There are a million epiphanies that come while on tower guard. And somehow up there, memories tend to reproduce way more vividly than when they actually happened. All you’ve got is that same majestic mountain with its picture postcard reality to backdrop your thoughts for three days straight, leaving all the room in the world to let your mind wander. During my time on the tower, defending freedom, I have developed five or six very in depth and detailed plans for the next five years of my life, I have met God, reviewed and analyzed every relationship I have ever had, figured out a way to “win the war”, came up with a better recipe for peanut butter, found a way to get the revolution televised, and planned a road trip to South America that ends on a ferry in Antarctica (also came up with the working title for the subsequent movie script “Panama Rubber”).
But on especially cold nights when the air seeps through layers to gnaw on skin, when my muscles are sore from pushing it too far with the alpha males in the gym and my back aches from the tremendous amount of gear it bears, that same mountain is only discernable (past the falling snow and lingering fog) by following the jagged line in the night sky where the millions of stars end. As if cut out of purple construction paper and collaged over what kerouac refers to as the "ecstasy of the stars". On these dark mornings chai steam rises up from a water bottle cut in half and the 10 foot by 10 foot tower booth smells of drying mud and melting snow. This is the hour where exhaustion breeches the divide into delirium. At this point your mind is capable of anything, literally X-men like abilities are obtainable if you stay awake long enough. However, all that occurs is a random memory in vivid vivid detail, the IMAX people couldn't have done better. I was transcended back to years ago, to that OTHER Asian country:
It was a sunny day in South Korea; I had a 42lb ruck sack on and was vigorously attacking the ninth mile of a twelve-mile march. Sweat was everywhere and I could feel blisters hardening on my feet. We (my captain, squad leader, and a few soldiers) were training for a competition for the Expert Field Medical Badge, a “prestigious” award in the army medical corps but just another trinket on a uniform to me. Never the less, I enjoyed the physical training. The army post in Korea was only 1.2 miles in circumference which meant to properly prepare for a timed 12-mile hike we had to circle laps around the whole post again and again. On each lap we passed Mitchell's the post's bar and grill. Each lap the smell of greasy pasta and the invoked taste of cold beer became harder and harder to resist. By mile nine I wasn’t fooling anyone, I was struggling to continue. Up until this point I had kept up with my squad leader who’s physique landed somewhere between Lou Ferrigno and the Terminator. A half mile later he was a considerable ways ahead of me and I started yelling to complain at him.
“I quit! I’m going to Mitchell's.”
“Shut-up, no you’re not.”
“C’mon I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Nope, we’re sprinting to the next curve.”
Reluctantly I ran with him. Once we reach the bend in the road I stopped running, then stopped walking.
“That’s it, I’m done."
“You baby!” he says and angrily disappears into the corner store we happened to be next to. Shortly he returns with trail mix and chocolate bars. He throws me some trail mix
“Stop crying.”
I eat a couple handfuls and feel instantly better. Renewed, I shut up and we finish the march in 2 hours and 45 minutes a full 15 minutes short of the required time limit and with ten pounds of extra weight. After acknowledging this victory and without waiting for the others to finish, my squad leader and I keep moving straight into Mitchell's, throw our rucks down in front of a booth and take a sweat drenched seat. Without looking at the menu’s we order two pitchers of water, one pitcher of beer, and two plates of pasta.
A gust of cold wind hits me in the face and I am abruptly brought back to reality. Suddenly aware of freezing hands and the snoring Afghan Security Guard next to me. Still I find a stupid little unconscious smile across my face; the nostalgia of this off the wall and irrelevant memory lingered.
It then struck me how most people have never truly reached muscle failure simply because life doesn't provide the opportunity for it. Few know the reward of pushing past your physical limits where the limbs go numb and the mind takes over until it reaches its emotional boundaries and you simply can not go on. Seeing your extreme limits is gratifying enough, but to blow past them and genuinely know you have gone further and longer than you ever thought you were capable is a priceless experience. One that so many people miss out on. And honestly there is no better way to celebrate it than with good friends and crappy beer.
At this point in the night the moons pride has blanketing everything in silver and the stars don;t even have a chance. I click the glow button on my favorite cheap-o Wal-Mart watch and it flashes 2:58, three more hours until dawn.
