Cheers! Kabul

New subject, same students. Many of my old students are attending my new class; I guess they have missed me!
Graffiti on crumbling buildings with no plans for reconstruction.
Haven't I seen this guy somewhere before?

Being back in Kabul after a 4 month long hiatus is interesting. During this trip back, I have had many bouts of Deja Vu; the guards at my old apartment are the same, my driver is friends with my former driver, so he knows that I like to lift weights, the policeman at the gate at school remembers that I don't eat bread, so he didn't offer any to me when it was lunch time and I walked by (he offered chick pea soup instead), the old beggar lady in burqa outside of the grocery store told me she hasn't seen me in a longtime, the biting cold is still unbearable, the walk to Camp Eggers still haunts me, I can still smell the wood stoves burning across the street from my place, my students ask me how Chris is, and the azan (call to prayer) still shakes me from my slumber before dawn.

Through all of these encounters, I can't help but think that I am Norm and Kabul is my "Cheers."

For those of you who are too young to remember, "Cheers" was a television show in the 80's about a bar in Boston. Norm was a regular at the bar and whenever he walked into the place, everyone would yell his name "Norm!" to greet him.

The theme song to "Cheers" went like this:

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.
Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows your name.

As funny as it may seem, I have been singing this song in my head ever since I got here. Though I didn't necessarily want to "get away" from the happy life that I live in the states, I did want to come back here to remember how wonderful my life really is. Just as I have written before, I think it is necessary for us to leave behind what we love in order to realize how amazing the things that we have are. So, I have gone away to Kabul to remember how lovely my life is in America.

It is ironic that the place I have to go where everybody knows my name is Kabul. Afghans are awesome like that. They have the best memories of any people I have ever known. If you tell an Afghan something, they most likely will never forget it. But you have to be careful, Afghans expect the same from you! I remember that one student told me how many siblings she had, and what all of their names were. She felt bad later on when I asked her again about her siblings and what their names were. Testing her, I asked if she remembered all of the things I had told her about my family, and she proceeded to repeat all of the information I had mentioned the week before. So this, it ends up, is the place in the world where everybody (who has met me!) remembers my name. Go figure!

And finally, here, everyone's troubles are the same. It is true, our troubles are all pretty similar in Kabul. From the poorest person on up, we are all cold, we all are hoping for clean air, clean water, and clean food, we are all hoping for peace. Though the foreigners here have all of these things outside of the country, temporarily they have to live alongside their Afghan counterparts and experience a fraction of their suffering. We all worry about suicide blasts, inclement weather, illegal checkpoints, and kidnappings. We all worry about money and time. We all go to sleep hoping to wake up to a better day tomorrow.

So, as I wander through these familiar streets, consistently being greeted by people whom I know, always seeing things I have seen before, I can't help but think: I am Norm and Kabul is my "Cheers."

Altitude Training

View of the hills from Babur Gardens, Kabul.
Hanging out at Afghan Culture House, Kabul.

With the absence of oxygen, a human will die. But, strangely, with just a little oxygen the human body will become stronger.

Ever since the 1968 Olympics, which were held at about 7,000 feet altitude in Mexico City, Mexico, people have been curious about what competing at or training at altitude does to the body of an elite athlete. Many people were worried that the decrease in oxygen available at such heights would adversely affect the performance of endurance athletes, but that the thin air would cause less air resistance and help out anaerobic (sprint-oriented) athletes. The hypothesis was roughly true; many records fell at the shorter distances during those games.

After the Olympics though, the curiosity about altitude's affect on athletes did not fade. People began to realize that there are definite and measurable benefits to training at altitude and competing at sea level. While training at altitude, an athlete's red blood cells increase, VO2 max is heightened, and EPO also has been proven to increase. All of this means that an athlete's body adapts to working with less oxygen. When people who train and live at high altitudes return to sea level to compete, they are able to use the abundance of oxygen at lower altitudes to their advantage.

Though it happens slowly and for better or worse, an amazing characteristic that all humans possess is the ability to adapt to challenging circumstances.

