Date: 2025-06-16
AO: hamilton
Q: Goldfish
PAX: Legacy, Hobbyhorse, Popeye, bogey, Malware, Tariff
FNGs: None
COUNT: 7
WARMUP: the usual
THE THANG:
Corner exercises with moseying – burpees x5, merkins x10, squats x15, LBCs x20 for 2 rounds.
Then Pax Poker –
Split into teams of two (or three) people each and place deck down the field.
Each group sends one member out to retrieve a card. The mode of travel varies (bear crawls, walking lunges, backwards run). The PAX who are not retrieving cards are doing stationary exercises.
Once each group has 5 cards, each group looks at their hand. The group can decide to fold and do 10 burpees or play. If you play and lose, you do 15 burpees. If you play and win you do no burpees and get to shuffle the cards for the next round. The cards are returned to the pile, shuffled and then we start again.
Hand 1
Bear crawl to cards, plank while waiting
-losing team does burpees while shuffling cards
Hand 2
Walking lunge to cards, WWIIs while waiting
-losing team does burpees while shuffling cards
Hand 3
Backwards run, hold AL Gore while waiting
Popeye and bogey third win in a row was suspicious, so they led the group in 100 calf raises and 100 (50?) SSHs for their pair of aces -losing team does burpees while shuffling cards
Hand 4
Mosey, alternate toy soldiers and LBCs while waiting
Popeye and bogey win again, everybody does 10 burpees
MARY: part of above
ANNOUNCEMENTS: check out thedriveway on Wednesdays
COT:
Happy Father’s Day to those that are fathers! Yesterday I was reminded of one my favorite poems about fatherhood, that I thought I would share this morning. It talks about the sacrifice of being a father, and that oftentimes that sacrifice isn’t recognized until long down the road – both by our kids, and also by us, as kids with parents too. So even if you aren’t a father, this might speak to you.
Robert Hayden – Those Winter Sundays (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46461/those-winter-sundays)
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
Tags: hamilton, Legacy, Hobbyhorse, Popeye, bogey, Malware, Tariff
F3 The Capital 