QIC: Waffle House
After being properly motivated, we did some Stretchies and we vowed to trust the (Junk) Science. Everybody got 10 years of invincibility; you’re welcome. PAX was quiet, so we did some Shoulder Blasters because that always gets people complaining.
Trivia Night at F3 commenced. If you or your partner got a correct answer, you were both exempted from burpees before the next exercise. Some guys know sports, some guys know art and literature, some guys know history. Some guys (looking at you, Lulu) just start doing burpees.
We hit the Cloud for some Descending Box Baby Box Rows, then traveled to the Caribbean for juuust a hint of a Sutherland Seabiscuit. Just a skosh. The faintest whiff.
Speaking of Seabiscuit, Convoy and Swimmies are like two thoroughbreds among a bunch old mares on their way to the glue factory. They beat us to Cardiac, where we only had time for one and a half Crawdad Comebacks.
Two things about your Q: 1) he is not going to make you do knee-based air presses on asphalt, and 2) time management may not be his strong suit. So we couldn’t complete a full round of the Dark Webb, and it was all Q’s fault. But as Donald Rumsfeld said, “You go to F3 with the Q you have, not with the Q you wish you had.”
Lebowski pointed out another ill effect of Q’s poor clock management, which is that we didn’t go by the ATM and none of us has cash for the weekend.
Sincere gratitude to all F3 men for leading and participating in workouts. I wouldn’t do anything if it wasn’t for you all.