Wretched Winter or Pique and Pretense. You Decide.

indexMany questions put forth to me of late can be answered quite simply. Questions like: Why are you in the gym at PT? Why aren’t you in formation? Why are you so grumpy today? Why are you wearing a three-piece arctic sleeping bag? Why are you laying on the ground?

The answer is “Winter”. Winter is more than a mere scapegoat, however. Each of these questions was asked of me today alone. So, let me explain. It was five freaking degrees Fahrenheit, that’s negative fifteen in Celsius, after the sun came up this morning. Before that, the temperature could only be measured in Del. Del are essentially anti-Scovilles. I would guess that the pre-sunrise Del reached as many as 50, which is almost equivalent of 20 bones breaking or giving birth to a human child, but only if you are male. Thankfully, we reached a balmy 24F/5C later in the afternoon and I was able to ditch the sleeping bag.

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That directly answers the gym-formation-sleeping bag question, but the grumpy and laying on the ground are a little more convoluted. It’s still Winter’s fault though. I think the grump kicked off after the gym. The gym part was pretty good, even though I was forced to watch the Green Bay Packers being skull-drug. After a good hour of cardio (10,000 steps before 0630! Tacos and cake for breakfast!), one works up a little perspiration. Said perspiration freezes instantly on contact with 45 Del weather, or roughly 90 anti-Scovilles. Reader’s choice, really. I did learn something interesting. If your sweatcicles form while you are wearing a fleece beanie, eyebrow waxing is completed totally free of financial burden. If you want to look slightly fish-like, it might be worth your while. All previous joy at the prospect of cake and tacos for breakfast became little more than whimsy.

A long hot shower eventually defrosted me sufficiently. Before getting dressed, I took the precautionary measure to drown the dry and cracking skin/scales of my legs in vast quantities of lotion. I sat down to eat and my body rebelled after the first mouthful of eggs. I should have never mentioned tacos and cake to it. My left foot twisted in an inordinately painful cramp (about 30 Del, I think) while doing its best impression of transformations normally rendered only in werewolf movies. Since I couldn’t straighten out the cramp, I reached down and uncurl the offensive phalanges, but they were in cahoots with other, more distant body parts. You know that tendon that runs from clavicle to somewhere near your ear? Yeah? That sinister sinew joined the cramp fest and snatched my chin to my chest. I think this may have been an attempt to empty the contents of my mouth since it was neither cake nor taco. Or is this like a normal allergic reaction to buttered shae?

presentation1*note to self: Never make that sound again. Especially if you are in bullfrog country during mating season.

So, there you have the source of grumpiness. I only compounded that state by taking out my trash, which is normally not a source of pique. This was the part that very nearly ended my life. Potentially life ending events are excellent sources of pique, so it’s fine. I’m justified in my pique-ishness. Indulge me: pique. Last one. I promise. I stepped onto a patch of snow by the little block buildings that serve as dumpsters where I’m stationed. It was more ice than snow, really and I caught myself sliding to my death in a dumpster. Considering that I had recently removed approximately 187 pounds of trash from the communal laundry facility, I think it safe to say that if I broke something or became unconscious, none of the Lieutenants in this building would be happening by one morning to take out their trash. So, you see? Dying alone in a heap of empty detergent bottles and a million dryer sheets was a very real possibility.

If I could offer any one single piece of advice to anyone reading this that might be considering a career in the military, it is this: Never let your brothers and sisters in arms know when something bothers you. That thing that bothers you will become a point of great fascination for them. I swear many of them would gleefully poke at a bullet wound as long as they knew it was not truly life threatening. It’s a compulsion of sorts. Kind of like poking at the site of a dental procedure to see if it still hurts, maybe? Thus the “Why are you laying on the ground?” question. Because Winter. Because I wanted to construct a hasty snow angel for the Commander. Because I’m stretching after a really good workout. Anything. Anything other than I slipped on the ice and I think my tail bone is broken and I just peed on myself and can’t feel my legs. Can you help me with this snow angel? But be careful not to damage the lotion layer while moving my legs.

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