diamond geezer
Mar 28, 2004, 05:07 AM
BBC (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/3568539.stm)
A year ago, Iraq was in the middle of a war, which, it was hoped, would bring the Iraqi people new freedom.
Iraqis are certainly enjoying freedom of expression, but freedom of movement is quite another matter. Constant policing on the streets of Baghdad has become a way of life
Shihab Murad has a body from which the fat has been pared. His baggy green tracksuit does not betray his fitness. But this glittering spring morning, his face tells you enough. It is taut and alert. It is the face of a professional long-distance runner.
This year, at the Olympics in Athens, Shihab is hoping to compete in the marathon. But training now is tough. Shihab likes to run around 13 miles in the morning. But since the war, he has found this is not so easy. It is not that he has developed an injury. Rather that he is worried about the meandering route from his home to the athletics track at Baghdad University. The bombings and the shootings across the city make him feel unsafe, and so he runs less.
For a marathon runner, success is all about the miles that are bashed away, day after day. The constraints are immensely frustrating. Shihab has tried running in the countryside, but he feels insecure there too. He is worried that American soldiers may not understand what he is up to.
He said he was recently running outside Baghdad, when he was arrested by some Gis and stopped for an hour. "They did not understand what I was up to", he says. "It is no way to train." Shahib is not the only one.
You do not see many joggers in Baghdad. In fact, I have seen none.
Security has been tightened following recent suicide attacks in Baghdad and Karbala
What you do see, from time to time, is the very occasional Western security guard or journalist puffing around a minute strip of street.
Since coming to Baghdad, I have joined that small and inglorious group. I have had little choice. I am training to run the London marathon which takes place next month.
These weeks are the final crucial period of the build up. This is my first marathon and I am congenitally unfit. If I do not run now, I will not be able to run 26 miles in three weeks' time. So this is what I do, most mornings of the week, before breakfast.
I turn left out of the BBC house, just across from the bureau, and walk to the end of my street. I shimmy round the concrete-filled oil drums, say hello to the security guards lounging with their AK47s, and start running. Two hundred yards to my left is the River Tigris. I run a strip two-thirds of a mile long.
Along the route I have to jink past 15ft high concrete blast walls, coils of razor wire sprawled across the ground, stinger rails with six-inch metal spikes to puncture car tyres. On average, there are 25 security guards on duty, just patrolling this strip, each with a large gun. Some are sitting on plastic chairs. Others are 30ft up in sandbagged machine-gun nests. You may ask why I bothered counting the number of security guards. Believe me, the answer is there is nothing else to do.
They are using their watchtower snipers' skills, honed in South Armagh, to look for trouble
When you are plodding up and down the same strip of rubbish-strewn broken concrete, between the same lethal traps for as long as three hours, counting men with guns amounts to high entertainment.
Gazing down on us - the security men and the odd shambling runner - are the soldiers from 2 Parachute Regiment.
They are up on the roof of the Sheraton Hotel, one of three big hotels abutting my unlovely route, and one of the reasons for the blast walls and armed guards.
It was next to their observation post, 19 floors up, that I met a soldier from 2 Para by the name of Moose.
He and his men are not, of course, on the lookout for joggers. They are using their watchtower snipers' skills, honed in South Armagh, to look for trouble.
There are the car bombs, the shootings, and the missile attacks on the Coalition Provisional Authority, just the other side of the Tigris. Rebel attacks are likely to increase before the coalition hands over sovereignty on June 30, 2004
Moose is immensely proud of his sniping skills. He invited me to look through the crosshairs of his rifle, to show me how he can pretty much guarantee what he calls a "centre of mass" hit, as much as 300-400 yards away, with his first bullet. With his second bullet, he reckons he is certain of being on target more than half a mile away.
But the soldiers' problem is that it is not just joggers who are elusive. They have yet to see where the Iraqi resistance is firing mortars from.
Baghdad is huge and packed. Mortar plates are small and portable. And as long as the violence continues, Iraqi long-distance runners such as Shahib Murab will not be able to stretch their legs as they wish.
I ask Shahib when he thinks it will be safe for him to run where he wants. "When the Americans leave", he says, "and when all the roadblocks have been lifted, and when we can find our own way with our own Iraqi government."
That, of course, is the conundrum of occupation. The coalition says it is there to provide security, but its very presence also stirs resentment.
Shahib says he can wait though.
He may be 35 years old and nearing the end of his professional athletic career, but "if you are a long-distance runner", he laughs, "you have to be patient".
