Ah, Valentine’s Day at the A1C—love was in the air, and so was the smell of cold sweat and regret. The Original Four—Einstein, BBQ, Moby, and YHC—showed up ready to conquer the cold like it owed us money. Unfortunately, Darkwing Duck hit the snooze button on his hibernation alarm, leaving us to brave the elements without his quacking commentary.
We kicked things off with some “Fly, Eagle, Fly” arm exercises, because nothing says “good morning” like reminding BBQ that his Chiefs got plucked by the Eagles in the Super Bowl. BBQ took it like a champ, focusing on Travis Kelce, Taylor Swift, and his bromance with Patrick “Mahomey” to power through.
Once properly warmed up and full of Super Bowl smack talk, we moseyed down to the parking garage for a “simple” workout—because nothing involving merkins, squats, sit-ups, and running a quarter mile repeatedly ever stays simple. The goal? Clock some mileage while our lungs begged for mercy. Ten merkins, ten squats, ten big-boy sit-ups, and off we went—rinse, repeat, and pray. By the time we hit 2.25 miles, the parking garage was filled with enough grunting to make the uninitiated concerned.
Then came circle time, where we caught our breath and dissected the Super Bowl halftime show. Consensus: the pregame music was better than Rihanna’s halftime performance, but at least no one tried to explain the Taylor-Travis relationship as some kind of cosmic marketing ploy.
To wrap it up, YHC got sappy. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all, and six years ago to the day, I met my beautiful wife and started the greatest romance story since Harry met Sally, Johnny and June—or at least since Travis met Taylor LOL. I guess I need to show some love to our cross town rivalries at the Splash Pad. I think one or two of them post every now and again. Gentlemen, take care of your wives, your M’s, and remember that flowers and chocolate might keep you out of trouble, but burpees won’t save your marriage.
See you in the gloom!
