It doesn't look like Omega's going to submit a BB, so YHC will fold the IPC PAX into the BRP AO BB. . .
(If you're not familiar with local F3 lingo, that sentence will make zero sense.)
One AO, two preblasts: Omega's Iron Pax Challenge and Jersey Boy's Bailey Road Park bootcamp. Which will win the most attendees?
The IPC, of course!
YHC arrived to find a group of pax, including TH3 ("Thurston Howell III," not in computer because he was only visiting from Arizona) gearing up for the IPC, which meant that nobody was there for the bootcamp. A sudden rush of fear swept over YHC, recalling Week 0 of the IPC where Saturday brought a repeato of the week's earlier challenge. Still sore from Wednesday's Week 1 IPC, the prospect of having to repeat it just to get some fellowship hardly seemed worthwhile.
Serendiptiously, Bagboy arrived, slightly confused and mumbling something about preblasts, also hoping not to have to repeat the Week 1 IPC (which he completed first, by the way, despite being the War Daddy). YHC had found his huckleberry, so off we went to pursue a different path of fitness than those poor souls forced to suffer through a litany of reps unseen outside of Soprano's ridiculous SSH mandate.
- We ran a few laps.
- We jumped up stairs and did squats with rocks.
- We did Jersey Boy's infamous Little Baby Flutter Crunch Presses.
- We did Sheryl Sandbergs and Thunder Down Unders.
- We did exercise after exercise that challenged the bodies, the minds, and the joints of two mid-respect-age pax.
- Most of what we did was ill-advised and borderline dangerous.
- We bopped until we dropped.
With 8 minutes left, we joined the IPC stragglers, some who paid dearly for their slower pace with MANY extra burpees. Minute times ranged from low 30's to low 40's, but by the time we arrived they were at the stretching and self-congratulating phase, which coincided nicely with our state of body and mind.
Omega took us out with some prayer requests and discussion of cancer victims and survivors.
Coffeeteria was at Starbucks/AT&T (as it has come to be known), where the second F was pursued with gusto washed down with caffeine and—in one case—an egg-and-cheese biscuit from a competing breakfast provider.
If there is more to convey about the day, no one will say (although they may).