Early Mornings

Sleeping in a tent with thirty other men is a unique experience. I seem to have gained some prominence as the king of flatulence (at least on my side of the room,) and am reported to shake down the thunder at least once a night while asleep. While this title is not the most endearing, at least I'm not the late night computer guy, who plays music videos at 2am and repacks his duffle bag at 3am. We even have a bull at the far end of the tent. He's a good guy, despite being an ex-marine, but can escalate a game of old maid into a potential fist fight. He also happens to be the loudest snoorer of the bunch. Our age varies from 20-55, so the parade of morning bathroom visits usually starts up about 2am. The tent is pitch black so flashlights are needed to navigate your way through the maze of bunks to get to the outhouse behind the tent. Flashlight etiquite is often lacking, leading to the dog with a flashlight around it's collar phenomenon. We have a wookie (seriously, probably the harriest guy I've ever seen,) an elf, a sailor (the only naval asset in our unit), a pro-athelete (he used to be one of Lance Armstrong's training partners), a heavy metal guitarist (well, that was before he became a physician), an ultramarathon runner (125 miles was his furthest run), and a guy named bubba. All in all, it's a colorful bunch. We spend a lot of time gripping and laughing, mostly at each other, and are in general a happy lot. All the same, though, it will be a relief to flatulate in the confines of my own little sleeping unit in a couple of weeks.