Editor’s note: This letter is from Tim Kennedy, Army Ranger and former IFL fighter who is currently deployed abroad with his unit. He wanted to send his best wishes from…well, I can’t tell you, so we are using FOREIGN LAND. We at FiveOuncesOfPain.com would like to thank Tim for his service, and our friends at RangerUp for making this feature possible. Try to pass this on to your friends. and we encourage you to send Tim well wishes at Tim@rangerup.com!

This is my tree. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

There are certain things that you learn to live without in my line of work. I miss some of them more than others. I love art, live music, and the feeling of my gigantic bed with my down comforter on top of it. But of all the things that are kept from me in this wonderful country, I miss great food the most. Don’t get me wrong an MRE (Meals Ready to Eat) is delicious cuisine. Still, after being on a mission for a week, then killing myself in a two hour workout that results in bleeding shins and locals running away from me because they think I am a white American demon brought to Earth to throw anything he can pick up and jump on anything he MIGHT be able to clear…well…a huge pile of Penang Curry would go a long way.

This leads me to the latest instance where everyone I’m co-located with reaffirmed their already pre-existing belief that I am truly insane. We had just finished a three-day firefight that, in short, sucked worse than that movie where John Travolta plays a girl.

However, as we were leaving this God forsaken valley I looked over and saw what I can only describe as one of the most beautiful things my eyes had ever beheld. There before me was a pomegranate tree. This wasn’t just any tree, this tree was green – really green – and let’s just say there aren’t a whole lot of living plants where I am working right now.

So there it is, in all its splendor, looking at me with its little green eyes, pretty much just pleading for someone to love it – to enjoy the fruit already waiting on it’s branches. There was no other course of action. I had to have it. I decided we (as in my entire team) were going to stop and transplant this gift from God away from this valley of murderers to my FOB (forward operating base). And that is exactly what we did. Yes, I was berated by my fellow soldiers who thought getting out of our vehicles at this juncture was near suicide, but I kept my eye on the prize. I knew that there was a greater good that had to be accomplished.

It didn’t take long for the story of my tree to spread. I wake up every morning, I walk over to MY pomegranate tree, water it, and check the fruits of my labor (pun intended). I have in the past few weeks enjoyed some of the most delicious arils my mouth has ever tasted. In case you don’t know, I’m from CA. The pomegranate is not indigenous to CA, but has been there long enough for me to claim it as a CA fruit. They’re a little taste of home. MY tree is outside my hut, and the unspoken rule is very clear – no one gets near it. I’m a pretty amicable guy outside the cage, but touch my tree and it will bring you a certain and painful death.

I don’t have a nutritionist. I don’t have a physical trainer. I don’t have a million dollar MMA facility. So I make up for it with extreme violence (sometimes taken out on inanimate objects), some creative workout plans, and now a pomegranate or two.

My tree is just the latest of my eccentricities that concern my fellow mates. On most missions I wear a hat with a big fat peace sign emblazoned on it. I’m not trying to do the “Full Metal Jacket” ‘duality of man’ thing – seriously, you can ask my wife. I just like the hat. The pomegranate tree, the peace sign hat, and my love of “classic” 80s tunes is the trifecta that makes me the weirdest guy in country. We might be rolling onto a target, and out of my vehicle someone just might hear some classic Prince, or perhaps even Madonna.

If I were a bad guy and I looked out my window and beheld a bunch of dudes who look like I look (220 lbs., beard, way too many guns for a single person, and one of them in a peace sign hat) rolling into my hood, and they were listening to Duran Duran while they ate pomegranates, I would pretty much surrender right there and then. Either that, or I would decide that this group of infidels wasn’t worth the effort and explosives it would take to blow up…plus then I’d have to run away before more of them showed up…and its hot outside today…I really don’t want to get all sweaty and sandy for these guys do I?

Anyway, assuming I don’t get blown up, shot, or otherwise made dead, I will be back in the good old USA soon, and I am fired up about it. For the first time since 2001, I will be fighting full time. Being a special operations soldier and being a professional fighter at the same time might sound like an easy gig, but I assure you it isn’t. Now I have my green light. I have been told to get as good as I can and win every title I can.

My new mission is to be the best fighter in the world. You’ve heard this from a lot of guys, so I know it might ring hollow, but I now have total clarity and total focus on the task ahead of me, and I’m not big on failure.

My future opponents have something to fear. I will be spending every waking moment with the best guys in the industry. They are going to have to lock me out of the gym. I’m not going to be taking for granted the fact that I now have real mats and rings to train with. I won’t be taking a fight only days after graduating Ranger School. I’ll be 100% ready and focused. Even worse for that next opponent, he will have to deal with me imagining that he just stole my last pomegranate. It might seem funny to some of you, but when you have been deployed where I’ve been and seen what I’ve seen you realize a single piece of fruit is a really big deal…and that guy across the cage just took mine.

Thanks again for all your support! Happy Thanksgiving!