In two weeks, I will be doing a little altitude training of my own; I will be returning to the beautiful, yet tumultuous city of Kabul, Afghanistan.

Returning to Afghanistan is altitude training at its finest. Not only will I be pushing my athletic limits in the thin air of this 6,000 meter high land, I will be navigating the politically tense and economically depressed reality of daily life in a city that has been at war for three decades now.

Why am I going back to Afghanistan when I have just recently returned from a 10-month long teaching fellowship there? The short answer is, to teach. I have been awarded a grant by the Department of State to return to the University to conduct a teacher training workshop.

Another answer is, How can I not?

How can I not return to a place that is in desperate need of education, when I have the skills to help, and the means to go there?

How can I not return to a country that is at war, partially due to the fact that an uneducated and illiterate majority were strong-armed and conned into believing that the Taliban would rule them with a fair and objective hand, when I know that the education I can offer them will chip away at the ignorance which has landed them in this situation?

How can I not return to a city that welcomed me with open arms, and asked me to be part of their family, part of their history, part of their lives as if I was their sister or daughter?

Being back in Kabul will be challenging. Not only will it be harder to breathe, but it will be harder to ignore the poverty and injustice that is rampant in that land. It will be a strain to feel the dust in my lungs, to see the bombed out buildings, to hear the widows begging for a cent or two, to listen to the sad stories of my friends. It will be a test of both the body and the spirit.

But I welcome this experience with an open heart and mind. Just as the absence of oxygen will make me a stronger athlete, so will the testing of my spirit make me a better person. Being with my friends in Kabul, living their lives, knowing their hardships and their happiness, reminds me why life is so special. Without challenges, how would we ever know how good life is; without adversity, how would we know how strong we are?

This is "altitude training" at its best. This is why I am returning to Afghanistan.

The Passage of Time

Wondering where all of the time went; Carpinteria, CA (2011)
Sunset over Wadi Rum, Jordan (2007 with Global Majority)

Time is sneaky. One minute a watch breaks and the next minute you realize two months have gone by. One minute you are a ten year old girl riding a banana seat bike through the streets of a quiet neighborhood at dusk with your friend behind you grasping tightly to your shirt, and the next minute you are peeking through the curtains of an apartment building in downtown Kabul, wishing you were a ten year old boy flying a kite outside. One minute you are desperately hoping for the freedom you once had, the next minute you are remembering the endless hours of free time you loathed.

Time is sneaky like that. You never know when it is going to fly by or drag on.

If I have learned anything in my life, it is that I can't forget to cherish time because each moment is precious in its own way, then it is gone like the sweet smell of rain on newly wet pavement as it disappears in the afternoon sun.

Yes, time is sneaky.

Though I don't remember quite when it happened, both of my watches ceased to work shortly after I returned from my one month jaunt in Italy. Panicked, I quickly figured out how to set my alarm clock on my cell phone. Thinking I would get a new watch battery as soon as possible, I forgot about my watches and went on with my life.

Shortly after both of my watches broke, I competed in my first triathlon since being back in the states. The morning of the triathlon I woke up (to my cell phone alarm, of course) and realized I had no way of keeping track of my pace during the race. A little worried, I took a deep breath and decided that it did not matter; I would do my best to keep my pace above an 85% effort. Listening to my body would be my goal.

My body listened to the time, as it turns out.

Not only did I feel great during the triathlon, I managed to get a personal record in my 10 kilometer run at the end! After swimming 1600 meters in the ocean and biking 40 kilometers on the road, I ran the fastest 10k of my life (42:40). Instead of constantly glancing at my watch and feeling stressed about keeping pace, I just relaxed.

Time is funny like that, when you forget about it, it works in your favor. When you don't mind the passage of time, it seems to slow down.

On the other hand, as soon as I start to worry about time, it speeds up.

I have been back in the states for two months now, and I can't believe how the time has flown by. Each day I am busy with life here, going to one of three jobs, training for the Crossfit Games season, 2012, eating healthy, staying in touch with friends, enjoying the sun, ocean, and mountains of the central coast, spending time with Chris, trying to make time slow down.

