Fight Gone Bad 6

Every year thousands of athletes worldwide come together to help raise money for several worthy charities during the CrossFit Fight Gone Bad event.  Fight Gone Bad is a highly demanding 17-minute workout combining a variety of weight lifts and rowing.  This years charity recipients were Camp Patriot, Special Operation Warriors Foundation, and CrossFit Kids.  Camp Patriot is located in Libby MT and provides access to outdoor adventures for disabled veterans from all over the United States.  Special Operations Warriors Foundation helps to provide a college education to all the kids whose fathers are killed while serving in Special Operations units.  Alternative Athletics gym in Billings MT worked together to raise over $5,000.  International the event raised over $2.2 million.

            
This year I had the honor of getting to compete in Fight Gone Bad for myself.  I was wounded in Iraq in 2004. Some years after I was wounded I was given the opportunity to go on an all expenses paid hunting trip in Dillon MT from the Wounded Warriors Project.  It was such an amazing experience to be so openly welcomed and supported by the Dillon community.  It was also the first time in a long time that I was able to hang out with my brother, go hunting as we had as kids, and just remember a part of myself that I had lost in the trauma of war.  I also just came home from an outdoor combat veterans retreat in Colorado that was again amazing and eye opening.  I am so excited and proud to have the opportunity to raise funds for Camp Patriot this year.  Outdoors therapy and the support to overcome physical and mental disabilities are so vital to a wounded warriors recovery.    


I wrote that for the American Legion Post 117 Newsletter.  Pretty well sums things up.  FGB was a great experience.  It was nice to be on the giving end of these charities instead of the receiving end.  But to also understand how crucial the work they do is.  I am disappointed with how my actual FGB workout went, but I am fighting with some pulled stomach muscles and had to slow it down more than I wanted too.  I kind of felt like I let someone, something, and myself down with that.  But it is what it is, and there is always next year to raise more money and do more reps.  I have to remember that 10 months ago I wouldn't have even been able to finish this workout at all.  So I am proud of that.


Even made the news that night

Push Press

More Push Press

Wall Ball

Next is an Oly meet in October and Pukies Bash (Crossfit competition) in November.

I remember

I have been told, repeatedly, that I should write my story.  I'm not sure how.  But tonight I did write for a bit.  I was reminiscing today and reading the correspondence my Mom saved while I was gone.  I remembered a few things, little memories that I don't want to loose.  So I wrote tonight.  Here's what I wrote:

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I remember our first nights in Baghdad.  We slept on the roof of our building on the edge of the Tigris river.  The sky would darken and the air would cool ever so slightly.  I would sit on my cot and slowly smoke a last cigarette of the night, always my favorite smoke of the day.  I would look over the oily black sheen of the river to city across from me.  I could here the guns in the streets.  Knowing other soldiers were out there fighting for their lives, just to get through another night.  I could see fires from bombing burn late in to the night.  I remember finishing that last cigarette and finding an absurd calm in the midst of the fighting around me.  I would lay down pulling a single cover over myself and drift off to the sounds of guns in the distance, hoping that no rounds would stray our way and that I would wake up in the morning.  

I remember an old man with a tray of bread.  He was rather small and frail, he wore a dishdasha.  And he didn’t just carry his tray of bread, he had a tray of neatly stacked rings of bread, each precisely laid on top of the next.  He kept this tray balanced on his head.  He didn’t say much, we knew the deal as well as he did.  We would pull out a few dinar and flag him down.  He would stoop, we would take a few rings of bread gently off the top of the stack.  He would pocket the dinar, thank us repeatedly and continue on his way down the street with a tray of bread rings balanced on his head so carefully.  

I remember the mortars.  At first they were terrifying.  I could taste the burnt powder and chemicals left in the air as they went over.  We would all seek cover, waiting in silence for an all clear.  Quickly the mortars became nothing but a nuisance.  We knew they would come, twice a night, and they would miss us again.  I would stay up a little longer, smoke one more cigarette, waiting for the first rounds of the night.  Then I would go to bed, it wouldn’t take long before I started sleeping through them.  

