We had 9 at varsity (2 for IronPAX, 1 proctor, and 6 for a Cindy beatdown. Here’s what we did:

Warmup
– 10 Low Slow Swuats
– 10 Mountain Climbers
– 10 Windmills
Mosey to get a cinderblock

– 10 Manmakers
– 15 Curls
– 20 OH Press
– 25 Flutters with a Press
– 30 Cindy Swings
– 20 Squats
– 15 Skull Crushers
– 10 Sit-up to Press
– Jog to AO Jones

Repeat 2 more times

NMM
Below is an AI generated backblast about yesterday’s workout. Some of it is true.

The sun had yet risen where the flags would be, and the usual quiet was shattered by the sound of furious guitar riffs echoing across the lot. Rumbling Bald himself had decided that today was the day he would reinvent himself as a heavy metal solo act. His amps were cranked to eleven, his hair (which may or may not have been real) was blowing in the breeze, and every bird within a mile radius had fled in terror.

In a parking spot nearby, Birdcage was already five tall tales deep. “And that’s when Dark Helmet single-handedly wrestled a grizzly bear with a lightsaber and taught it calculus!” he boomed, waving his arms dramatically. Nobody was buying it, but everyone kept listening because Birdcage’s delivery was too good to ignore.

Time Machine, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the asphalt, looking like he had aged a century overnight. “What am I doing with my life?” he muttered, staring off into the middle distance. “I mean, posting at Varsity? Was that really my legacy? Out of all possible timelines, why did I land there?” He sighed so deeply that Rumbling Bald’s double-bass pedal briefly went out of rhythm.

Finally, Spiderman dropped in from a nearby tree branch, landing with a thud. “Hey, uh, what’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the stack of cinderblocks Italian Job had been planning to incorporate into Bald’s stage show.

“Those,” Rumbling Bald growled, “are for dramatic effect. I need someone to swing them into the pit when the breakdown hits.”

Spiderman looked at the rocks, then back at Rumbling Bald, then immediately raised both hands. “Nope. Nope nope nope. Swinging heavy things is not in the contract.” With a single web-thwip, he was gone before anyone could argue.

Birdcage stood, puffed out his chest, and pointed dramatically toward the horizon. “Did I ever tell you about the time Dark Helmet built an entire stadium out of marshmallows just to host the galaxy’s first interstellar dodgeball championship?”

Time Machine groaned, Rumbling Bald shredded harder, and somewhere in the distance Spiderman was still muttering: “Nope. Not my job.”

And thus, the morning at NaFo ended the way all their gatherings did—half concert, half existential crisis, and entirely ridiculous.