Baffling. That’s the only way I can describe this morning. It was hot like tomato soup, it was humid like a car sitting in 110-degree heat with wet beach towels stewing for a few hours, and it was…quiet.
YHC felt like garbage this morning. Nevermind the physical toll the 1776 beatdown put on me. The head cold I was so graciously given by the M has put me in surrender mode. I can’t take anymore. Just leave me alone.
Alas, I had the Q this morning at B.O. Not being one to skip a Q, YHC valiantly evaded the fartsack and headed toward DTC for a little bit of leadership. I got there early, which is not uncommon, but after five minutes, no one else was there. I checked my watch to make sure it was Thursday. It was. And just at the moment, trusty Term Paper rolled up and snatched the B.O. flag from the trunk of his automobile, planting it firmly in the concrete-esque ground adjacent the parking lot.
Both of us remarked that there would surely be at least one more PAX to join us. But sure enough, as the clock hit 0545, nary another soul. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. YHC had planned today’s beatdown - again, not uncommon - and I truly believe the PAX would have enjoyed it. But with only two studs working the gloom, it didn’t make sense. So, YHC had to adlib a little. I looked over to my partner in gloomfighting and saw he was able-bodied and ready. YHC cooked up a new plan. Hell, it only takes two to Tango, Papa.
I’m not going to explain that. It’s too damn good to ruin with an explanation.
T.P. That’s all I’m gunna say.
Term Paper. Tango Papa.
I did it, didn’t I? I ruined it.
Tango Papa and I took off into the gloom like warriors looking for a village to pillage. The first thought that popped into my mind was this: a smoothie. Why, you ask? For whatever reason, the oppressive humidity roused a certain memory I have from a little over two years ago. Here’s the scene…
I’m walking out of the hospital. Wakemed Cary, to be precise. I have to move my car. It’s been under the portico since 6AM, and it’s now 2PM. Those 8 hours had been harrowing, but I finally had a moment to move my property to a designated spot where other people also temporarily stowed their property. All I remember was getting out of my car after parking it in the lot and thinking to myself, “wow, I guess this is what it feels like to live inside a whale’s stomach”.
What did I do as soon as I made it back into the hospital? I got me a damned smoothie. I needed the calories. I needed the sugar. I was running on fumes and life thoroughly sucked. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go to themuggo.com and read this.
I’m not even ashamed of myself for plugging that story. Dirty? Sure, a little. But ashamed? Nah.
Anyway, this environment brought on that memory and I couldn’t shake it. “Tango P,” I said, “I know this is going to sound odd, but do you trust me?”
“Absolutely not.”
It wasn’t the reply I was anticipating, but I knew he was on board.
“Let’s go.” And off we went. We tore out of the parking lot like we were being chased by raging bulls. Heading south on Academy, we made it to the Arts Center in record time. In front of the steps, we “warmed up”, but the actual warm up happened as soon as each of us stepped foot out of our cars. It was hot as balls this morning. I don’t think there are too many more ways for me to get that point across.
From there, we took Kildaire Farm Road south for awhile. Upon reaching the Big Lots, Term Paper looked a little concerned. But he didn’t say anything. He just followed YHC’s lead like a good soldier. We stopped for Derkins, Irkens, Diamond Dips, and Box Jumps. From there, we kept heading south. A few minutes later (like, 2 minutes, max), we found ourselves in front of Trader Joe’s. TP mentioned he was almost to his house and I asked him why he didn’t just run into the workouts. He kicked me in the back of the knee and I decided we didn’t need to talk about that any longer.
We trudged on through the morning muck. Only a few minutes later and there she was, Wakemed Cary. For the uninitiated, that’s the hospital where my son was born, but it’s also home to the world’s greatest smoothie. Sweaty and breathless, we made our way into the main entrance. Upon seeing us enter, the nurse sitting behind the desk jumped up with fear in her eyes.
“Sir! The ER is that way? What’s going on? Is he having a heart attack?”
She was referring to Term Paper. He was NOT happy. One swift kick to the side of that nurse’s knee and the conversation was again over. I mentioned that maybe he needed to find a new way to end conversations and he just shrugged and asked where the smoothie place was. Oh well. I tried.
Down the hall to the right, through two sets of double doors, another left, and then a quick ride down the elevator put us right outside the hospital cafeteria. My excitement was peaked, but there also was a shred of caution. What if it doesn’t live up to the hype? Have I just been building this thing up in my mind, or was it really as life-changing as I’d thought it was two years ago. There was only one way to find out.
We rounded the corner into the busy cafeteria and got a lay of the land. It all came back to me. There were two buffet lines on either side of the room, a salad bar in the middle, then on the far end of the café was the MTO bar. That’s where the smoothies were located. So that’s where we went.
The kind fellow behind the counter bid me a good morning, so I threw my arms out parallel to the ground, bent at the waist, and tried to touch the crown of my head to the floor. He was a little confused, but he got over it quickly. I certainly wasn’t the craziest person he’d see this day. “How can I help you,” his deep voice bellowed across the countertop.
“Good sir, I would like to order the biggest Mango Strawberry Blast smoothie you’ve got. In fact, let me get two. And then whatever this gentlemen would like, as well.”
“Smoothie, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Machine’s broke.”
I don’t remember anything after that moment. It was like I went into a fugue state. The next thing I remember was lying on my back in the middle of a grill pan (the parking lot) talking something about a lobster dinner to a girl named Dolly. Term Paper was counting cadence. When he stopped, so did I. I checked my watch, and sure enough, 0630 on the money.
We stood for Line of Trust (can’t circle with two people), name-o-rama, announcements, prayer requests/praises.
John Marriott, 57* ,Term Paper. Sam Gapinski, 31, Callahan.
*Respect
NMS:
We covered 6.8 miles, talked to a very nice man about smoothies, and seriously injured a nurse, all in a span of 45 minutes. If you don’t believe me, you can asked Term Paper if this is true. You can’t refute this. You shoulda been there.
(after finding out that Liverpool had his VQ today, the 2-count at B.O. made a little more sense, but don’t think for one second that I wasn’t pissy about getting Q-shopped that hard. I will destroy all of you the next time I Q. Looking forward to it.)
Thanks for the opportunity to lead one man on a quest for the most perfect, life-giving smoothie this world has ever known. The accountability found in F3 is unlike anything I’ve seen before, and it’s awesome. Seriously, thank you for making me better.
Callahan