11 curious and most certainly uninformed men arrived at the Cathedral of the Patron Saint Mary Kay to subject themselves to the whims of an unqualified and unprofessional authority this morning. 1 additional lonely Meat Puppet was convinced into joining the party, as his Meat Puppet friends were home recovering from neck tattoo complications.
This was a non-traditional workout, with 3 teams of 4 each competing for a grand prize of both fame and infamy that would make El Guapo himself jealous. Team Captains were selected by age, who then participated in a moderately embarrassing playground style kickball team draft of which the selection order will remain on the field and in our hearts, but not on the internet. The final results were as follows:
Team Frehley (T 2nd):
Team BLC (T 2nd):
Team Runstopper (winner and supreme champions):
Instructions were fairly simple, select one of the 9 numbered slips of paper from the discarded box of Kirkland’s Signature somethings in the hotbox and complete a task that earns your team an impressive 10 points. Return for another task, and keep it going until we run out of time. The team with the most points wins.
The total gamut of challenges was just over a 4 mile experience, and took our victorious Team C up to the final few mins to complete. The other two teams enjoyed a hard fought battle, but decided to call it quits after 7/9 tasks.
Winning strategy for Team Runstopper employed a combination of A) having Proehl on your team, B) tackling the North Face and Triple Nick tasks first, and C) dragging Boerewors around like a dog chained to a pickup truck bumper on I-77. Boerewors claims to have gone completely numb after the first trip up North Face.
I’m not sure what exactly happened on Team BLC, but they appeared to be getting after it. I think that they probably spent the entire time telling “getting after it” jokes about Jet Fuel and his recent honeymoon, but I’d frankly be disappointed if they didn’t. They appeared to be as disinterested in doing the North Face challenge at least as much as our team was, which I can respect.
Team Frehley hung in there, mostly trying to avoid sweating to death or making eye contact with that awful bloated Cat Tattoo that Hoover has right at human eye level. Seriously, that thing looks like someone buried one of my eyebrows in the Pet Sematary and it came back to life addicted to stale marshmallow peeps. The eyes follow you and everything.
That about sums up everything I experienced today. Saturday beckons, so I’ll end it here.