As we wrapped up COT at FMJ on Tuesday, I let the PAX know I’d be Q’ing SNS Wednesday, and invited to the beatdown. “What do you think McCants will come up with tomorrow, another MURPH?” said one. The PAX fell silent for a moment, pondering, praying, wondering whether they should just Vesper. Then an angelic, velvet smooth voice cut through the blissful peace: “I know exactly what McCants is going to do. Christmas in July from the kiosk.” I turned to see Khakis, staring deep into my soul, reading me like a Level 3 beginners book. Damn, called out.
Indeed, YHC had considered the 12 days of Christmas for the 22 PAX that braved SNS this morning. How many days of burpees can I get away with before Burt never speaks to me again? Should every day be a day of merkins to ensure I have sufficiently sucked up to His High Excellency the Nantan (happy 30th anny, sir)? But no, not anymore. Thanks, Khakis, for closing that door.
And so at 5:30, YHC drove into SNS with the same gameplan that keeps bringing RipTide back to Phish shows like Tyron Biggums to the 5:00 Free Crack Giveaway: improvisation and crowd requests. As I gently glided my beater truck through the unlocked portion of the park, the lightpoles slowly and steadily passed by. An idea sprouted. As the sun came up, my mind wondered to New Hampshire. The setlist began to be set.
With the departure of the Vesper PAX, and a reading of the warning to FNG Mike (who Burt told “don’t worry about gloves” - don’t worry, I had an extra set), we were off for a long warm up jog and the 3rd installment of #McCantsweek.
WARMUP: aforementioned jog, bear crawl, jog, crawl bear, good morning, merkins, plank jacks, and other various activities
THANG: line up at the lightpole, gorilla walk to next lightpole, burpee broad jump to next lightpole, jog to next lightpole, repeato. lunge walk down the hill to the kiosk, superman AMRAP until the 6 arrives. partner carry up the hill, flapjack, LBC AMRAP until 6 arrives. Jog to New Hampshire, only to discover a swarm of bugs. Jog to the steps down from New Hampshire and bear crawl down them. LBC AMRAP until 6 arrives. Catch me if you can chasing the jogger that passed, then through the woods to the kiosk field. merkins, plank-o-rama, all you got to the kiosk, recover on jog back. merkins, all you got the kiosk again. jog it in to the shovel flag (ON YOUR LEFT YOU ASSHOLES) for Mary (Freddie Mercuries, box cutters, LBCs).
NMS: Dear angry Cary biker, you can’t get pissed at a 22 guy PAX not getting out of your way when you whisper “on your left” 30 feet before getting to the back of the PAX. There’s also no need to call us assholes and dicks once you do get by us. It’s a beautiful day, you are off to making it a great day, we are living in one of the best places on earth, you can afford a $1000 bike when so many of those around us are struggling to buy quality food (if food at all) for their children, and you have the health and ability to be out and riding. I don’t know why you have such anger in your heart, but I thank you for the reminder that the times I feel pissed or angry or upset at the world, I’m forgetting how much I have to be thankful for. My F3 brothers. My family. My health and wealth and wisdom (albeit limited at times). The clothes on my back. That I have a job. That I can be a shoulder for people to lean on. That so many people around me need a shoulder to lean on, need a hand, have dreams that stare them in the face they can’t reach, when I’ve found some of mine. Thank you for reminding me of that. And on a lighter note, thank you for helping us name FNG Mike. Welcome, On Your Left. Or for Groupme purposes, On Your Left Asshole.
YHC out.