11 PAX rolled into Rockwood under a sky so beautiful it felt like a setup—like the universe wanted us to suffer just a little bit extra in optimal conditions. Ponch with the Q, and as is tradition, had to c0me in hot with a plan to break PAX down and build them back stronger.
Warm-Up:
We kicked things off with heavy stretching because Ponch believes in two things: injury prevention and looking flexible in front of the group. Limbs loosened, egos intact—for now—we set off into what can only be described as a cardio-laced gauntlet.
The Thang:
We ran. Then we ran more. Somewhere in the ballpark of 2+ miles with mosey breaks and sprint breaks that felt less like breaks and more like Ponch checking to see who had the audacity to still be breathing.
Between those scenic jogs, we dropped into calisthenics in cadence like a military bootcamp taught by a guy who had too much coffee.
- Side-straddle hops and mountain climbers got us warm.
- Flutter kicks, Freddie Mercury’s, and leg lifts hit the core like an unpaid debt.
- Overhead claps, shoulder taps and apple pickers were a shoulder/fruit hybrid moment.
- Regular, wide-arm, and diamond merkins crushed the chest back to back.
- Triceps? We served them dips and diamond merkins with a side of step-ups—just for fun. (Ponch’s version of fun might be legally questionable.)
Mumblechatter was minimal—not because the PAX weren’t witty, but because oxygen became a precious commodity. Everyone was smoked, but nobody quit. It was one of those beatdowns that hurt so good you secretly hoped it would rain so you could blame your tears on the weather.
Proud of the men who joined me today!
COT:
Closed out with a strong name-o-rama, a reminder that discomfort is where growth begins, and a quiet moment of gratitude for perfect weather and a crew of men who don’t let each other coast. Also praised and prayed for the mothers.
