Brain injuries are a bitch. Just when you think you’ve finally got your noggin screwed on straight, you try and keep up with Parker in a 50 yard dash and put yourself back on the IR. Or you live right for a week only to fall down a greenhouse (yes, I typed that right). Regardless of the how, the what comes next always sucks.
Such is also the truth of my first Q back since Tony Hawking myself into a hospital August 4, 2018. That perfect morning some time ago, tt felt good to deliver a beat down, but the week long low grade headache that followed wasn’t the best.
That said, I recall there being 37 people and we did things like 11s and merkins and a whole bunch of LBCs at once. But that isn’t what really matters about my fifth anniversary and return to that Q spot I love so dear. Shutty may want me to catalog the precise order of the work-out like someone is going to read this thing like it’s Lewis & Clark’s diary (and perhaps with some reason, Sir NanTan), but what I want the badasses that came out to remember is that I love them for it, that I did my best to break bad on them out of respect for them, that we named a dude Unskinny Bop and another I Pity the Fool (who forcefully and quickly gave himself the moniker IPTF), and that the week that followed I again missed you guys like hell.
The IR sucks. Even being a sad clown is easier because ignorance is bliss. I love F3 because when guys go missing, we don’t go missing on them. Respect.
YHC out.