July 28th, 2025 By Lexter Fennell

QIC: Tombstone

PAX: Marlboro, Gooney, Look Me Up, Total Package, Popeye, Spud, Ezekiel, Catfish, Luthor

Date: 07/26/25

AO: Pain Highway (formerly “Hope Street” — until this group beat the hope out of it)

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Warm-Up:

Yes… technically. A few arm circles, some toe touches, and what we’re generously calling “high knees.” It was ugly. It looked like a flash mob of dads pulling hamstrings in unison. Spud may have blacked out during side-straddle hops. Gooney was stretching like he was trying to pass gas silently.

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The Thang:

4.5-mile run with “mandatory suck breaks” every 0.5 miles:

•15 push-ups (or shoulder dislocations, depending on your form)

•10 sit-ups (more like fetal convulsions for some)

•15 squats (if you didn’t hit depth, it’s because your dignity got in the way)

•30-second plank (aka group therapy with shaking arms and quiet whimpers)

Total Pain Load:

•135 push-ups

•90 sit-ups

•135 squats

•4.5 minutes of full-body judgment

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PAX Roll Call: “Working Professionals, Fitness Amateurs”

•Luthor (Financial Advisor): Helps others plan for the future but didn’t plan for his legs to quit at mile 2. Hit the deck like his stock options just tanked.

•Ezekiel (Financial Advisor): Quoted scripture mid-rep like it was Sunday School with burpees. Every squat came with a side of spiritual surrender.

•Popeye (Financial Advisor): Gave off major “once benched 225 in college” energy — hasn’t moved his core since. His sit-ups looked like a tax audit in motion.

•Catfish (Auto Loan Executive): Walks around the office like a boss, ran today like his 9% APR legs were about to be repossessed. Tried to upsell us on energy mid-plank. Declined.

•Gooney (Redneck Insurance Adjuster): Adjusts claims by day, adjusted his attitude the hard way today. Wore boots. Asked if he could write this off as a work injury. Grunted through everything like he was giving birth to a four-wheeler.

•Spud (Real Estate Attorney): Fast, focused, and terrifying. Might be the only guy here who reads contracts and your soul. Filed a verbal cease-and-desist on Gooney’s breathing at mile 3.

•Marlboro (Engineer): Engineered a slow-motion meltdown. Calculated pain ratios mid-squat. Probably solved a structural equation while watching you struggle through your last push-up.

•Look Me Up (Landscape Supervisor): Ran like he was chasing a runaway weed whacker. Judged the grass, the route, and your quad activation in one glance. Gave unsolicited lawn care tips mid-run.

•Total Package (62-year-old Cyclist): Biked in like he was late for his AARP discount, then proceeded to outwork everyone half his age. Didn’t even grunt. Just breathed calmly while the rest of you cried in protein powder.

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COT (Circle of Pain & Professional Identity Loss):

Tombstone reminded the group that nobody cares what your LinkedIn title is when your squats look like a Jenga tower mid-collapse. You can manage portfolios, sell loans, or adjust claims — but if you can’t hold a 30-second plank without whimpering like a golden retriever in a thunderstorm, you’re just another guy who peaked in 2011.

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