5 LKN pax braved the cold and wintry mix to gather in Birkdale for the Hollywood workout long planned for this 3rd week in January. And by long planned I mean since yesterday when I volunteered to stand in for Holiday due to his illness. And by stand in I mean try to stay in perpetual motion with the pax to stay warm in the sub-freezing temperatures. And by pax I mean the people I called out specifically in the Pre-Blast and stalwarts Uncle Rico and Gnarly Goat. And by stalwarts I mean those 2 #HIMs who have been pushing men by word, deed and example since the earliest days of F3 Isotope. And by Isotope I mean the area surrounding the McGuire nuclear plant where, when you buy your home, the real estate agent gives you Potassium Iodide pills in the event of a Nuclear plant disaster and meltdown. And by Potassium Iodide pills I mean the useless essentially sugar pills that makes your wife feel somewhat safer living near the nuclear plant, that they will provide some protection against said disaster, while you know that the evacuation plan you were given by the same real estate agent who sold you your home and gave you the Potassium Iodide pills that instructs you to go to an interior room in your home is really just a way for emergency personnel to save time in retrieving your bodies after the nuclear holocaust. Yes, against this backdrop and with all this in mind, we gave Cantore the bird and met anyway. Not literally a bird – the USPS will not deliver live animals, and truth be told we do not have Cantore's address. The workout, oh yeah….
Tip of the triangle was the Audi SUV parked right where we ideally wanted to meet in the parking garage at Birkdale between the frozen yogurt place that keeps changing names and Kilwn's Chocolates. Both of which are really nice places to take a date (better be your wife if married) after dinner, but prepare yourself to hear again, and again, AND AGAIN how they really shouldn't have dessert, don't need it and really want to lose weight for that bathing suit they just have to get into this summer, but then again life is short and meant to be enjoyed and you really should eat dessert first. And $20 later, she is temporarily happy. The wonders of chocolate. I promise the workout was not as complicated as communicating with women. Why it was as easy as 1, 2, 3. The other tips of the triangle were the opposite corners of the garage. It wasn't quite an Isosceles Triangle, just a bit too squatty for that, but pretty close. Pretty much like most of the pax in F3LKN. Which is really a swell name and improvement on Isotope which was coined by the Metro pax who think that a passport is necessary to venture north of the beltway to the hitherlands of the Lake Norman region and it's cute, rustic cabins in the Peninsula. So kudos to Jollyroger and the Board at that time – you done did good at least once. Where was I, oh yeah the parking garage near the Dessert places that temporarily put you in good graces with your betrothed. So we went around the garage in a triangle shape doing 10, 20, 30 repetitions of exercises at the tips of the triangle and after every 4th round, we ran up the ramp, around and down the steps to check on the accumulation of falling snow. It accumulated. That's what snow does when the ground is cold and it continues to snow. Since we are all LKN veterans and experienced F3ers, we did exercises like SSH, IST, Cotton Pickers, Mountain Climbers, Mericans (you may call them Merkins as we did initially not realizing we were hearing the abbreviated, out of breath call of the Q in Metro of an "American" Push-up, but since we later realized a Merkin is pubic hair wig popular during the Renaissance for prostitutes when there was apparently an epidemic of pubic hair lice, I prefer the term Merican), Windmills, LBCs, CDDs, Squats, Torso Twists (which made some of the pax, and by some of the pax I mean me, dizzy which prompted a discussion of auricular [ear] anatomy, with pax calling out all the anatomical names they recalled from biology including eustachian tube, cochlea, semi-circular canals and tympanic membranes, and Gnarly Goat regaled us with his tale of his recent experience getting the wax cleared out of his ears, where for at least 10 seconds for each ear he was fairly certain he was close to Jesus and a near-death, painful experience. Good times), Apollo Ohnos, Low Flutters, Rosalitas, Touch 'Dem Heels and Dying Cockroaches. And for the Crescendo – 1, 2, 3 BURPEES. That's right, Burpees plural. Had to do it. Riverboat called me out and dared me. I had a weak moment, Ok? Not 10, 20, 30. It was a weak moment, I didn't go temporarily insane or anything. Gnarly Goat took us out with a great prayer and remembrance of Steve Hix.
The pax thoroughly enjoyed coffee at Earl Grey's establishment – they better have enjoyed it, it was on me. We lost Uncle Rico on the way (guess college doesn't cancel classes for snow) but picked up Ramrod, Boar Hog and Nine Lives. We learned lots of interesting things, surprisingly several fire departments have actually caught on fire including one Gnarly Goat has worked in the most in NODA; they get really interesting calls as firemen to cut off people's lights for them when they are either too drunk or too tired to get up and do it on their own; there are some other-worldly cats on this planet immune to the effects of carbon monoxide poisoning; Eric Greitens (former Navy SEAL and current governor of Missouri, previously considered a rising candidate for president of these United States) had an affair with his hair dresser – you read that correctly, former Navy SEAL with a hair dresser, would have stayed out of trouble if he stuck to Raeford's or Great Clips (insert shameless plug for Hippie here, but not hair plugs, they don't do those); and perhaps the greatest insight of the morning – Donald Trump is treating the presidency and running the country in much the same way professional wrestling is run – a fascinating take which engendered much discussion. Which almost all of you missed because you chose to fartsack because of the threat of a little snow and cold weather. Crazy. Cats immune to carbon monoxide. Who knew.
Until next time, I am the Outlaw. Out.