Scratch sound followed by the following message…
“We did 1,000 reps combined of burpees and Bobby Hurleys. We also moved weights in a bucket and a cinder block.”
… We now return you to your show already in progress.
Scratch sound followed by the following message…
“We did 1,000 reps combined of burpees and Bobby Hurleys. We also moved weights in a bucket and a cinder block.”
… We now return you to your show already in progress.
This morning, the sun rose on an unsuspecting group of warriors, ready for another classic April Fool’s workout. Grundy, our fearless leader, arrived with Jose Russo Bushwacker Shooter, who may or may not be a real person but certainly sounded like a guy who meant business. We all chuckled, debating whether we should start with a solid 30 minutes of warm-ups or just dive into the rich history of pranks from workouts past. But no—Grundy was in no mood for jokes today. He had a bucket full of stones and a soul full of vengeance.
The madness began immediately. One unlucky soul had to carry the Bucket of Doom all the way to the stage, where they were rewarded with 10 burpees—a true sign that life is unfair—before running it back to the group. Meanwhile, the rest of us embraced the suffering with burpees, because why not add to the chaos with a running cumulative total? Once the poor fool with the bucket survived, we transitioned to our next task: carrying the Block of Destiny up and down the stairs, a shuttle run from Hades itself.
But wait—there’s more. We then formed a circle to partake in what can only be described as the most ridiculous exercise ever invented. Each of us paraded our blocks down the corridor with the grace of a newborn giraffe, before planking and sliding our coupon back like we were human curling stones.
Then, things got weird. Dragons descended from the heavens. Fire-breathing lizards engaged in aerial combat. Grundy, now completely unhinged, lifted 400 blocks with a single pinky while cackling like a supervillain. Burpees and squats continued as monstrous creatures clashed in an epic battle of strength and agility.
And just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any wilder…
Oh wait. April Fool’s.
But seriously, we’re all sore now.
Come out to the A1C on April 11th for Moby’s Birthday Q. He’s turning 75!!
Ah yes, another fine gathering of elite athletes (and their AARP sponsors) at the peak of the A1C—where the air is crisp, the sweat is questionable, and the soundtrack is straight from your uncle’s favorite road trip mixtape. And yes Cowbell, most of my songs repeat. It’s the Pandora algorithm that suits me. I can’t help it if great music comes out of my hip pocket. A few usuals weren’t in attendance. We were without Fletch, BBW, and Darkwing. Surprising because the temperature was above the required 60 degrees for Darkwing to attend. Who knows?
This morning, a young stallion (that’s me) led a herd of silver foxes in a ritual of pain, otherwise known as “11s.” After a five-minute warm-up (which for some was just mentally preparing to move), the squad got down to business. Merkins at the top of the ramp? No problem. Copperhead Squats at the bottom? Sure, as long as no one’s knees filed a formal complaint. It was how we travelled back and forth was the interesting aspect. Introducing the ramp games:—a chaotic display of movement variety that could only be described as “fitness meets interpretive dance.” Sprints turned into backwards jogs, which morphed into side shuffles, then into karaoke steps (though some of us just looked like we were dodging bees). Forward lunges, reverse lunges, duck walks—basically, a leg day so brutal that tomorrow’s stairs will require a life alert button.
Just when we thought survival was near, it was time for a stair sprint, calf raises (because why not), and a ten-minute Mary session that made abs scream for mercy.
In the end, sweat was shed, egos were bruised, and somewhere, a classic rock legend shed a single tear of approval. See you all next time… if we can still walk. Two weeks from now, April 11th, Moby, the eldest of our group turns 75, and he has promised to bring the pain. Come out and pay your respects and be impressed with this young lads intensity.
Ah yes, another fine gathering of elite athletes (and their AARP sponsors) at the peak of the A1C—where the air is crisp, the sweat is questionable, and the soundtrack is straight from your uncle’s favorite road trip mixtape. And yes Cowbell, most of my songs repeat. It’s the Pandora algorithm that suits me. I can’t help it if great music comes out of my hip pocket. A few usuals weren’t in attendance. We were without Fletch, BBW, and Darkwing. Surprising because the temperature was above the required 60 degrees for Darkwing to attend. Who knows?