Sometimes I worry that I will go to sleep one night, a young healthy 32 year old and wake up the next morning an older, healthy 72 year old. I worry that as the days pass by so quickly here, somehow time will sneak right away from me and I'll miss life.

Yes, time is funny like that. One minute you are sitting in a musty room in downtown Kabul, waiting for the sun to go down so you can justifiably go to sleep without feeling guilty for beating the sun to bed, the next moment you are frantically trying to complete work before the sun rises. One minute you are caged, stir crazy, going insane with so many empty days, the next minute you are glancing at a broken watch, wondering where the time went...

Secrets of Naples

The cliff is in the foreground. It is the shorter one, but make no mistake, it was really high!
Why yes, I love to jump off of very high things!
Crowded much?

As the children chanted,"coward, coward, coward," and I watched with a disjointed glee as the last boy stood on the edge of the cliff, I floated on my back and gazed up at the sky. The boys treading in the water next to me stopped chanting and turned to give me multiple thumbs up...and then...with a, "VAFANCULO!" that echoed off of the cave wall, the final boy flew like a cursing angel through the hot Italian afternoon and, PLOP! landed right next to me in the crystal clear water. I watched his bubbles precede him as he kicked to the surface and listened to all of the other boys shouting with joy. They couldn't believe they just jumped off that cliff. I couldn't believe I just jumped off that cliff! So, together, we swam around to the other side of the rocks, climbed up the front, ran along the top of the cave and...wooosh! Plunged over the 20 meter tall cliff again!

This is one of the secrets of Naples. Cliff-jumping.

Upon entering Miseno Beach, also known as the NATO beach, a feeling of suffocation came over me. First of all, it was crowded. There were hundreds of people, umbrellas, beach loungers, ice cream and cafe stands, and pieces of trash. There was music blaring through the speakers (everywhere!); a samba line to the left, screaming parents slapping their kids to the right, an old hairy man in a thong speedo laying in front of me. It seemed as though I had entered a hell of my own making. An Italian beach.

Regardless, with my eagle eyes (okay, I am blind, but I heard the screams...), I scouted out some cliffs about 1000 meters out in the water; there were people jumping off of them! I'd have to swim to get there; everyone had paddled out there in boats. Gauging the distance, I knew I could get there pretty quickly, so I went for it. I swam straight out to sea towards the boat buoys, then I turned left towards the cliffs. As I got closer and closer, I could see that the front side of the cliff wasn't too high. A lot of teenagers were climbing up the face and jumping off the rocks, so I did the same. I didn't understand why I had heard screams all the way from the beach, because this 10 meter tall cliff was not currently producing any screams. Then, just as I thought, "okay, I have had enough," I looked up and saw that some boys were standing higher up on the rocks. Were they jumping off the back side?!

Without thinking much, I followed some speedo-clad Italian teens up the rocks. There were about 10 or 15 teenage boys standing on the edge of the cliff, peering over. I walked towards them and immediately got butterflies. There was a cave down there; it looked to be about 20-25 meters below us. All of the boys were looking over the side and muttering to each other in Italian. I looked over the side and lost my breath. I thought, "The water looks deep, so I probably won't hit the bottom if I jump." I walked away from the side of the cliff laughing nervously.

I reasoned with myself.

I couldn't jump! I just jumped off of some rocks on the Adriatic Coast a week before and hurt my ankle because the water was too shallow. Did I want to make it worse? I can't jump. Am I crazy? I don't know how deep the landing area is...I don't know how close I'll come to the rocks. I can't jump. None of the boys are jumping, they must know that it isn't deep enough down there. I could kill myself! I can't jump.

Then, the breeze blew through my hair, the sun shined down on my face, the boys stopped talking, and all I could hear was the water lapping against the cliffs.

I am free to do whatever I want; I am going to jump.

