Ah, the crisp morning air, the dim glow of streetlights, and the promise of pain—what better way to start the day? Expecting a quiet two-man showdown per the text, YHCarrived at the marsh at 5:10 AM, only to find Shooter had mustered enough curiosity (or poor judgment) to join. And so, the workout began.
The warm-up was a mere formality before we hit the streets, where every stop sign became a monument to suffering:
• 10 Diamond Merkins (because regular ones aren’t miserable enough)
• 20 Squats (YHC gift to our quads)
• 30 LBCs or Penguins (because variety is the spice of life—or at least of core destruction)
And, of course, we ran to the next stop sign, repeating the cycle like a fitness-themed Groundhog Day.
Conversations of the Morning:
• Wild parades, because it’s Mardi Gras season and nothing is normal.
• Shooter’s bachelor palace, which, based on descriptions, sounds part Vegas, part Animal House.
• A freshly trimmed and washed Lil’ Rick James, who is presumably either a pet or a person that requires clarification.
• Your humble correspondent’s experience of drunk brothers-in-law attempting to fight him at a 70th birthday party… because nothing says “Happy Birthday, Dad” like unsolicited family wrestling.
The Lakefront Finale featured:
• Stair sprints with two calf raises per step, ensuring we’d be walking funny all day.
• Freak Nasties and Dirkens on the wall, which probably looked highly questionable to any passing joggers.
• A final round of stop-sign suffering (this time with jump squats) before collapsing in the center of the court.
And just like that, another Jose-led morning of mumbling, grumbling, and accidental life counseling came to an end. But fear not, because tomorrow brings another round—this time with rucks for extra fun.
So rest up, stay safe in the Mardi Gras madness, and see you in the gloom. You’ll need the leg strength.
