Five brave (or foolish) souls decided that the best way to celebrate Mardi Gras morning was not with king cake and mimosas, but with a leg workout that left us questioning why we didn’t sleep in. With rucksacks strapped on—because why not add extra suffering?—we kicked off the festivities with a warm-up, complete with Mardi Gras music to trick our bodies into thinking this was fun.
Then came the main event: sprinting (or some variation of fast waddling) up the stairs (Grundy led the pax as per the usual, he legit sprinted), looping around the lighthouse, and then executing a flawless Lieutenant Dan back to the start. Three glorious laps of this, because we believe in suffering together.
Next, we moseyed over for step-ups—ten per leg—just in case our quads weren’t already on fire. Then it was off to the bus stop for a delightful mix of Irkins and Freak Nasties, because I honestly was making up shit as I walked. I was tired.
With our legs now resembling overcooked spaghetti, we weaved our way through a slalom run, hit some calf raises up and down, and finished strong with 15 minutes of core work, ensuring that every inch of our bodies would hate us tomorrow. Jane Fondas (Steve’s version of them, on steriods). Wife pleasers with a long pause, followed by pulses as well. “It’s the best way to dry out the taint.”
And just like that, the beatdown was over. It’s been awhile since I actually saw an end to a Granny Beatdown. It felt odd and awkward actually typing that last sentence. Russo prayed us out, and we stumbled off to see what parades (if any) were still rolling in the wind. Thanks for letting me lead, and if your legs still function tomorrow, come join the fun at the Gipper for round three.
