A few weeks back the Peak City Nan’tan politely remarked to the PC site Qs that we were a little “light” on our Q sheets. (And by “politely” I mean in the style of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman from Full Metal Jacket). Not wanting to get any further into the Nan’tan’s bad graces, I reached out to a number of PC PAX. Unfortunately, it’s been slim pickens since we changed Hells Bells to a greased Kettlebell workout (our Injury Recovery AOs needed better attendance).
Finding the barrel dry, I reached out to the few Carpeckers I didn’t owe any money to or weren’t Oofda. That was basically Pierogi. (Fun fact: Most people don’t know Pierogi and I knew each other from before F3. We met at a convention where people dress up like fury…well it’s not really pertinent here)
Pierogi, capitalist that he is, offered to trade Qs: Him at Hells Bells, me at something called 005. The last time I saw Pierogi he had been a broken man suffering from a long term allergy to artificial lion mane fur. I surmised 005 had to be some sort of out-to-pasture AO for PAX past their prime. I chose the day after Halloween figuring all those broken old fatties would be too bloated to give me a real challenge as a Q. Plus I would probably get to see my friend Burt there.
On the day of my 005 Q, as the PAX began rolling in, I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. It was like those memes where a bunch of body builders are on stage but one is a short, flabby guy who looks like he has wandered up there on accident or maybe lost a bet.
But the pride of Peak City was on the line and we are trained for situations just like this. I stepped forward and said confidently “Hi, I’m Ma Bell, your Q today.”
There were some confused looks around the circle. Pierogi started to say something then just sighed and shrugged. Oofda, that SOB, started to open his mouth to speak but I held up a hand.
“Don’t even start with me, Oofda,” I said.
“I’m not Oofda, I’m Chanti—“
I had had enough. Like I was going to let some jerk pretend to be someone else at my Q. I turned on my heel and took off at top speed towards the Bond Park shelters.
“Try to keep up, you lazy Carpeckers!” I yelled behind me, laughing.
After about 5 steps they passed me. Out of pity a few of them tried to run slower but when that didn’t work they started doing backwards bear craws. I heard that gangly-armed SOB Oofda mutter “Wow, our former Nan’tan has really let himself go.” I was totally offended on Ma Bell’s behalf.
Apparently the shelters are about 500 miles from the shovel flag so after about 7 hours of running we arrived at the shelter parking lot and circled up for warm ups.
Warm Up:
I don’t actually remember what we did. I was light headed from all the oxygen Pierogi was administering to me after the run. (Ma Bell apparently HAD let himself go more than I realized)
Thang 1:
There are 3 parking rows in the shelter parking. Pair up in groups of 3. Each PAX from a team run a separate row. At the end of the row complete an exercise then run back to the shelter.
L/R Step ups while waiting for all partners to get back. Last partner back calls 20 of an exercise and then partners rotate to the next row.
1st row: 10 Burpees
2nd row: 25 merkins
3rd row: 50 squats
(Confusing? What do you expect. It’s a Ma Bell Q.)
Thang 2:
Oddly it actually seemed to wear the PAX out. Maybe because those idiots were doing all the reps while I scanned for Pokémon on my phone. Ma Bell was never known for his creativity so for Thang 2: same exercises but double the reps and swap R/L step ups for dirkins or irkins.
The Long Road Home:
During both Thangs, that knock-kneed, gangly-armed SOB Oofda kept insisting his F3 name was Chanticleer. I reminded him that impersonating other people was a sign of low character. He spluttered something but Ma Bell wasn’t having any of that no siree Bob!!
To deal with this mutiny I switched tactics for the run back to the flag.
“We’re doing ‘Pick Up the Ma Bell’ on the way back. All-You-Got runs to the next light post and do some horrible exercise until the 6 catches up. We’ll do that at every other light post until we get back to the shovel flag.”
That two-bit, knock-kneed, gangly-armed SOB Oofda started to protest but I immediately shut him down.
“Ma Bell doesn’t like complainers, POOFda. Oh, I’m sorry, you want to go by Chantyclaws now. I forgot. Move it, Poofda!!”
He was near tears now, but complied. I considered running after him and giving him a well deserved kick to the butt but then remembered how out of shape Ma Bell was.
Mary:
I outsourced it to the other PAX. I felt a little ashamed when I heard someone mutter “That Ma Bell is a real D-Bag.” But I reasoned it’s better they find out now rather than after they got their F3 tramp stamp like the rest of us.
COT:
There was an announcement but it sounded like Carpecker business so I didn’t listen and just muttered loudly, “you’d never see that on Ma Bell’s watch”. Hopefully it was nothing good. Regulator took us out with a prayer. (I have never heard anyone pray that they would forget a Q before. Ma Bell is really past his prime.)
NMS:
I am known as a man of few words. Most of them too big for that lily-livered, two-bit, knock-kneed, gangly-armed SOB Oofda to understand. But it was really great to be back in Carpex. I saw a lot of familiar faces as SNS was gathering. It was like going to my 10 year high school reunion but everyone was a dude and had aged way slower than me. Still it was good to see some friends I haven’t connected with in a while. But I’m not coming while that pipsqueak, lily-livered, two-bit, knock-kneed, gangly-armed SOB, Nickleback-loving, onomatopoeia-using Oofda is still posting.
MIAGD!