So there we were—5 a.m., still basically night, but nature decided to bless us with 78 degrees of muggy disrespect, lightly garnished with a breeze that said, “This is the best you’re getting, deal with it.”
Darkwing and Fletch rolled in, and with them, a historic moment: the legendary Run Cajun Run shirt was finally returned to its rightful owner—cue the slow clap. And of course, Old Faithful Moby showed up, reliable as that one knee that pops every time you stand up.
We kicked it off with 5 minutes of warm-ups—code for “let’s convince our joints not to mutiny.” After a good stretch that felt like we were all auditioning for a Richard Simmons “Sweating to the Oldies” yoga DVD, we made our way to the courthouse for a classic round of 11s.
Here’s the deal:
• Merkins at the bottom
• Run up the courthouse steps like Rocky Balboa
• Hit the Copperhead Squats at the top—slow, painful
• Then a leisurely jog all the way back down and around the courthouse, which somehow gets bigger every round.
Repeat. For 45 glorious minutes. A symphony of sweat, pain, and the occasional existential crisis.
The mumble chatter was strong—somewhere between therapy session and roast battle. Next Friday, Moby turns 75, which means his cue is legally required to contain both wisdom and at least one threat of injury. Tomorrow is Marsh Madness, where a new champion will be crowned. And don’t forget May 10th—Barely Legal is throwing down with the second annual F2 Extravaganza.
Jose10K out. May your soreness be short and your coffee strong.
