A Walking Commute

On most non-running mornings I don't drive to school; I walk.  Of course, there are exceptions:  (1) It's raining--as in rain serious enough to render me more than merely damp after nearly a two-mile walk even with an umbrella.  (2) A movie or other activity will keep me on post until after dark.  Granted, I have walked the two miles home alone in the dark before without incident or even a feeling of nervousness.  However, I don't generally arrange my plans to do so.  (3) There is too much to carry in a backpack.  Occasionally I must haul items between home and school or between school and home that are unwieldy and/or just too dang heavy.  Also, should a commissary run become necessary on a non-running day, the drive option usually wins.  Food generally seems to convene in unwieldy, weighty assemblages!  Still, this fall I have managed a relatively fair balance between walking commutes and driving commutes, and so far the driving ones have largely included a morning run. 

Now, dear reader, should any of the following post verbage seem lacking in background information, please refer to my previous post (September 17), for I shan't review again here all the details of Yongsan Garrison's current gate closures and traffic routes in place for morning PT.  Suffice it to say that, depending how morning ablutions and breakfast unfold, I usually show up at my nearest gate onto Yongsan a few minutes after it closes to vehicular traffic at 6:00 a.m.  Since I am on foot, I just follow the sidewalk entrance, produce my ID for inspection by the attending ROK soldier (a couple are quite cute and another one--a career military man, no doubt--has such a distinguished aura), and continue my morning trek.  Although some colleagues and friends want to commiserate with me because my commute on post commences with an entrance on Camp Coiner and then entails traversing this "camp," a section of the garrison devoted fully to military operations, I find it fascinating.  Camp Coiner holds a lot of the barracks and training areas, including these tents fitted with both AC and heat--definitely in use during exercises, but I remain uncertain whether they are in constant use.  Before I even make my morning entrance, I can already hear squadrons inside the walls counting and calling out drill instructions as they navigate through the design of that day's physical training.

While my walk to school ensues, I eavesdrop on conversations as soldiers run past, sometimes in formation, sometimes in small groups.  They talk business, family, last night, romance drama . . . kind of like us all, I guess.  Complaints I haven't ever heard.  They might call out to a soldier they know who mans one of the barricades blocking off the road reserved for PT,  shout encouragement to a lagging comrade, and occasionally ride someone not measuring up to expectation.  My favorte part, though, is when squadrons/groups call out cadences as they run.  I can hear their chanting way behind me or way in front of me and, by the volume, chart their progress in my mind as they run what is really quite a hilly course.  Multi-purposed, the cadences serve to pace, energize, and unify a group; they also entertain...at least, they entertain me!

Definitely there seems to be a designated cadence caller, someone who always seems to have a pleasing resonance to his voice, too!  (Yes, I used the masculine pronoun there because I've only heard a female cadence caller once; she was good, though!)  For most cadences, the caller says the line first and then the rest of the group repeats all or part of it.  I heard one a week or so ago where the word "machete" caught my ear, followed by this:

left, right, left, right,
left, right, KILL!
left, right, left, right,
you know I will!

YIKES!  Those words certainly brought to mind aspects of military reality I don't often focus on.

Then there was the caller who started with this line:

I wanna be your airborne ranger . . .

His group repeated the line and then everyone just cracked up.  End of cadence. They moved onto another one.

This week I heard my favorite cadence yet.  The caller virtually "sang" it all, the other troops keeping rhythm with "hey-hey" chorused at the end of lines:


Chorus

Hey lottie lottie      (hey-hey)
Hey lottie lottie-o   (hey-hey)
Hey lottie lottie      (hey-hey)
Let's have a party.


Verse

I used to drive a Cadillac
Hey lottie lottie
I used to drive a Cadillac
Hey lottie lottie-o
I used to drive a Cadillac
Hey lottie lottie
I will again when I get back.


Verse

I used to date a beauty queen
Hey lottie lottie
I used to date a beauty queen
Hey lottie lottie-o
I used to date a beauty queen
Hey lottie lottie
Now I just date my M-16.

That's all I heard; they had moved out of range.

In the afternoon when I'm walking home from school, the jaunt is much more mundane; the world has resumed its conformity to assumptions of the way life looks when living in a city.  Don't get me wrong.  The walk is still good, yet it fully fits within a standard zone of expectation.