Monthly Archive August 2017

Beating a Horse Dead

It was the Run Before the Sun, the Brawl to Decide it All, The War to Settle the Score, The Thrills in Sardis Hills, The Hell on Old Bell, The South Charlotte Skirmish, The Mountain View Melee, The Predawn Donnybrook, and something else incorporating Fracas that I just couldn’t think of.  Seventeen combatants and one slow guy in blinky lights entered the arena of Horsey McHorseArse (still a worse name than when the Big 10 named its divisions Legends and Leaders) to answer the question: Quien Es Mas Macho?  Most read the PrePreBlast and the PreBlast to know what to do but others did not so we gave a quick tutorial on how we would be deciding the 2017 season championship as we set on an Iron Maiden warm up (Run to the Hills).

The competitors would battle each other, the hills, and the dark recesses of their own minds to take the title.  They would have to gore the Lumbering Ox as many times as possible by passing the Q on the main loop then getting down and back up the first hill as many times as possible during the allotted time, after starting with 10 burpees to allow the Ox to slowly labor up the first hill.  Some figured out their strategies quickly and were quickly able to master the course.  Some gambled and relied solely on running ability, paying no mind to the most effective places to make passes.  A few didn’t really understand what was going on, and one competitor blatantly abused the rulebook in much the same way as spread offense teams have their offensive lines block 10 yards downfield on pass plays.  Simply distasteful.  A quick scan of the PAX list should give you an idea of who the culprit was.  Most of the PAX made their first pass just before the Mt. Charlotte hill in turn two.  Alf looked like he was on a business trip and not a pleasure cruise.  Pop Tart flew by right out of the gate, and for a second I wondered if he might be mounting a serious challenge, but at the end when he turned out to not really understand the format everything snapped right back into focus.  Although my job today was to be the human sacrifice, the Lumbering Ox did have a couple of tricks to play, mainly in the form of some surprise sprints just when somebody was about to make a pass.  Prohibition especially enjoyed those.  There were some biological weapons in the battle plan but they went un-deployed due to less than full confidence in the release mechanism.  At 6:08 we gathered the group by the neon encrusted pole that flies Old Glory to recite the pledge.  At this point a school bus pulled up and stopped, assuming that the figures in the dark were awaiting educational transport.  Imagine the driver’s surprise to see a bunch of dudes in their thirties and forties, and one old guy.  After the bus drove off and the pledge, we ran back down the hill and the PAX did ten more burpees while the Lumbering Ox stampeded toward the launch lot offering the opportunity to gain one last kill.  So who climbed the ladder to glory and claimed his place in the pantheon of sporting greats?  Before we get to that we have to handle another matter.

First we have to award the title of Peoples’ Champion.  The Peoples’ Champion is Geraldo.  Day in and day out Geraldo shows up, gets to work, and puts foot to backside.  He sets an example for all of us that strive for constant self improvement.  Now he has a moniker worthy of a champion and has earned the right to refer to himself in the third person.  Congratulations.

If I was a betting man I would have put my money on Rachel to win this morning’s race as I’m sure many others would have.  I would have lost that bet.  That’s right, we had an upset.  Not the caliber of a mixed martial arts fighter beating a boxer in actual boxing, but an upset nonetheless.  Was it a poor race strategy?  Was it an execution issue?  Was it a chance encounter with gas station sushi?  We may never know.  Instead we saw an absolutely dominant performance by our favorite Melmacian.  Alf bested the field by a full three passes.  It was an absolute clinic.  He structured his passes so that he was almost always close to the downhill and he anticipated the sprint intervals.  Conventional wisdom dictates that title bouts need to be definitely won to be considered legitimate, and Alf is apparently not the type to leave anything in the hands of the judges.  This was a a brutal knockout.  This was a beating along the lines of Alabama vs. Notre Dame.  He was simply a man among boys today.  Congratulations.  I hope that for the next year you arrive at every workout adorned in gold and fur, with an entourage including a guy whose sole job is to hold the championship belt in the air above his head and a hype man who just walks in front of you yelling “THE CHAMP IS HERE!”.

Final Standings:

Win (10) – Alf

Place (tie, 7) – Baracus, Hollins (not certain this is the correct name), Ann & Hope (again, not sure this is the correct name)

Show (6) – Rachel  (I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed)

Glue – Prohibition/Chin Music/Fault Line/Kraken? (possible wrong name) with 5, Chelms/Hannibal with 4, Grave Dancer/Carrier/Geraldo/Spooky Jon with 3, and Slice/Pop Tart with unknown scores and an inability to follow directions.

It was strange for me to Q a running workout since I neither enjoy running nor have any talent for it, but I was added to the roster simply to write a backblast.  Well, I came here to do two things: run slow and type some mildly entertaining words.   A quick scan of Strava will demonstrate that the running slow part has been taken care of.  Now as we enter the fortnight of final preparation then taper for the Blue Ridge Relay, we pull the lids down over the cold, lifeless eyes of this horsey.  I hope the the hay tastes sweet and the jockeys are sparse with the whip up in horsey heaven.  Until next year when a new horsey trots into town, ready to be mounted and ridden for the summer, we throw some dirt on the equine corpse and bid farewell to the bizarre neighborhood where it resides.  Go forth now and dominate the BRR men of Area 51.  Ensure that horsey did not die in vain.  Roll Tide.