I remember the kids at the orphanages.  They damn near rioted when they saw us.  They knew we had presents for them.  Paper, pencils, pens, and candy; not wanted by the soldiers.  Nothing but leftovers and garbage to us was pure treasure to these kids.  They would crowd the trucks, wanting to touch us and our gear.  Admiring our radios, guns, and pockets.  Little hands reaching out to touch and grab at our gear.  My logic know they were just curious excited kids, but my adrenaline would pump, I would brush them off.  I would try to smile and be nice as I pushed them away.  I remember one particular orphanage the boys were aggressive to see us and talk to us.  The girls stayed to the back.  The kids got too riled up and we decided it was safer if we just left.  As we pulled out of the compound the boys began throwing rocks at me and laughing.  I remember looking past them and seeing several girls standing in the barred windows of an old concrete building.  Like small dirty faces from a prison window; their hands gripped the bars, as they watched us go.  They looked so scared and so sad.  I can’t imagine the fate of a young girl orphaned in a country like Iraq.  

I remember sitting out back of our building in the hot sun.  I would put on head phones and turn up the music as I cleaned my weapons.  I remember the smell of the gun oil and the feel of the metal in my hands as I wiped the dirt and grim of the city streets away.  Piece by piece I would pull my weapon apart, examine it, clean it, take a long slow drag of my cigarette.  It was like mediation, it was time inside myself, inside the quiet.  I would finish cleaning my weapons, reassemble them, check to make sure I had done it right, and check again.  I remember setting my weapon in my lap, folding my hands over it, taking another long slow drag of my cigarette, that now tasted like the gun oil on my hands.  I would close my eyes, tilt my head back and just soak in the heat, the quiet, and the calm of that short moment in time.   

Colorado Women Veterans Retreat

A couple of weeks ago I got the opportunity to go to Colorado for 6 days for a outdoor retreat with 30 female veterans who had all served in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars.  What a week!

When I first got the email from my counselor about the retreat I wasn't too sure about the idea.  But I realized this is where I have to "face the fin."  For myself, I considered it an accomplishment just to take the chance to fill the application out and send it back.  I never really thought I would be picked to go.  So when I got the email saying I had been selected my anxiety went through the roof!  Traveling alone, to a place I'd never been, to meet up with a bunch of strangers?  Waaaay outside my comfort zone.  But I knew I had to do it.  I have spend a lot of time and energy in the last three years working to conquer my PTSD.  I still fight my anxiety, my first inclination is to say no and go somewhere safe.  Even my Mom was totally surprised when I told her that I was going on this adventure.

It was a pretty amazing week.  To have the opportunity to be around 30 other women who have been through similar situation I have was really a relief.  We had classes to learn about what stress does to the body, and new skills to try to calm and collect ourselves.  We spent lots of time in small groups talking and sharing our stories.  Learning to open up and trust.  I cried. A lot...  But I'm known to do that.  And it felt good to be in an environment where nobody judged me for it.  It was so great to see many of these women open up and identify what they were struggling with: guilty, anger, depression, isolation...  To realize that they are not alone, and that there are ways to slowly let go and move past some of that pain.  It was amazing to see that though each of us had a slightly different focus, and each of us wanted to take home something slightly different, we are all able to support each other so completely.

Coping with these overwhelming emotions take practice.  I think that is one of the biggest things I learned.  I already knew it, but it was good to hear again.  And to look at where I am now in my life and look at what skills I want to practice as I move forward.

As I look back on the retreat I realize that the last few years of hard work on myself are paying off.  I have come such a loong way from the rage, fear, and isolation that I was living in.  And that there is still room for me to move forward to even more calm and center in my life.  Also, I am about to embark on my Masters in Rehabilitation and Mental Health Counseling.  I've been questioning if I can do it, if it's a good fit or choice for me.  This retreat gave me so much confidence and sparked some new excitement for this next leg of my journey.  I am capable.