7 came out to relive their glory daze with a little old-school Kevlar action.
Does anyone read this anymore? We ran around and did some F3 stuff. Gummy complained, Orange Whip held back, and Night Court jumped over a fence. We busted out the filthy tires filled with 8 month old slime at the end, which nearly got me a standing ovation. I dumped the disgusting contents of one tire directly into my shoe. Old School Kevlar is back. Somehow, this is a good thing.
The action started around 5:25 when Whip rolled up in his Lamont Sanford truck and jumped out wearing shorts and body paint looking like something from Cirque Du Soleil, Mt. Holly edition. He claimed that it was some sort of large sized shirt, but caught so much hell about it that he actually changed before we started. Way to stick with your guns. I thought he looked pretty good and tried to claim his as partner before we started, but he just ran off.
The Gummy rolled in next, with his usual encouragement, and shared some predictions on which pax are due for injury. I’m not gonna jinx anyone with some cute sentence that rhymes with their name, but The Gummy basically has a voodoo doll in his car with rotator cuffs, knees, and other old man injuries that he tweaks on while he is driving around. It’s a little unsettling, but I guess it’s better than texting and driving. By the way, I’m going to try out this The Gummy thing for a bit but I’m not sure if it will stick. Anyway, my take on this is what we call the F3 Fitness Sawtooth. After an initial step change, a man gains fitness in a somewhat linear fashion until injury, during which he experiences another step change downward. After this, the typical F3 cycle of fitness looks like a sawtooth function. Generally, we are about one bear crawl away from the dropoff at any time.
Some initial witty banter about the lack of witty banter, which came full circle. F3 is better with a lot of chatter, pure and simple. Working out in that Diogenes Club of a gym you just joined is no good, and discourages fellowship. Pretty soon you’ll be back at home eating cheeto dust from your navel with a homeade Princess Leia doll chained to your leg. You need the 2nd F to keep you going, or at least I do. From Mycroft Holmes himself:
There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubbable men in town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. Save in the Stranger’s Room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere.
Night Court displayed both his old age and football prowess in a 5 min window by tripping in one of tires (hope your ankle is ok) and then throwing some SuperCam bullets with a stray pigskin on the field. His even superior Perry Mason skilz allowed him to turn away from the Football path though, and he is living his best Concussion-free life now. I’m not sure about the van, the video cameras, and that thing about throwing the ball over a mountain, but who am I to judge.
Missing Cottontail, as they celebrate Baby 13, or conceive Baby 14. I’m not sure exactly what goes on in that house during the early hours, but we hope to have him back soon.
Thanks for coming out. Yes, you should probably get a shot or something from those tires. Ask your doctor if that’s right for you.
P.S. – There is a new Beef Jerky outlet at the Arbo. Somehow, this should get connected with Ghost Runner.
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