YHC and Pope rolled up a little earlier than usual this Independence Day morning, hopeful that the day off of work would mean a bigger crowd than usual for Tuesday Tuff, and this PAX did not disappoint. Smooth and Michelin were already there at 5:00am, but Pope and I were still able to sneak over to the bumper area to set up some cones without anyone noticing. By 5:15, there were 12 strong ready for a patriotic sweat fest.
Yankee had pulled off the perfect EH by picking up an FNG, the would-be Honeysuckle. We can all learn from this–it’s much harder to fartsack when someone’s sitting in your driveway. (Maybe that’s what we need to do for some of these “hc” specialists.)
The warmup was frought with mumblechatter and unnecessary exercise explanations (YHC though it important to go into the details of how to execute the complex “high knees” exercise–I almost pulled out YouTube for some demonstration videos).
We then moseyed to the bumper, YHC carrying BAPS into his first ever Bleep test performance. Once the PAX saw the cones, dread spread quickly. There were only a few who didn’t know what they meant, who hadn’t yet experienced YHC’s fascination with the layers of mental and physical dynamics at work within the Bleep test. This morning, YHC connected it to our celebration of the birth of our nation by pointing out that the defining moments, the heroic and selfless acts that have become the cornerstones of our identity as a nation would not have happened, would not have been possible without countless Americans pushing through countless unrecognized and seemingly meaningless difficulties, day in and day out. The bleep test is just a 20 meter (65-ish American feet) run, done over and over. That’s it. You just gotta decide to turn around and do it again, especially when you really don’t want to. And, the only reason we do this is because the man beside us, who we care about is doing it, because we want to get better together, because we want to be a part of something bigger than us, something meaningful that was earned through shared suffering. And so, we did. Nobody earned a medal (no participation trophies or rewards for softball music trivia), we just decided to keep doing another lap. And, if you didn’t make it before the beep, you stepped off to the side to plank up or complete 20 merkins to buy your way back in. Why? Because that’s where your brothers are suffering, and there’s no better place to be!
YHC usually lets Paradiddle and Pope push him to the limits to be the last man standing, but this morning, having heard that the FNG was an ultra-marathon runner, YHC made a subconscious decision that if it ended up being him and me left at the end, that I would go no further, as long as the previous record of 70 lengths was broken. And, that’s exactly what happened. Paradox and Pope pushed farther than they have in the past, even without Paradiddle, but they dropped off somewhere in the high 60’s, which left YHC with Honeysuckle moving into #75. And, though I wondered how much he had in him, how well distance training translated into shuttle running, I was too winded to actually care and pulled up short before finishing #76. Honeysuckle was gonna keep going had YHC not called it, and though I was curious to see how long he could have gone, he seemed to appreciate the break.
After moseying back to the flag, we circled up for song #1. BAPS lit us up with Ray Charles’s rendition of “America the Beautiful”. We held Al Gore for the duration and did Bobby Hurleys for every “America” and every old English words (“thee”, “thine”).
Song #2 was the Armed Forces medley, which gave us the opportunity to work the core in a variety of ways. During the Marines portion, we did flutter kicks, Navy = boat/canoe, Army = American Hammers, Coast Guard = Scuba Steves, and Air Force = gas pumps.
After this, YHC had a general idea for how we could focus on America’s unique sense of humor exemplified by the origin of the song “Yankee Doodle” and how it became a sort of theme song for the Americans during the Revolutionary War (look it up)–basically, we Americans are proud, but we’re good at not taking ourselves too seriously.
I think it took more time for YHC to explain the story and then the routine (counting off, counting off within the count-off, naming teams and then teams within the teams, demonstrating the exercises, redirecting Yankee Joe) than it did to actually do the routine. I mean, it was a little challenging, a little fun to watch people try to Grouch-walk quickly, but ultimately, it was too complicated, and we ultimately scrapped it in order to get back to the flag in time.
The routine was four corners on the sidewalk track: 1. Wacky Jacks, 2. Goofballs, 3. Miami Nighclubs (Moroccans with a step back and to the side), 4. Air Presses. The first member of the team would Groucho walk to the next corner while all members performed the exercise of their corner until they were relieved by a teammate Groucho walking toward them. It was supposed to look ridiculous, which it did, but most were lost in the endless explanations and directives given throughout. I hope at least the passing cars got a kick out of it.
At 5:58, we had to rush back to the flag for the Star Spangled Banner–we laid on our sixes and held our feet six inches off the ground for the duration of Whitney Houston singing it live with a big band. Unfortunately, though, the drama and emotion were drowned out by the pain in the lower abdominal region, and it went the route of most songs used in F3–categorized under “hatred” and “PTSD”–especially given how long she held out “…braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave!”
COT and the FNG became Honeysuckle thanks to Econoline’s immediate wit, which made the PAX wonder if he’s been sandbagging this whole time–nobody has that much brain function at the end of a beatdown these days.
Announcements including Goldilocks’s upcoming VQ, and Paradox prayed us out.
SYTIG,
Goose
