“Are you getting here super early?”
Obviously I’m getting there super early. That’s who I am as a person.
“I need you to pick up cups.”
“For the workout.”
That sounds less fun than liquor. But fine.
And so that’s why I walked into the gym. At exactly 4:00pm.
With a sleeve of red solo cups. And a sleeve of blue…not quite solo…cups.
With J-Vicious in the background. Pressuring me. To shoplift. Just so I could get there on time.
He needed those cups.
Those dumbass cups.
He explained the workout.
Teams of three.
One person does a set number of reps of an exercise. And then tries to flip their cup.
While their teammates do their assigned exercise. Continually.
Until the cup lands.
And then they switch.
Until all three teammates have flipped their cups.
This is how friendships are ruined.
I don’t even remember the exercises themselves.
I’ve blocked the specifics out of my brain.
But no one wants to duck walk. Or do banded kick backs. Nonstop. While waiting for their teammate. Who has been out of college way too long. To finally make the damn cup land.
And B Major. During the banded kick backs. Had apparently had some sort of brain aneurysm. Or something. Because she was not only using the band around her foot. To kick back. But had also put a second band. Around her thighs. I assume to punish herself for something she’d done in a previous life.
The fuck were you thinking???
You know Fall Risk ain’t getting that cup to land anytime soon.
Meanwhile. Her husband. The creator of this bullshit. And probably the one that suggested she put the extra band on. Is over here throwing temper tantrums. Over his total lack of skill. In this game.
That’s a cup thrown in anger. Because someone gets pissy when he isn’t good at the games he makes up.
I, on the other hand, just kept flipping cups. Right on off the table.
I assume from my massive arm strength.
And not due to any lack of talent.
(I lived off campus during college.)
Which is how I ended up with 5,782 calf raises. Weighted calf raises.
Which is exactly what you want.
Right before Christmas Mountain.
The mountain that goes just straight the fuck up.
The last Christmas of the year.
Thank fuck GJB let us take rest breaks. Every 50 feet.
It makes for a long climb up.
But the leaves were solidly knee deep in places.
Making it harder to climb.
I saw the mountain try to actually consume Dude With The Charming And Disarming Smile. A few times.
About the time we hit the rocks. Where the ghost swept my legs from under me. And broke my tibia. That one time.
Dude got caught in some kind of Scooby Doo leaf treadmill. Where he was just moving his legs. But not making any forward progress.
And then actually started moving backwards.
Down the mountain.
And a soberer person might have tried to move out of his way.
But all I could do was giggle.
Until his feet finally found purchase. And he started making forward progress again.
But karma was keeping a close eye.
Because a few minutes later. I found myself immobilized. By the rocks.
Just really wedged in there good.
And Dude looked back. To check on me.
But I was still giggling. Uncontrollably.
So he figured all was well. And went on his way.
And just about the time I managed to unwedge myself.
From the ghost rocks.
Came tumbling out of my pack.
And you don’t just leave a thermos. Of peanut butter whiskey. Abandoned on a mountain.
So I absolutely scrambled around in the dark searching for it.
As the others got further. And further. Away.
We appreciate our liquor.
And then did some sort of very unathletic leaf scramble on hands and knees through downed trees to catch the rest of the group. With trees actually grabbing ahold of my hair bun. On top of my head. And yanking me backwards every few feet. While still managing to force my way up.
Hair be damned.
Just in time to reach the summit.
And climb our way out onto the rocks.
This is peaceful.
Every single time you go up Christmas Mountain.
You’re gonna be shown. Exactly where Lil T’s dad lives.
And where McAfee’s is.
(That one is just for GJB.)
And it’s cold up there. On top of the mountain.
And Mapoose brought hot hands.
Except. You really do have to open those things up a solid five hours before you need them.
“Those should be warm about the time we get back to the house.”
And Dude brought us each a shot of Fireball.
Which promptly rolled down into the crevace.
The one that always gives me paralyzing fear. When attempting to traverse it.
And like I said. We’re serious about our liquor.
So Dude just shimmies his way on down. Into the crevace.
To retrieve the Fireballs.
And for whatever reason. He handed them to 100 Miler.
Which only produced extreme anxiety for her. And me.
Because she was wearing fucking mittens.
And in no way prepared to actually grip anything.
But it was fine.
We all had our Fireball shots.
Which is just what you want to do.
After having downed several whiskey shots.
Prior to descending the very steep, leaf covered mountain.
Look. At a certain point. You just sit your ass down. And butt scootch.
It’s the only viable option.
And the whole way, GJ is reminiscing over that time we took the moon up with us. Or some shit.
Or that time we saw a bear.
But not that time.
The other time.
And the time we went through the fencing.
And…I don’t know.
It was a lot of memories to sift through.
And I was really just trying to not let my calves seize up. Before we made it down off the mountain.
And Mapoose’s hands were slowly freezing over. With her luke warm hot hands.
And we did make it back.
To the house.
Where Buster. The dog. Was waiting. To molest all the females.
And Mapoose’s hot hands were finally hot.
And a little more peanut butter whiskey sounds good.
And now it hurts to move.
And someone wants to go run McAfee in the morning. For sunrise.
And now I’m thinking that sleep sounds nice.
A girl can only do so much.
Before her 47 year old body refuses.