Failing To Acclimate
I can’t speak for everyone out there, but I can say with some certainty that this is a warm winter. Sixty degrees in February? In Kansas? Yeah, pass the Coppertone. And you can relax, this isn’t about any whackjob global warming theories. I’ve already covered that. I think. No, this is just a rant about my inability to acclimate properly to what ought to be happening right now. Specifically: Winter.
This goes back some years. I’d found that the cold weather gear the Army likes to hand out comes in two flavors: ineffective and overeffective. Meaning, some stuff you wear and are still cold, and other stuff you wear and you’re pushing heatstroke in 20-degree weather. So yours truly figured out that acclimating to the lower temperature would make it all easy. To my surprise, it worked.
As an example, picture this: Germany, early 2000’s. Deep winter with snow, temperature around 30° (F). Add to this incredulous Germans peering out their lace curtains at the young, dumb Captain who is grilling steaks in his running shorts, flipflops, and a tank top. The sound of the bread truck in the distance is heard, and said half-naked dumbass merely grabs a handful of Marks and runs the truck down and proceeds to slaughter the German language but returns with an armful of awesome crusty bread, oblivious to the new snow that is falling.
This vignette courtesy of acclimating. Flash forward to right now, and a less-chiseled lietenant colonel with more mileage is unable to make himself used to low temperatures so that he can be prepared for the remainder of the season in the foothills of the Himalayas. This will make my all-expense-paid vacation in Afghanistan a whole lot less enjoyable right off the bat, which is exactly when I don’t need that shit.
Granted, showing up in Southern Afghanistan in July is no party either and clearly marks the other end of the spectrum, but for some reason heat has always been a whole lot easier for me to deal with than cold. Maybe because I grew up in a desert, perhaps because I have brain damage, or both. You pick. The fact remains I’m not looking forward to rolling off that airplane into the thin, cold air I know is there.
You’re probably wondering what the point of this is. Honestly the answer to that is, there isn’t one. This is nothing but venting my impotent frustration over something I can’t change.
But damn if I don’t feel better.