Pumping Iron

Sometime in August 2003, a gym was opened in the Green Zone. It was a reasonably well appointed gym, with a decent set of free weights and a few machines. It was within walking distance of our house. So with little else to do but work, sleep, and watch movies, and with no days off – EVER – I decided to work out at the gym every other day until I left. Monday – Wednesday – Friday – Sunday – Tuesday, etc. The gym opened at 6 am so I went just as it opened. Occasionally I was joined by buddies, but their dedication level wasn't quite there. Out of the house, we took a left and headed toward the Republican Palace. We knew all the shortcuts in the Green Zone by that time (mostly to avoid the MP’s after dark coming home from a party), so the walk took only 10 minutes or so: past the British Special Air Service villa (which became the British Embassy later) BTW – the SAS didn’t need to go to the gym. They pilfered all the best gym equipment from the Republican Guard Officer’s gym when they got there. It was all nicely arrayed in the courtyard of their villa. You could see it from the street. Anyway, past the Brit villa and through a rubble strewn landscape of former buildings that we called “little Chechnya”. Then, we would pop out from behind some barrier walls (to the surprise of checkpoint guards) and finally just a short walk to the gym. By October, a really nice gym opened inside an abandoned warehouse. It was at least four times larger than the gym I was going to and looked like any modern Gold’s Gym or similar that you can find in the US. Did we switch gyms? Hell, yes! That place was beautiful and had everything. Acres of equipment, including aerobic gear. By October I was getting really bulked up. I only worked out upper body, no leg work. I was having difficulty putting on my Army fatigue tops because of the size of my arms. In November, the gym sponsored an All-Baghdad weightlifting contest. I signed up with two other friends from the house. We were in weight classes, so I was in the heavyweight group. Forty-six years old at the time, the next oldest guy was 28. But I was in the lead in the competition until we got to leg lifts. I won the bench press, lifting 405 pounds. But as I had no leg training, I completely flamed out on that one. I came in fourth place. The supreme compliment came when the first and second place finishers – both 23 – came up to me afterwards and told me that I was “some far out old man. We thought you had us beat until the leg lifts!” That was far better than finishing fourth. The bulk and strength came in handy as we were preparing our gear in Kuwait for departure back home. I could carry large items like canvas tents all by myself, so it may our progress going home much quicker. Of course, within months of returning home, I didn’t change my eating habits nor did I continue to lift weights. In due course I reverted to my former self – fat slob.