This morning, a young stallion (that’s me) led a herd of silver foxes in a ritual of pain, otherwise known as “11s.” After a five-minute warm-up (which for some was just mentally preparing to move), the squad got down to business. Merkins at the top of the ramp? No problem. Copperhead Squats at the bottom? Sure, as long as no one’s knees filed a formal complaint. It was how we travelled back and forth was the interesting aspect. Introducing the ramp games:—a chaotic display of movement variety that could only be described as “fitness meets interpretive dance.” Sprints turned into backwards jogs, which morphed into side shuffles, then into karaoke steps (though some of us just looked like we were dodging bees). Forward lunges, reverse lunges, duck walks—basically, a leg day so brutal that tomorrow’s stairs will require a life alert button.
Just when we thought survival was near, it was time for a stair sprint, calf raises (because why not), and a ten-minute Mary session that made abs scream for mercy.
In the end, sweat was shed, egos were bruised, and somewhere, a classic rock legend shed a single tear of approval. See you all next time… if we can still walk. Two weeks from now, April 11th, Moby, the eldest of our group turns 75, and he has promised to bring the pain. Come out and pay your respects and be impressed with this young lads intensity.
It’s a rare thing that seems to happen just a hand full of times a year, and when it happens it makes me envy my future self. That thing is the opportunity to visit F3 Northshore’s own Retirement Village in downtown Covington, also known as the Gipper.
So YHC figured he ought to throw down an equally, if not more, rare beatdown to the the PAX that make a 44 and 46 year old, respectively, the “kiddos” of the AO…
WARMORAMA
In the interest of time Q kept it short and sweet and covered all the basics:
All IC x10:
Torso Twists
Self Love
Hi Knees
Butt Kicks
THANG
The rep counts varied, as did IC vs OYO, but here’s a complete list of the exercises grumblingly (new and appropriate adverb) completed by the assemblage of PAX with the combined “experience” of more than 340 years:
Absolution
Big Boy Sit Ups
Cut-a-Flip
Dying Cockroach
E2K
Freddy Mercurys
Guantanamo
Hundreds
Indian Crab Walk(missed you Legal!)
Jackees
Killer B’s
LLCoolJs
Monkey Humpers
Never Cross Dolly
Obamas (Tanks’s favorite!)
People’s Air Press
Quixote (new exercise)
Rochamburpees
SSH
T Merkins
Upstraddle Hop
Van Godas
Werkins
XYs
Yurpees
Zombie Crunches
And so you see, from A to Z the PAX put in the work. Though grumbles did bely the fact that some of them did hurt. But certainly you’ve heard it said “no pain, no gain”, it’s true. So post tomorrow, if you dare, cause Wacker’s got that Q too!
SYITG
Cool this morning, on this second day of Spring, at the A1C ~ 41 degrees.
Beautiful Moon according to BBQ – a waning gibbous according to Moby
WARMUP: all IC15x; toe touch, side staddle hops, snap-crackle-pops,
shoulder rolls, high jack hi jills, book covers, popeyes, shoulder shrugs, butt kicks,
high knees, etc.
THANG:
Set 1 12 forward reaching lunges
12 regular merkins
repeat above set 1 sequence 2 more times
mosey down the stairs, then run up the ramps
Set 2 12 lateral reaching lunges
12 pike merkins
repeat above set 2 sequence 2 more times
mosey down the stairs, then run up the ramps
Set 3 12 posterior reaching lunges
12 scapula merkins
repeat above set 3 sequence 2 more times
mosey down the stairs, then run up the ramps
Mary: upper deck for some star jacks, dirkins , irkins, rocky balboas, freak nasties,
and a set of BBQ’s hip openers
Moby prayed us out with intentions for Jose10K’s mom.
I am stuck in my annual LEAP testing training so I decided to do Steve’s backblast post St. Patricks Day!
There once was a man stuck in review,
With nothing important to do.
So he wrote with some flair,
‘Bout Steve’s lack of care,
And a workout that barely pulled through!
They warmed up but couldn’t keep pace,
Poor Steve had a look of disgrace.
With counting all botched,
And focus half-watched,
It turned to a comedy case!
They crawled and they climbed in despair,
Then ninjas showed up from nowhere!
Or maybe, instead,
Leprechauns leapt ahead,
(But I left, so I really don’t care).