Breathing in deeply, eying the edge of the cliff, and looking towards the gap in between the boys standing in front of me, I started to sprint. As I got closer to the edge, I could see the cave below...then...air above me, water below me...I was flying! And screaming...loudly! I screamed that scream all the way out of my lungs, took another deep breath, thought about the lightness of my being at that moment and then..."crack!" I hit the water. I went deeper and deeeper, slower and slower, then the bottom greeted me; the sand was soft. I pushed off the bottom, broke the surface and screamed again. Looking skyward, I started giggling as boys were now plummeting over the cliff all at once. Boom, boom, boom!!! Three boys jumped right after me and joined me in the water.

We all looked up towards the cliff where the other boy remained. With a little coaxing, he too became an apparition, flailing through the air and eventually smacking down in the warm, wavy sea. Once all of us were in the water, we swam around, climbed the rocks, and jumped again.

After I had gotten my fill of the cliff, I swam blissfully back to the crowded beach. At that point, I didn't care about the chaos surrounding me. At that point, I was free.

Welcome to Naples

Sunset over Naples
Just trying to fit in!
I am sweating with anticipation.
Neghombo Beach, Ischia Italy

Startled last night by an earth-shattering boom, I woke up smiling because I knew that I was not being stirred out of slumber by a possible Taliban attack or suicide bombing. Tossing my legs over the side of my bed onto the cool, clean tile of the apartment floor, I ambled over to the window and rolled up the garage-like shutter door and glanced over the water towards Naples proper. When I opened my sleepy eyes, I saw a fireworks display more elaborate than the fourth of July in any American town; apparently this is an everyday occurrence in this part of Southern Italy. With a sigh of satisfaction, I thought, "Welcome to Naples!"

The past few days have been an exercise in extreme opposites compared to my life about two and a half weeks ago. Here, it is strange to see a women covered by more than a stringy bikini on the beach, or wedge high heels, shorts (or a mini skirt) and a tank top in the city. Topless little girls ride their bikes in the street; their curly, sun-bleached hair blowing in the breeze, screaming with glee as they remove their feet from the pedals and let gravity take them where it may.

The grown-up ladies are strong, beautiful, and loud, and nobody gives them trouble about it. American women can take a lesson from the Neapolitan women, no matter what their shape or size, the women of Naples can all be seen letting it all hang out on the beaches. My friend Jess and I agreed that there are probably very few eating disorders and body image issues in this area. Why?

Reason one: the food is too good to care!

From amazingly rich, yet light pastries, every flavor of gelato your heart may desire, to "mozerella di buffala," the pizza, OH! the pizza!, amazingly smooth olive oil, and mouth-wateringly-cooked meat of all varieties, all of it is too good to resist. Combine that with the crispy fresh produce and juicy summer fruits and you would stop restricting your diet too.

Reason two: the beaches are too good to care!

As you can see by the picture above, it is absolutely beautiful here. The water is clear and warm; the fish curious; and the beaches clean. Though beach guards (or are they beach salesmen?) attempt to charge you for everything from your chair and umbrella to the sand where you put down your towel, being on a beach in the surrounding cities and islands near Naples is a little slice of heaven. There is no time to think about your butt rolling out of that thong bikini, you just slap on some tanning lotion (or oil?) and run for the sea, pizza in hand.

That is what I will be doing!

Bittersweet Afghanistan

Night time has arrived and I am waiting to go home. For me, my time in Afghanistan has come to an end; after one week, I will leave this place. I will leave my chadars (head scarves) behind and slowly unfurl my American self again. Though the details of day to day life may fade, I will never forget my time here; Afghanistan, and especially my students, will always have a place in my heart.

One of the last things that I taught the students in my writing class (before their final exam last week) was the idea of oxymoron. We talked about the word "bittersweet," and I asked my students to tell me a situation in their lives which was bittersweet. This is what they said:

"I am about to be married. I am very happy that my family has found a suitable and good boy for me to marry, but I am afraid and sad to leave my own family behind when I must join his. Getting married is a happy change in a girl's life, but leaving her family is terrible. This is bittersweet."