Tim “TKO” Kennedy

Editors note: This letter is from Tim Kennedy, Army Ranger and former IFL fighter who is currently deployed abroad with his unit. He wanted to send his best wishes from…well, I can’t tell you, so we are using FOREIGN LAND. We at Fiveouncesofpain.com would like to thank Tim for his service, and our friends at RangerUp for making this feature possible. Try to pass this on to your friends. and we encourage you to send Tim well wishes at Tim@rangerup.com!

A Note from Tim: I communicate almost exclusively using verbal sarcasm. So using this medium of communication (writing) is rather challenging. Please be forgiving.

Today, as I was sitting around looking at the other men in my unit, I commented that we led really privileged lives. Other suckers have to pay thousands of dollars to tour different exotic countries and experience unique cultures, whereas I get PAID (while not very much) to do the same thing. Granted, I’m sure that when you pay for the trip, instead of cruising on Uncle Sam’s dollar, you don’t get shot at, blown up, or not get to bathe for weeks at a time, but it still seems like a pretty sweet deal.

I realize that many of you don’t come from a military background, so from time to time I will try to explain a few things that will help you understand my ramblings.

Here goes:

I live on a FOB. FOBs or Forward Operating Bases are bases located forward (Tim, did anyone ever tell you not to use the words you are trying to define in the definition? Screw you, Tim! Am I arguing with myself again?) into unfriendly terrain with the purpose of securing ground and providing support to the locals. In actuality, FOBs are targets located in hostile territory surrounded by people that are not sympathetic to your cause. To add to that fun, resources tend to be extremely limited, making mission accomplishment very challenging – but hey, that’s what I signed up for – if it was easy, they’d call it mortgage derivatives trading, right? I mean – who could screw that up?

Now that you understand that I live miles away from anything useful surrounded by people that generally don’t like me despite my sunny disposition, you will appreciate the fact that training for my next fight with ORGANIZATION when I get back can prove rather challenging.

Anyone that has ever met me knows I am somewhat energetic, but I’m a freak when it come to physical conditioning. Not working out two to three times a day drives me absolutely insane. In case you missed it when I whined about this previously, we have somewhat limited supplies at my current home away from home (have no fear this will not dissuade me). (I love parenthesis) “and quotation marks”.

Anyhow…Like I was saying…THIS WILL NOT DISSUADE ME! Anyone can do pushups or go for a run. Many may even find some graspable object located 5-8 feet off the ground for pull ups, but when you know your opponent is in some Dolph Lundgren-like altitude chamber using $300k worth of gym equipment while eating the best food money can buy, you realize you have to do your best to make things a little more fun, if not more imaginative. So I work with what I’ve got.

In the Army there are always certain things in abundance: Crap, lots of crap especially in a combat area – scrap metal, car chassis, goats, etc.. We basically blow things up, or get things blown up around us, leaving me with plenty of material to work with. My typical approaches are as follows:

1. Find some Crap.

2. Try to jump on top of it. If you can, then see how many times you can do it without smashing your legs against “it”. This is tricky. Box jumping is a science and an art. You have to know your ability, and more importantly, how to gauge your ability. I use landmarks on my own body. At first I was jumping things waist high. Then I would move up one rib at a time. I’m sure you can imagine the locals seeing this crazy white guy walk up to some inanimate object, and then jump on top of it and then walk up to something a little taller and try it again. And then the inevitable occurs – I eat it, bust my shins, and fall on my face… Not to worry, though – repeating this chain of events has enabled me to now jump things at nipple height! Isn’t that exciting?!?!? I also have bruises up and down my legs which I think of as a bonus.

3. Throw it. I love finding all these things that once served a useful purpose and seeing how far I can throw them…and then running to it, picking it up, turning around and throwing it again. I do this until the thing I’m trying to throw ends up trying to throw me. The heavier, and more awkward the object is, the better. I look at this as yet another opportunity to impress the local audience, who for some reason are always watching (at some distance now) with a certain mild trepidation. They’re not sure what is going on, or the reason for me yelling every time I chuck a transmission. All they know is something strange is going on and they don’t want to miss it.

4. And lastly – my favorite: Slamming! While it’s fun to pick heavy things up, it’s even more fun to throw them down. I mean straight down. Tires, ammo cans, water bottles – you name it and I bet you I can slam the living daylight out of it. It all sounds simple enough. Find something heavy, pick it up, slam, and repeat. In truth, however, a lot more goes in to it. First of all you have to make sure that you don’t slam yourself, which just hurts. Second, you need to ensure that the thing that you are slamming will not in some way be able to attack you after you slam it(you would be surprised at how vicious a tire is if slammed incorrectly). Finally, you have to take the audience into consideration (their fear is palpable during the slamming process). Even though they are now standing even further away the last thing you need is a dead local from a armored truck tire that went awry.

If any of you find yourself in INSERT MIDDLE EASTERN COUNTRY HERE, please feel free to use my regime.
Well, that’s it for now. As always, thanks for your support.

– Tim “TKO” Kennedy

Editors note: This letter is from Tim Kennedy, Army Ranger and former IFL fighter who is currently deployed abroad with his unit. He wanted to send his best wishes from…well, I can’t tell you, so we are using FOREIGN LAND. We at Fiveouncesofpain.com would like to thank Tim for his service, and our friends at RangerUp for making this feature possible.  Try to pass this on to your friends. and we encourage you to send Tim well wishes at Tim@rangerup.com!

