Running with the Colonel

This morning I awoke at 0515 to meet my boss for a nice little run before it got too hot outside. Of course it was already 85-90 degrees, with the air as heavy as it always is here, but never mind.

We exited the embassy compound proper and began running along the concrete barricades in the pre-dawn light. The talk turned to swimming and tennis, as the Colonel tried to feel out my athletic background, to see how much he could really push me on this 3-miler. (He had completed four marathons in his day, with a best time of 2:44 no less -- and I had been warned not to let him bet me money on a footrace.)

Then, naturally, we broached Cobra II -- which I posted about earlier this week -- and the latest book I've been reading, Niall Ferguson's Colossus. By the time we finished all that, dawn had broken in its full splendor, so we could see all the stray dogs and hand-painted "Villa for Rent" signs on the side of the road. (A villa in the IZ... yeah, "snookums how about we start summering on the Tigris; it's the Marbella of the Middle East, you know... " -- not so much.)

Toward the end of our run, long after we passed the "Victory Over Iran" monument, my energy began to flag. Not so much my energy as, seemingly, my lung capacity. My legs still felt fresh -- was ready for the finishing kick -- but the ol' respiratory system was feeling it. And of course the Colonel was psyching me out with all his, "just past the arch," "just around the corner," "only about 200m after the light."

So I shut it down early and made it to the gym about half an hour after we set out, just in time to put in some push-ups, shoulder presses, and bicep curls before hitting the showers, breakfast, and continuing to do more before 9am than most people do in a day.