Twelve phenomenal men posted this morning at The Lion’s Den. The word “phenomenal” is being used here for its literal meaning. Twelve men, voluntarily, in the face of poorly designed insanity, threw themselve into an experience that promised to leave them frustrated, breathless, nauseated, and perhaps needing a clean pair of draws’. With ages spanning from 15 (hate, hate) to 47 (respect), these beasts choose to do this four times per week. Wouldn’t you describe the scene as a phenomenon?
YHC turned 45 the day before. St. Vincent, pray for us. Less about commemorating the occasion (YHC doesn’t actually care…he’s forgotten his own birthday not once, but multiple times ), this morning’s beatdown was more a result of YHC’s creative beatdown juices being dried up. 45 seemed like a solid number to manufacture some good ‘ol fashion stupidity in Hurtsville, USA. Of course, since we all know 42 is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything, it was tempting to hitchhike my way through the Exicon. However, that would have required some effort.
So, twelve men showed up to The Den. Well, eleven at first. Diddle, living out his own self-fulfilling prophecy, rolled in a minute late as he predicted. As alluded to above, today’s version of the beatdown was not particularly well designed. It’s got potential, and maybe one day can serve as a one-off F3 Thibodaux IPC. 45 exercises over a 35-minute period is crazy enough. Including Man Makers and Redrum Bunnies in the mix made it nearly impossible. No problem…impossible is a concept that only misguided pickleballers have to grapple with.
The format was made up of nine rounds, five exercises per each round, and 25 reps per exercise where applicable. In all, if one were to complete the circuit, he would pull off 800 total reps, 180 yards (45-yd increments) of MOT work (i.e. murder bunnies, bear crawl, etc.), and nine 90-yard sprints (.45 mile). Beatdown instructions were printed out for each man, complete with sheet protectors. How can anyone not be hot for teacher?The breakdown is included at the end of the blast.
As we started, YHC forgot to mention the rep count, along with a few other details. However, that ‘phenomenon’ kicked into gear, and the men…well…just started doing the stuff. Even in the Gloom, YHC could see Popeye’s eyes narrow and his brows furrow. He seemed driven by an inhuman stamina and perseverance that can only be achieved by UT football fans post Vince Young…circa 2005…yikes! Of course, it’s not crazy to think the drought could end this year.
All the men lined up across The Den sidewalk. Honeysuckle, continues to confound others with his unfazed, calmly content face prior to a beatdown. It’s like he’s thinking… “awww…this is a nice little workout.” When you’ve run 50+ miles in a day, I suppose these get togethers do look quaint. YHC was also grateful to be next to America’s Best, who in turn, had to explain that a ‘no-cheat merkin included shoulder taps AND a hand release. This made the shoulder tap merkins in the subsequent round take on a whole new level of suck. For YHC, this may have been the beginning of the end. YHC’s shoulders were toast after Round 3, never to recover.
At the start of the beatdown, someone yelled, “Where’s the music?” YHC didn’t have a better answer than, “I want you to be alone in your suffering.” First of all, who says something like that? Second, why the hell didn’t I set up music? Regardless, Smooth Operator responded with his famous, “Okayyy,” which by now has become about the most positive and authentic endorsement a Q can hope for. Wet Tap, as expected was drooling on the beatdown instructions thinking about all of the coupon work. That’s why sheet protectors were used, by the way.
As the shenanigans began, Goose, Enron, and Diddle were off to the races. Diddle was unfairly propelled by his apparent IBS, but stayed consistent throughout. As Goose started to edge ahead of the rest of us, YHC realized Pope was edging ahead and STAYING ahead of his Goosely father. I may be wrong, but I’m pretty sure Pope, at 15 years of age, was throwing up thrusters and man makers with an official, grown man cindy. Can you imagine a Pope with 30 years of F3 under his belt? Drago won’t be worthy of holding his jockstrap (Do people wear jockstraps any more?).
Later on, Enron audibly exclaimed, “Noooooooo” during Round 4 upon realizing the 19th exercise (yes, the 19th) was a 25-count of Thrusters. Since YHC has quite literally never heard Enron complain, I knew significant design flaws were present. Safety Valve, demonstrating his new found love for pain, reminded me of a guy named Paradox. Never say die. No gaps. Hypotenuse, by now, appears to have accepted the insanity of this cul…I mean free men’s workout club. I’m predicting a VQ by late October.
In the end, YHC barely made it into Round 6, though if you consider quality of form, he never made it out of Round 2. Most of the PAX reached Round 5 or beyond. Pope and Goose both made it to Stagger Merkins in Round 7. It was hotly contested, who ultimately won between father and son, but the rest of the PAX knows the truth: Drago’s menu had just been expanded to include Charbroiled Goose.
COT and Pope prayed us out. We continue lifting prayers up to Smooth and his family as well as chapter of life transitions.
SYITG,
Yankee Jeaux
——————————————–
Why The Phenomenon Matters
As a kid, I thought my Dad was invincible. A mult-tour combat veteran, he was trim and seemed to have superhuman strength. The fact that he smoked three packs of Marlboro Reds per day only seemed to make him more of a specimen. When I was 12 years old, in an attempt to be more involved, he got certified as a baseball umpire and soccer referee. For the latter, it required getting into some form of shape. I remember how hard it was for him just to run up and down the sideline during a game. He did it nevertheless and got into pretty decent shape. After that soccer season, he promptly retired from his refereeing days, never to approach any form of exercise again. The thing is, all the Dads in the neighborhood were like that. Most smoked and NONE of them “worked out” outside of a random jog occasionally.
I remember clearly thinking that “once you got to be a Dad, being in shape was off the table.” That year, my dad was 42.
———————————————-
During my late twenties, I used to jog and lift weights quasi regularly…just enough to maintain some respectable level of athleticism. Then I watched 300 and P90X started trending. I ran alone, lifted alone, and P90Xed alone. Like most of the bros in my circle, I’d get into working out hard core for six months, get into awesome shape, then hardcore fall off the wagon.
I remember clearly thinking I’ve got a few more years of this and then I’ll be too old to be in really good shape. I was 28.
———————————————
In 2019, I moved our family from New Orleans to Thibodaux. I weighed 230 lbs. I hadn’t seriously worked out in years. I set resolutions almost every first of the month. Each New Year’s Day, I was like, “This is the year.” When the pandemic hit, we bought a Peloton. I rode the pedals off that shiz for a year. I lost 25 lbs. When we evacuated for Ida, I missed a day, then missed a week, then a month, then almost two years. I weighed 230 lbs once again.
I remember clearly thinking, I’ve finally reached that place where my Dad was. This is it. I was 42.
——————————————-
In March of 2022, a dude named Micah reached out. Texted something like, “Hey Man. Heard you might be interested in F3. We meet this Saturday at 6:30 at Peltier Park. Would love to have you.” I knew he was a financial advisor. He was probably one of those guys who thinks he’s “the smartest guy in the room” and wants to live in Houston. I showed up anyway. I’ve lost 30 lbs. I’m, quite literally, in the best shape of my life…physically, mentally, and spiritually.
When he’s 12 years old, my son is going to remember clearly thinking “once you get to be a Dad, you get to be Superman.” That year, I’ll be 52.
