A lone St. Mark walker passed by at 0530 to observe 6 bar flies who had sallied forth to hang around at the local bars. We hoisted cinder blocks in nearly every conceivable way. We clobbered our core, pegged our legs, nearly harmed our arms and did some sketchy stretchy. We did not shun the run, and Frontier (still looking squared away with his regulation, executive-ready haircut) clocked us at about a mile running. Amen did fire a few warning shots during the battle, but no one was wounded. Some runners who were from somewhere, running to some other somewhere, came by at an admirable clip, and were rewarded with an amazing view of 6 monkey-humpers in progress.
Though it was not glamorous, it was indeed a glorious morning to share glad tidings and to gladiate in the gloom, and we left not glib, but glowing for the day ahead.
Goat sends.