Dear Friends,

So here we are again. I’m a few thousand miles away from everyone I love, and doing things that make…well…life worth living. I think the last time I wrote you all I was elaborating on the eccentricities of the FOREIGN LAND culture. I continue to enjoy the kamikaze flies that have some special hydrogen and oxygen vision that allow them to spot moisture from miles away. In particular, their suicide-bombing missions into your eyes (which I think they learned from the indigenous Homo sapiens) are a blast. Apparently, they do this because the only moisture for miles resides in Americans’ eyes.

Well with every new place that I get to go to, there is always something “special” to enjoy. I’m not going to numerate them for you, but I will highlight some of the extraordinary elements of this diverse culture. First off let me caveat this with saying that I am not the “ugly American.” I appreciate the diversity of many cultures, and I will only be commenting on the things that I believe would be universally frowned upon, even though the locals might disagree.

Anytime I travel on your dime I prefer to transverse the globe. In this case that included some time in Germany, Turkey, The Krygyz Republic (say that three times fast…or for that matter, even once), and finally to FOREIGN LAND. I’ve been to a lot of places and done lots of things, but FOREIGN LAND has a very special element – an unbelievable, but constant stench. I was told that I would get used to it. I instantly blurted out, “I don’t want to get use to it,” and then quickly explained that because of the unfreezing process, “I have no inner monologue and CAN’T CONTROL THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE!!!” Luckily, I did not have to get used to it. My wife came through with some reeds, candles, and a bunch of other stuff that the other guys made fun of me about at first, but have since come around to the superiority of Midnight Jasmine and Summer Sage to Recycled Ass and Rotting Bog.

Regardless of my victory over the locals odoriferous emanations, this “you will get used to it” line became a common theme, and one that I resented more and more every time I heard it. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I was informed that the nocturnal blood sucking predators that the local people endearingly referred to as “bedbugs” was something else I would get used to. Really guys? I get the smell part. I get the sand. I get the lack of deodorant. But do we really need to get #^$%!!! used to demon blood sucking bugs of the night dive-bombing painfully into our open eyes and injecting a stinger into them? Can’t we do a smidge better than that?

I thought I could.

So I did what any warm blooded American would do: I issued my declaration of independence from eye bites and declared war on the vampire bugs! As a seasoned vet of several campaigns, I realized that in any successful combat operation one needs standoff (distance between you and the enemy) and clear lines of fire, so I took EVERYTHING out of my room. The locals already think I’m insane because they have been seeing me run around the compound dragging tires everywhere I go and starting off most my workouts in the morning pounding a tire with a sledgehammer. So the prospect of me carrying out my desk, dresser, rugs, carpet, bed, and mattress I’m sure didn’t come as too much as a surprise to them.

At this point I went down to the NBC/ Chemical war department and asked for everything they had that could kill anything. They didn’t take me seriously at first, but they soon realized after the twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence as I stared at them unflinching that I wasn’t joking. Nevertheless, they went on about how no one was going to give me any chemical munitions (apparently we don’t use these anymore), so I went to the medics. The Medic station was a little more compliant and gave me some DEET, lice/tic/chigger powder, and 4 cans of Permethrin.

I entered my bare room with a hint of glee in my eye and some spring in my step, as I sprayed every crack, hole, nook and cranny. When that mission was accomplished, I put powder on all of the equipment and clothing that I had. To make sure everything would work to my satisfaction I left it all out in the sun for two days rotating everything every other hour. I was at the top of the world, but I would soon fall hard.

The first night back in my room I was attacked yet again. “Charlie” had broken through the wire.

Considering the fact my bed was the only thing left in the room at this point and it had been tactically placed in the direct center with no contact with the walls, and I used the powder, DEET, and Permethrin at the legs of the bed, walls, and floor, I had a new found respect for these bugs. They were my bug equivalent. I conjectured that they must have crawled up the outside wall, slid in through the roof, climbed down the light above me, and then HALOed from the light down onto my bed…

My hat off to you, bugs. You have won the first battle, but the war is far from over.

In other news, I have been working my butt off evaluating the capabilities of other special operations units in country, and it is a blast. Being in a room full of FOREIGN LAND soldiers is awesome…all my jokes that everyone in the States thinks are dumb are a huge hit here.

Also, I’m finally able to do all the things that my wife never lets me do. I listen to awesome 80’s music and sing it at the top of my lungs while I workout-did I mention that the locals think I’m crazy/dangerous? I’m sure you all agree with me that the song Amanda by Boston is TIMELESS! “I’m gonna take you by surprise and make you realize Amanda”.

Sweetness.

As if that isn’t awesome enough, I get to wear Ranger panties everyplace I go (pictures included), and never shave. This may sound stupid to some people and…well…that’s all I’ve got.

Anyway, I appreciate everyone’s concern and I just thought you all would like an update on my recent activities.

Looking forward to getting home to the States, eating some great food, and getting ready for my next fight!

Tim “TKO” Kennedy