If Out There You Are, Phone Home

Remember in college when you use to take a shot of beer every minute for an entire hour? I think it was called … alcohol poisoning? Today we did the responsible version (HA! At the notion that I’m responsible). The “Power Half Hour.” 30 Minutes, 25 exercises, 5 sprints and a chaos lap — Half the time, twice the puke. That’s a lie, no one puked (as far as I know). Has anyone seen Laura? Yeah yeah, she ran a marathon on Monday or something. But I was under the impression she did that every weekend. Amy ran the marathon and she made it to the workout. And even though she couldn’t technically do the workout (let alone walk straight) she still sat Indian legged on the center rock like Yoda and called out on their form the people of the tribe. Laura, if out there you are, phone home. Ok, now I’m just mixing up aliens. At least let me know where you keep your spare key so I can break into your house and steal your boom box. Do you know what it’s like to do a whole Wednesday workout when all you can hear are grunts and moans peppered with the irrepressible “WOOO’S” that erupt from Sam Livermore with the painstaking regularity of a geyser? *Sigh* To summarize, we’re floundering without you.

HILLS this Friday are … you know what? Screw hills. I’m calling FLAT FRIDAY again.

Crissy Field, 6:23am. I’ll be standing under one of the giant sculptures. But which one!? Muahahah.

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