"When I was very young my family moved to Pakistan to leave the country [Afghanistan] during the Taliban. I lived in Pakistan for 14 years. When we returned to Afghanistan, I had to leave all of my friends, my home, my city, and all of my favorite places in Pakistan behind; I had to make a new life here. I was coming back to my real home, but leaving my childhood forever. This was bittersweet."

And, unprompted, the head of the English department at my University said this at my going away party yesterday:

"Jaala Jan is leaving us. This is both a good and bad thing; it is a bittersweet moment because she will return to her home, but she will leave us. We have come to know Jaala Jan as one of us. Look, she is Afghan! She will remain in our hearts forever; we will always pray that she returns one day."

Leaving Afghanistan is bittersweet.

As I leave here, I will always remember both the good and the bad; I will always keep these memories with me:

...the call to prayer (azan)echoing in the background of life, almost always a constant reminder of the Muslim faith that guides the people and fills the air

...the clip clap of donkey and horse hooves on the streets; the bump of their carts wheeling over uneven ground, dumping potatoes and onions here and there

...helicopters interrupting class, shaking white board markers off of their trays

...Farhad Daria and Ahmad Zahir blaring on everyone's radio; playing over and over again in everyone's head

...4:45 am summer sunrises

...the smell of rotting garbage and rancid standing water lining the streets; the vision of the car wash boys dipping their towels in the sewers to give the cars a quick "bath"

...gravel in my beef

...a river choked by carelessness and trash

...the huge hearts and effervescent kindness of the people

...invitations for lunch; mantou, boolani, oshaq, kofta, kabobs, and gigantic naan

...Crossfit Camp Eggers; a little slice of America, the place where I found my heart and fell in love

...herds of goats stopping traffic

...Toyotas...everywhere

...cows getting gutted on the side of the road; a stump for a butcher's block; a strung-up sheep waiting for slaughter, staring at the severed head of another sheep lying by the gutter, blood flowing freely

...the sunset overshadowed by the brown dust of yet another wind storm

...70 Afs DVDs at Finest

...thinking every clap of thunder is a suicide bomb

...the view of T.V. hill obscured by my window; sitting in the prison of my apartment, wishing I was free

...burqas held tightly over eyes; women covered by men's insecurity

...darkly lined eyes, colorful make-up, and a stray tuft of hair peeking out from under a chadar; fabric tucked behind an ear, daring you to take a closer look

...policemen and soldiers roaming the streets; sentries without a clear purpose, weapons ready, always in danger

...mountains beyond mountains, holding secrets from decades of war that will never be revealed

...mud brick walls and houses, crumbling under the weight of corruption

...barbed wire strewn over everything; protecting nothing

...self immolation to end the suffering and imprisonment

...Rabia Balkhi's poems lamenting all women's sorrows; but dreams as well

...love stories written in secret, eyes glancing at each other from hundreds of meters away; sparks that will never start a fire, extinguished by an arrangement

...roses growing from every crack, fertilized by dust and hope

...mischievous smiles, ensuring that the future will be better than the past

And so, as the night becomes darker and I fall asleep, these are the things which will never be forgotten; this is Afghanistan to me.

Your Roots

Let me be your roots.
Let me be your foundation; a stable jumping off point where adventure begins.
Let me be your roots.
Let me be your support system; something that gives you strength to be a better person when times are difficult.
Let me be your roots.
Let me be your comfort; a space where you never feel embarrassed, unsure, lonely, or afraid.
Let me be your roots.
Let me be your heart; something that provides you with drive and confidence to make another day the best one of your life.
Let me be your roots.
Let me be your family; a legacy of strength that carries on and on long after we have gone from this earth.
Let me be your roots.
Let me be your home; a place that you will always remember fondly; a place that will always be where you belong.

I will be your roots, as long as you let me.

From Heartbreak, a new Beginning

Jaala and Candice the day before the competition.
End of 1000 meter run; event #1.
All of the female competitors after event #1.

It ended with a sweaty, tear-soaked face being peeled from a loving shoulder. It ended with disappointment that permeated bones deeply and made a girl tremble. It ended sitting on a chair, slowly removing lifting shoes at the urging or comforting words. It ended with a signature on a paper, consenting that crushed hopes were accepted. For me, Asia Crossfit Regionals ended with heartbreak, then fleeting realizations, truncated like an unfinished dream.

