It was the best of times...

It was the worst of times.

The First Sergeant gave us overnight liberty Friday night, an unexpected and joyous occasion, since usually we have to be back on base by midnight. This is usually a recipe for disaster, and it certainly went against the better judgement of most of the staff, but the new First Sergeant is the shit, and he's the FIRST SERGEANT. duh.

We checked out around 1400 and went to the beach, got a hotle room and proceeded to drink on the beach. I rescued a sea bird that was tangled up in fishing line. The guy who actually tangled the bird in the line came to me and said "yeah I accidentally got the bird tangled up when I was fishing, the thing must be tired, that was about an hour ago." AN HOUR AGO? And he just left it there to die. asshole.

Tafoya got sick, drank too much too quickly, so i took him to the hotel to get cleaned up. The sun was going down, and thats when the fun begins. I'm not entirely sure where we went that night, we were at hooters at some point because I remember covering Dean's bill, his card got declined because junior Marines (Dean especially) have no financial responsibility. Tafoya was lying around at the end of the boardwalk and I was there making sure he was ok, when these 2...ahem females walk right up and the slightly less ugly one starts talking to us, clearly shes looking for a good time. I went and talked to trev on the phone and she worked her 'magic' on Tafoya. Now, Trev advised me to enjoy myself if you know what I mean, I won't say i was entirely against it, but after I hung up the phone I engaged my remarkable ability to step back and look at my situation objectively, and when I did so I realized this girl was shamu in a human suit, her friend, moby dick. So I basically, actually literally, told her to fuck off, Which she did. Thank God.

It was around 0130 when I went back to the hotel, I'd had enough craziness for one night. I put on the Olympics and passed out.

Only to be awoken roughly one hour later by very loud very drunk Marines who brought the party back to my hotel.
Mental note: do not give room keys to anybody but myself.
I was half asleep, but from what I heard, PFC Wolchock got arrested. I didn't know why, or how, but he was fucked. I asked a few questions and learned that A) his libbo buddies were nowhere to be found. B) Nobody called his mentor(the first thing to do) C) A guy in his class did not have his mentor's number and was seemingly uncaring about a friend/libbo buddy who had just been arrested. To sum up: I, though drunk, half asleep, and not in a position to get screwed over, since Wolchock was not my buddy, was the only person who cared or decided to call the SDO of H barracks. Basically I was the only responsible one there(as usual) So I called, the situation was explained, they took care of it. Thanks to Wolchock and 5 other idiot Marines who also got arrested that night, we will probably not have any libbo next weekend.

At this point of the story you may be wondering where I'm going with this. It is a running blog after all, where's the running? I'm trying to give the circumstances for one of the better runs of the last 9 months, a time all too often devoid of good runs, or any runs at all for that matter. My running lately is not so much to stay in shape, or to run well on my PFTs, though the "scars and stories" I get from it is rather satisfying, I won't lie. It's a stress reliever.

It was 0300, the party was winding down when I laced up my shoes and headed out the door.
The roads were quiet.
The air was cool.
A slight breeze came off the Gulf.
The crickets in the dunes were louder than my ipod.
A lightning storm miles out on the sea flashed like a strobe.

"I've seen things, you people wouldn't believe..."

I took a hot shower when I got back to the room, threw a pillow on the floor and nodded off to sleep as my alarm was chirping 0400-time to get up for PT.

Book II

I slept until 9, on the damp floor and the smell of booze pervading the rented air. Tafoya and I walked a mile or so to 'the Native Cafe' a delightful mom and pop cafe with local art and license plates on the walls, not to mention the fine waitress who couldnt remember my pancakes, or whether we asked for raspberry or blueberry jelly. I still recommend the place(if you're ever in Pensacola)

We checked out of the hotel and the guys went to get beer. I pulled up under a small grove of palm trees and cracked a book. The sun, the palms, the water. It was idyllic, something straight out of a post card.

We called some random guys with guitars over, and sat and sang and drank, it was like the old days with Tables up, except these guys didn't know any good songs. I don't know what time it was, but a bachelorette party found us, and the fun once again resumed. The band at Flounders a few hours later was decent, they knew how to work the crowd. I made out with the 26 year old married girl who was running the bachelorette party-in the female bathroom of Flounders no less, until we got kicked out. What can I say, I'm an animal. Then Rigsby decided to go back to base without telling anyone, we got back late but the sergeant didn't give a fuck so we didn't complain and went back to our rooms.

That was about it. the party lasted about 34 hours, ranged over a few square miles, involved a dozen Marines, a half dozen random girls, plenty of alcohol, and 4 or 5 different bands. emails and myspaces were passed around, money was spent, and a good time was had by all.

I did some good things, I did some bad things. The duality of man cannot be denied, for as much as my mind is developed, as much self control as I may have, I am still an animal, a hot blooded American male.

Struggle

I was starting to get disgusted with myself so I threw on my camelbak and ran. just ran. Went down the jungle path, through the golf course, under the bridge onto base, and to the trails with the bridge to nowhere. Mostly places nobody sees. I also had the distinction of being the only person in America who had the Blue Angels scream over my head at several hundred miles an hour, at only a few hundred feet. IT'S VERY LOUD. I would have kept on running indefinitely, but I thought I had formation at 1745 and I cut it short (1 hour) Turns out I didn't have formation, we can only imagine how far i might have run. Anyway, it was a good run, i felt good. Probably because today was wet, if not rainy, not hot and muggy as usual.

Don't make me mad

Bruce Banner says not to make him mad, you wouldn't like him mad. I don't think people necessarily like me when I'm mad, I'm probably as unpleasant as any angry person, but they do like the end result of my limited insanity. I was at the beach yesterday and a marine said i was ripped(I don't think thats an appropriate term, but you know what he means ) and another random guy asked how he can get swelled like me. I told him to work out everyday. And The girl selling drinks at the makeshift bar was into me...and so was the girl I got to know under the boardwalk. But this isn't about inflating my ego, its about how hard work has results-noticeable results. I was mad as hell and vented in the gym and on the pavement. All my hard work reaped dividends in the form of low body fat and larger defined muscles. Unfortunately I think, it is all due to my temper. I definitely lean toward the dark side, it makes me stronger and helps me focus, but I am afraid I will not always be able to keep it in check. Will I go the way of Anakin Skywalker, or control myself but lack emotion, strength, passion?

"Our greatest fear is not that we are weak, it is that we are powerful beyond measure."