Cross Fit

One minute each, a few seconds rest in between: jump on and off a three-foot wall; swing a 25-pound weight over your head; rowing machine; carry 50-pounds back and forth across the quad; 200 meter sprint; jump rope; push ups; burpees; throw medicine ball straight up and catch it; mountain climbers; hold sitting position; lunges; pull ups; dips; ladders; swing sledgehammer (my favorite); 50 meter sprints dragging a tire; jumping jacks; finish with a 200 meter sprint.

It felt like two-a-days in high school football. I could almost hear Coach Sampson: "Hart, you're my secret weapon.

"Really, coach?"

"No, I just don't want you to quit the team."

Groundhog Day

Anything that breaks up the monotony is welcome. My house was temporarily evacuated for security reasons. I guess I was worried about the security reasons, but really it was nice just to have something new. They moved me into a guest house with several other diplomats. Now I'm back in my own house. I've started shopping the local markets for all manner of custom-made goods: leather shoes, furniture, rugs, suits, jewelry, etc. Not that I really want to buy any of it. It's just something to do.

I've started attending more of the parties, but as a teetotaler, I can only stay so long and still blend in. I'm going to join a group that does all manner of crazy exercises that they call "cross fit." It's like Rocky III. You rotate among such stations as "Whack a Giant Tire with a Sledgehammer" and "Pull Ups with Medicine Ball Between Your Legs." We'll see how long I last at that.

On My Way to Work

Leaving

Observing spontaneous, uncontrollable expressions of love from my children has been miraculous.

Throughout my visit, in the middle of playing, Henry would yell out, "I love you dad!" As they ran circles around the living room in some kind of crazy chase-fight, he would yell it out without stopping. In the middle of watching a TV show he would look up and say it and then keep watching. All the time he would tell me he loved me.

The love was written plainly on their faces when they saw me exit the airport doors. The hugs. And again as they waived goodbye upon my departure.

To observe them in wonder of their own love for me is singular. It is curious that it gives me as much pain as joy. It makes me feel at once light and heavy.

God, bless my beautiful children.

Coming Home

Being back in the States has been wonderful, yet weird in unexpected ways.

First, the wonderful: Three beautiful children leaping into my arms at the airport. For the next several hours they kept looking at me with a "is this real" look in their eyes.

Freedom to just go for a walk any time you want is often overlooked as something highly awesome. We started out in Boston, hit the Swan Boats and "Make Way for the Ducklings." Then we went to Rye, New Hampshire to enjoy a tropical storm billed as a hurricane. Now we're back in DC and it almost feels normal again.

Then, the strange: I can't get used to using tap water to brush my teeth and it keeps freaking me out to see people driving on the wrong (right) side of the road. After I had been home for about 30 minutes, I was playing with the kids and Caleb stopped, looked at me for a long time and said, "I forgot what it is like to have a Dad."

It is at times a little overwhelming. I had to explain to them on night one that I have three kids but only two sides so someone won't be able to sleep next to me. They are competing so hard for my constant attention that they are about to kill each other, and me, in the process.

Overall, I must give credit to Katie. They are great kids, and better since I left. Good job, Mom.

Distraction

Five days until I go home for three weeks. I can barely concentrate. It's funny the things you miss. Beyond the extreme and obvious longing for wife and kids, I really want Five Guys, Whole Foods two-bite brownies, and Trader Joe's cookies and Cream ice cream. And I really, really look forward to just wandering around without telling the embassy where I'm going and without giving motor pool 24 hours notice.

As Though WallyWorld Were Closed

This Pakistan monsoon season has been much hyped. I was told to bring waders. I was warned of mud slides on the embassy compound. I was told of endless rain weeks on end.

So I prepared. Special socks. Water proof shoes. Rain jacket. Water proof back pack. And I watched the sky. And watched and watched. Somehow I feel cheated. The magnificent monsoon that isn't.

I'm Feeling Ms Carpenter Lately

Show a little passion, baby, show a little style
And show the knack for knowing when and the gift for knowing how
And have a little trust in us when fear obscures the path
You know we got this far, darling, not by luck, but by never turning back
Some will call on destiny, but I just call on faith
That the world won't stop, and actions speak louder
Listen to your heart, to what your heart might say
Everything we got, we got the hard way

String Theory

It feels like a real, tangible thing. Sitting here, alone in Islamabad, thinking of my family, it feels like I could pluck it like a guitar string.

I was getting accustomed to being away. That in itself was sad and scary in a way, but on the other hand I was glad to be rid of the constant longing. But something snapped. I was in line at the airport and everyone was cutting. Well, I suppose they weren't cutting since they could not articulate any such concept. They were engaged in the behavior Americans would call cutting. Being American, I waxed righteously indignant. But I couldn't stay in front of the "them" unless I also cut. So I tried to block. Tried and failed.

One especially flagrant cutter got ahead of me and motioned for his brood to follow but I cut them off. It was too late to beat him, but I could stop the bleeding. Then he pulls ten passports out of his pocket and the customs officer motions all of them to come forward. And I lost it. Not outwardly. Not in the middle of the airport surrounded by people with no concept of my moral universe in which jumping the queue is an affront to human dignity. No, I lost it in my head and in my heart.

I don't understand them. And they are very "them." They could not possibly be more "them." I am me and they are them. I am alone. I want to be with us. I want to wrestle with Caleb and Henry. I want to have a dance part to Kidz Bop 13. I want to watch Maddie go off the diving board.

It feels like a real thing that I could reach out and touch--a telephone line perhaps.

Why Men Gain Weight

When I had a male cook. I lost weight. Now that I have a female cook, I'm gaining it all back. She keeps saying that my wife would surely expect her to take better care of me and that if I go home skinny, it will mean that she has failed. She just keeps making food that I don't ask for, don't want, don't need. And I don't think she would stop even over my obese, diabetes-afflicted, artery-clogged dead body. One week after bragging over getting into the best shape I've been in since high school, I may have to take it all back.

In My Free Time

Sans children I have discovered this strange new selfish, free, invigorating, lonely thing they call free time. I have chosen two objectives with this very expensive so-called "free" time: 1) get in really good shape, 2) write a novel.

The report on objective 1 is all positive. 5k time is down from 30 minutes to 22 min 44 sec. Belt has tightened one notch.

As for the second, it turns out writing a book is hard. I have written the first 20 pages four times.