For the last couple of years, I have been dreaming about making the 2011 Crossfit Games. For the last ten months, I believed that this weekend at Regionals I would leave Okinawa triumphantly; I would have a smile on my face, a ticket to the Home Depot Center in my hand, and congratulatory high fives lingering on my fingertips. I would be victorious because I had won.

Unfortunately, Okinawa did not end in such a way. Regionals ended prematurely for me on the second event, a thruster ladder. In the weeks before Regionals I hadn't been very concerned about this event and admittedly only spent one training session praticing the lift according to the standard (no movement of the feet at the top of the thruster). In my basement in Afghanistan, I got more than 115 pounds over my head many times without moving my feet. I forgot about this event and moved on to practicing things which semed much more difficult.

The morning of the thruster event, after a hugely successful first event in which I did more handstand push-ups in 13 minutes and change than I had ever done at one time in my entire life, I got warmed up for the ladder. During the warm-up, I was having a hard time keeping my feet still. I worked my way up to the starting weight, 105 pounds, and failed a couple of times before I actually got it over my head without moving my feet. By that time, I was pretty shaky and nervous for the start of the event.

Ten minutes later, I was standing in line, waiting to get to the bar. I watched the first girls get the weight up easily, and then the third girl failed. I did not want to watch the next girl fail, so I turned my back to the bar and tried to focus. I thought to myself, "I just need to get this one lift and then I can shift my energy to the next day's events."

With the beep of the timer, I turned around and walked to the bar.

What was going through my head as I set my feet and my grip to do that thruster? On any given day, it would have been the following word, "easy." But for some reason, I let doubt creep in. The bar felt too light and thin; my hands seemed slippery, but I told myself to be aggressive. I power cleaned the weight easily, reset my feet, went into my squat and exploded into the thruster. I locked the weight out over my head and then...took a shuffling step forward.

Though the weight was still locked out over my head, the judge looked at me and said, "sorry."

I was so confused that I asked her if she was serious. I looked over at the 115-pound bar and started walking towards it. She told me I was done. I didn't comprehend her words. I looked at her face and realized I was done.

I walked straight towards the door and outside into the humid Okinawa afternoon. The heat took my breath away; the sun blinded me; confusion overcame me. I wanted to walk back inside and do the lift again. I did do it! I forgot why I was outside and turned to rush back inside to get to the next bar before the timer beeped again.

As I was about to turn around and run back inside, Chris walked outside and asked me what happened. I looked into his eyes, but couldn't say anything. My body felt cold and weak. I started to tremble. I shook my head and began to cry. I was shocked. If ever someone asked me what a broken heart feels like, it was at that moment that I knew the feeling. I was so sad I could not express what I was thinking.

I stood in the doorway to Crossfit Asia, mourning the loss of a dream I had work for tirelessly. I cried for all of the people who helped me along the way who I had probably just disappointed. I cried for all of the hard work I had put in, to then lose at such an early stage in the competition. I cried because I was angry that I had just done a thruster well, but because I moved my feet my dream was gone. I cried for being careless. I cried because I did not think about the standard much beforehand; I though it wasn't a big deal. I cried because this was my chance to make the Games; this was my chance to prove to everyone else that hard work does pay off...but I blew it. I cried because I knew I was better than the other girls, but now I would not be able to show it. I cried and cried.

When I finally got myself together, still shaken, I went back inside to congratulate the four girls who had made it through the first bar of the ladder. I desperately wished that I could go back in time and be one of them, but my time was over.

On the way back to the hotel, I asked Chris why this happened. I wondered aloud to him why, after all of the work I put in, did my dream end like this. He gently told me that my work was not wasted; that there is always a lesson in not achieveing goals. He said that it may be too early to know what that lesson is, but with time I would figure it out.

As my eyes welled up with tears once again, I believed that it would take a long time to find the positive in the events that had just unfolded. I had traveled thousands of miles and trained through countless challenges to make it here. I couldn't see through my sadness.