A year ago, Iraq was in the middle of a war, which, it was hoped, would bring the Iraqi people new freedom.
Iraqis are certainly enjoying freedom of expression, but freedom of movement is quite another matter. Constant policing on the streets of Baghdad has become a way of life
Shihab Murad has a body from which the fat has been pared. His baggy green tracksuit does not betray his fitness. But this glittering spring morning, his face tells you enough. It is taut and alert. It is the face of a professional long-distance runner.
This year, at the Olympics in Athens, Shihab is hoping to compete in the marathon. But training now is tough. Shihab likes to run around 13 miles in the morning. But since the war, he has found this is not so easy. It is not that he has developed an injury. Rather that he is worried about the meandering route from his home to the athletics track at Baghdad University. The bombings and the shootings across the city make him feel unsafe, and so he runs less.
For a marathon runner, success is all about the miles that are bashed away, day after day. The constraints are immensely frustrating. Shihab has tried running in the countryside, but he feels insecure there too. He is worried that American soldiers may not understand what he is up to.
He said he was recently running outside Baghdad, when he was arrested by some Gis and stopped for an hour. "They did not understand what I was up to", he says. "It is no way to train." Shahib is not the only one.
You do not see many joggers in Baghdad. In fact, I have seen none.
Security has been tightened following recent suicide attacks in Baghdad and Karbala
What you do see, from time to time, is the very occasional Western security guard or journalist puffing around a minute strip of street.
Since coming to Baghdad, I have joined that small and inglorious group. I have had little choice. I am training to run the London marathon which takes place next month.
These weeks are the final crucial period of the build up. This is my first marathon and I am congenitally unfit. If I do not run now, I will not be able to run 26 miles in three weeks' time. So this is what I do, most mornings of the week, before breakfast.
I turn left out of the BBC house, just across from the bureau, and walk to the end of my street. I shimmy round the concrete-filled oil drums, say hello to the security guards lounging with their AK47s, and start running. Two hundred yards to my left is the River Tigris. I run a strip two-thirds of a mile long.
Along the route I have to jink past 15ft high concrete blast walls, coils of razor wire sprawled across the ground, stinger rails with six-inch metal spikes to puncture car tyres. On average, there are 25 security guards on duty, just patrolling this strip, each with a large gun. Some are sitting on plastic chairs. Others are 30ft up in sandbagged machine-gun nests. You may ask why I bothered counting the number of security guards. Believe me, the answer is there is nothing else to do.
They are using their watchtower snipers' skills, honed in South Armagh, to look for trouble
When you are plodding up and down the same strip of rubbish-strewn broken concrete, between the same lethal traps for as long as three hours, counting men with guns amounts to high entertainment.
Gazing down on us - the security men and the odd shambling runner - are the soldiers from 2 Parachute Regiment.
They are up on the roof of the Sheraton Hotel, one of three big hotels abutting my unlovely route, and one of the reasons for the blast walls and armed guards.
It was next to their observation post, 19 floors up, that I met a soldier from 2 Para by the name of Moose.
He and his men are not, of course, on the lookout for joggers. They are using their watchtower snipers' skills, honed in South Armagh, to look for trouble.
There are the car bombs, the shootings, and the missile attacks on the Coalition Provisional Authority, just the other side of the Tigris. Rebel attacks are likely to increase before the coalition hands over sovereignty on June 30, 2004
Moose is immensely proud of his sniping skills. He invited me to look through the crosshairs of his rifle, to show me how he can pretty much guarantee what he calls a "centre of mass" hit, as much as 300-400 yards away, with his first bullet. With his second bullet, he reckons he is certain of being on target more than half a mile away.
But the soldiers' problem is that it is not just joggers who are elusive. They have yet to see where the Iraqi resistance is firing mortars from.
Baghdad is huge and packed. Mortar plates are small and portable. And as long as the violence continues, Iraqi long-distance runners such as Shahib Murab will not be able to stretch their legs as they wish.
I ask Shahib when he thinks it will be safe for him to run where he wants. "When the Americans leave", he says, "and when all the roadblocks have been lifted, and when we can find our own way with our own Iraqi government."
That, of course, is the conundrum of occupation. The coalition says it is there to provide security, but its very presence also stirs resentment.
Shahib says he can wait though.
He may be 35 years old and nearing the end of his professional athletic career, but "if you are a long-distance runner", he laughs, "you have to be patient".
