When I found out F3 Raleigh was honoring Epoxy I knew I had to go. First, Raleigh is not F3 South Wake so you don’t have to worry about all those troglodyte mouth breathers (note to self: don’t post in SW next week on the off chance some of them can read). Second, it was honoring one of our own. I never met Epoxy but Raleigh begat Carpex and Carpex has changed my life. Epoxy was one of the early guys instrumental in making Raleigh what it is today so it felt right to show him some respect.
When I arrived at Green Rush guys were milling around. The mood was somber. I noticed with some trepidation that a lot of people had on rucks. In Carpex, we reserve rucking for the guys that sit down when they pee. But when in Rome I thought and swung back by the car to grab my weight vest. That was when I noticed a PAX had brought a cute little puppy.
“Hey, puppy,” I said and reached out to pet it. I quickly snatched my hand back when it snapped its jaws at me.
The owner started to apologize but his buddy whispered, “He smells like Carpex.” Some of the PAX nearby started making the sign of the cross or reaching for Holy Water.
“The troglodyte mouth breathers?” the dog owner asked.
“No,” his buddy whispered, “the ones that kiss Dredd’s ass to get all the cool radio gigs and regional roles.”
“Hey,” someone in the crowd said. “Isn’t that the Carpex guy who broke one of our shovel flags a few years back?”
I quickly moved on since the now-not-so-cute dog had pulled out a cookbook called Cooking With Carpeckers which it was flipping through with great interest.
5:30 hit and people started looking around, not sure what was supposed to happen. Then Larry David stepped forward and spoke. He was the one who had found Epoxy. They had been scheduled to have lunch and when the always punctual Epoxy didn’t show or text that he was running late Larry David drove to his house.
Larry’s story was gut-wrenching. When he got there Epoxy was slumped over his steering wheel. He was still in his workout clothes from the hike he had gone on earlier.
Larry David told the story without tears but the emotion and grief was raw, there just under the surface. I didn’t feel any shame as I rubbed at my eyes. A lot of guys were in the same boat. I almost broke when Larry said he was glad he had found Epoxy rather than Epoxy’s wife or kids finding him. That encapsulates F3 right there, doesn’t it. When sane people are asleep, we all get up at stupid-dark 30. Sure we like to hang out with our brothers, we like a little mumble chatter (or a lot if you’re Carpex), and we gut out the 1st F together. But really we’re all there for just one reason: to get a little stronger everyday.
Because we don’t know when we’ll have to sack up, shove down our terror, and pull our friend out of a car to give him CPR. To keep our wits enough to get the network of PAX and M’s rolling to find that brother’s M. To feel every second the paramedics fight to bring him back like a knife because you know each one passing makes it less likely your brother will get one last chance to make sure his loved ones know how much they mean to him.
Do you know what NO one anywhere ever has said? “Glad I wasn’t strong enough to help.”
And that’s why we get up when sane people sleep. We’re F3.
When Larry David finished his story we set off on a hike. They had Epoxy’s ruck and were going to pass it around for anyone that wanted to carry the burden for a bit.
I’ve never thought about what I would want my F3 “sendoff” to be. Maybe everyone in Carpex dropping a “That’s What She Said” into a conversation during their day? Or maybe just the Carpex standard: everyone drink half a gallon of milk and do burpees until they merlot.
I did not know Epoxy but I’ll bet that hike was exactly what he would’ve wanted for his final post. 110 guys hiking along, at first muted and quiet. But eventually some hushed conversations popping up that finally gave way to laughter or groans at what someone’s 2.0 is putting them through. Or nods of understanding about concerns at work or home. 110 guys (mostly) managing to get interested in the trees or sky as a group of ponytailed runners passed by (though oddly the entire 6 suddenly did have to tie their shoes at that exact moment). Watching Banjo running around begging someone to tag him on Strava since he had forgotten to start his own; yelling “These miles count! They count!” Seeing Burt up ahead of you and thinking that while you hate to see him go you really really hate watching him leave (don’t drink Natty Light piss beer if you want to keep that milkshake, just saying).
But like I said in the title Raleigh guys can’t count. Yes, they can breathe through their noses and, sure, those noses aren’t brown, but you ask them to count to 10 and you’ll be lucky if they get past 4. They try to cover it with “We’re hi-tempo. We only do 4 counts, not 10 counts” but no one is fooled.
Which I realized later is why it was so difficult to get good photos of the group as we were walking. There is a completely different technique for taking a photo of 110 guys vs. 111. Photography 101, guys!
Plus the lighting sucked. We would alternate between darkness where I could barely see anybody then so bright the stupid street lights were making a glare in my shot.
I angrily shoved my phone into my European man bag (it’s not an arm purse!) “I can’t see a damn thing,” I muttered to myself.
Then the guy beside me that I had been completely oblivious to put a steadying hand on my arm and said “I got you, brother.”
It was only four words (4!) but it shook me out of my own head. I looked around. Really looked around. I stopped thinking about how great it would be to get a photo for these Raleigh guys to remember this day. Instead I just watched a bunch of guys trudge along in the dark, each carrying their own burdens and somewhere up ahead were a bunch of guys sharing the load for a brother that no longer could. Here beside me was some guy reaching out to steady me just because he thought I asked for help.
That’s the other reason I think Epoxy would have loved it.
He helped build up a group of HIMs that spread out to become four (4…) regions. Hundreds of men trudging along in the dark under their burdens, but also hundreds of men who know they’re not alone in that darkness.
There were 110 guys physically walking in the dark today. Plus 1 walking beside each of us. Maybe saying his goodbyes to people he was close to, maybe silently imploring us all to look out for the loved ones he is leaving behind…but he was definitely there saying “Thank you, brothers, for having my back.”
CUITG, gents.