But quickly, through being a spectator at Regionals for the next two days, I started to understand that I did not fail; that my dream still remained even though I did not win Regionals.

I remembered that I had just come from a war-torn country where I had been training mostly by myself for the past ten months. I came from a time in my life when I was constantly sick, did not have access to clean air, clean water, or clean food, or any other outside factors that could have helped me to be a better crossfitter. Yet I came to Asia Regionals ready to compete with girls who had trained under more stable circumstances.

Though I did not make the Games, I know that I leave Okinawa, and I will eventually leave Afghanistan a better person. I must not forget that through training this year, I have gained a mental toughness that no one can take away from me. Through training this year I have realized that in America, we have resources at our disposal to become better athletes and better people everyday. When I return to the states, I intend to use those resources to become the best crossfitter and person that I can be. I will not be a spectator at any regional event again.

So, though the sting of failure still lingers in my heart, and all of those lessons that I should have learned from this weekend have not yet been realized, today I know that the end of Regionals is another beginning for me. Now I know that dreams never die, they just morph into something bigger and better; our dreams today become smaller parts of our larger dreams of tomorrow.

As the tears fade away, I see that the beautiful thing about today is that it is the beginning of a new dream. I just haven't figured out what it is yet!

Learning to Love Again

Jaala checking to see if the last WOD killed Clint
Crossfit Camp Eggers crew
Push up during the Crossfit Games Open Sectionals

It happened quite suddenly, though I sensed it coming. The feelings that permeated my body caused sensations of warmth and euphoria. Those feelings were followed by a strong urge to vomit. I couldn't stand still. I jumped from one foot to the other and stared at the sky. Music blaring through my headphones, I tried to drown out the other worldly noises around and suppress the overwhelming feelings boiling up inside of me. I stood on my toes and grabbed for that which would set me free. Finally the moment arrived and everything became clear...today, I did a muscle up and realized that I have fallen back in love with Crossfit.

It has been a long journey to get here, but amidst jumping, screaming, hugging, and high fiving, I remembered what is so cool about crossfit. I remembered that crossfit provides a space for me to be free and challenged in my life. Within the confines of the gym, and under the open air of the sky, I can do anything. Today when I swung under the rings and dove through the top above them, today as I pressed myself into the air and screamed, I looked over at all of my friends and knew that I have come back to myself and this homecoming is thanks to crossfit.

As this unique type of love filled my heart I thought, "It is just in time! Thank goodness!"

In two weeks, I will be finished with Crossfit Asia Regionals and hopefully will be qualified to compete in the 2011 Crossfit Games. This is my dream.

Through almost ten months of training in Kabul, Afghanistan, through sickness, an unstable environment, lack of freedom, and sometimes unavoidable carbohydrate binges, I have somehow come back to being a crossfitter and it feels good!

As I train this last week here in Kabul with my fellow crossfitters at Camp Eggers, I anticipate that the weekend competing in Japan will be a proper culmination to a couple of years training; no matter what happens, I will be victorious because I will be doing something that I love, crossfit.

Wish me well, here I go!

The Ice Cream Man

He leans back on one elbow, tanned face turned up towards the warming Kabul sun. A scarf flails in the wind behind him like a lonely flag on an empty horizon. His eyes are closed, but under his lids, those eyes dart back and forth scanning the street for potential customers. Jacket and pants full of holes hang on his gaunt frame, looking for a way to shirk the dirt they have collected from years of dust. The red box beneath him belts out "My Heart Will Go On." Celine helps lure sweets lovers into his lair. He hums happily along with the tune though he has heard it 1000 times before; he says it reminds him of happier times. Children sprint towards him, glee flowing from mouths, blue UNICEF book bags falling to the uneven ground, change jumping out of their hands, anticipation pouring from their eyes. Self-importantly, he rises from his elbow and grins at the children. He begins to sing over and over again, "ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, Who wants ICE CREAM." Everyone does.

Did you know there are ice cream men in Kabul?