walls. And then I both saw, heard, and felt the shock wave of an explosion. I had just seen a mortar land. And I retroactively realized--the slamming door had also been mortars.

And then I saw another one. It was tumbling end over end. I stood there, watching it as it also, thankfully, landed on the other side of our wall. The explosion washed over me.

A moment of silence. It was over. Only then, I suddenly realized, HOLY SHIT! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! I ran to the CIA blast resistant work space. I would wait there until they declared the all clear.

I should have run to cover the moment I knew I was in danger. But I had not done so. And that's because, like so many people, I don't realize I'm in danger until long after the danger passes. 

I have learned after the fact that the human body turns new experiences into things it understands. That's why I heard those first mortar attacks as slamming doors. My brain was turning those sounds into something it understood. Once I saw the bombs in the air, I was able to hear the explosions occurring around me.

I have called this the "FIRST ATTACK" because it would not be the last.

As we all caught our breath that day, we took stock of the fact that we were in a war zone. I recall pensive and nervous glances exchanged over dinner. It was only somewhere inside July. I would not leave until mid-September. My tour would not be as long as many people. But it was longer than anyone I knew at the time. 

That would not be the last attack our base would face. But that's for another day...

When I Was in Iraq: Part Seven

As an NSA agent in Iraq during that war, I served my country to the best of my ability, using my talents in the area of "Force Protection," meaning finding any information that implied attacks upon our War Fighters and communicating that to our Military Command.

But in the course of my time living in that country, I did one thing in particular that I am not particularly proud of. That is perhaps why it needs to be told.

I have previously described how I jealously maintained a schedule which ensured eight hours of sleep every night.

And I learned my first night sleeping at my base why that would be difficult.

Keep in mind, it's always above 100 degrees during the daytime in Iraq during the summer (it was June when I arrived). So you need to be constantly hydrating. And that means that you will invariably need to relieve yourself. I woke up in the middle of my first night on base needing to do just that. I walked the 100 or so feet to the latrine and urinated. I walked the 100 or so feet back to my little cabin...and never slept again before morning.

Houston, we have a problem.

I have a particular issue wherein, if I wake up too much in the middle of the night, I have serious difficulties in falling back asleep. Even now, when I wake up,  I do the best I can to do my business, keeping my eyes shut as much as possible.

But obviously, I could not keep my eyes shut and walk 200 feet every night.

I was describing this problem the following morning to a CIA agent at breakfast. And he told me of the solution he had already discovered. Keep several empty water bottles around. Relieve yourself into them. And empty them in the morning at the latrine. 

That night I tested the method. I awoke. I went. A minute later I was back in bed. A minute after that, I was asleep.

Thank you, CIA agent! It worked!

The following morning, on my way to brush my teeth, I took the previous night's piss bottle along, emptied it, rinsed it out, and set out into another day.

I worked that assignment for a total of 90 consecutive, eleven hour days. At some point, I decided that there was no urgent reason to bring the previous night's single piss bottle to the latrine for disposal. I could surely wait until the next day and bring two.

Piss bottles awaiting latrine delivery would be stored under my bed, which you can see in the picture to the left. That was my simple dwelling. I watched the 2004 Summer Olympics on that TV. Ah, good times...

You see where this is heading, right? I am a lifelong procrastinator. And so, in the course of time, it would not be unusual for me to be carrying four piss bottles to the latrine for disposal.  

I had agreed to three months at the assignment. My handler suddenly was asking me just a few weeks before my departure if maybe I could stay another month. I utterly refused. I was imagining surviving those three months and the attacks it included and then the potential of being killed in that final month. No way I was going to risk that. As a result of my refusal, personnel were shifted around and the man who replaced me arrived on the very plane I would fly out on. He would take over my job and my living quarters. He and I shook hands on the tarmac. I wished him well.

I was thousands of feet in the air on my way back to Baghdad, and then onward travel to Amman, Jordan, before returning home when...I realized...there were three piss bottles under my bed.

Sorry, dude. 

I'm not proud of what I just described. Forgive me. It was war.

When I was in Iraq: Part Three

For this post, I need to actually take a step back in time. Today is my twin brother's wedding anniversary. He and his wife, Shari, married this day in 2004. 

I was, of course, in attendance, but I knew that I would be getting on a plane the following week to fly to Egypt, and that I would not return to the United States before then spending the three months in Iraq that I had agreed to.

And so, twelve years ago right now, I was enjoying a bittersweet time of contact with my family, and the angst--the dread--of where I was about to go.

My late mother was in poor health, as she had been for many years. In consultation with my father and others, we had decided to keep her in the dark about my upcoming trip until just before this weekend.

It was a delightful time; a traditional Jewish Wedding.

And my family, including my mother, all knew what was happening the next week.

There were laughter and tears. There were hugs. And as I separated from them all, I felt a deep sadness. I had to do this thing. But what was I putting my mother through? 

As a mother of four boys and one girl in the height of the Cold War, she undoubtedly had the low grade anxiety of wondering how she would face sending sons off to War in the inevitably expected war with the Communists.

But then Communism ended. She probably then never thought she would send a son to war. But now, here she was doing exactly that.

She told me that, no matter what, I was not to change my mission. 

She said that because she knew she was in poor health. And anything can happen. I understood and I promised her I would obey. Little did I knew that the issue would arise a few months later.

I hugged her and we both cried and cried.

And so, twelve years ago today, I took leave of my family and moved in the direction of my service in Iraq,

My mother arranged for me to be prayed for every Sunday at her Lutheran Church.  Every Sunday she heard, during the General Prayers, "For Keith...in Iraq."

She had become...a war mother. Like so many others in times such as WWII or other conflicts. I hope she received regularly consolation from her faith community as she passed through that time.

She would pass through days upon days of knowing I was in harm's way but not knowing really how I was.

As I continue to tell this story, I will recount how she experienced a major health crisis while I there...