What a weekend… Smaller fires were poppin’ all over the country, Saskatchewan saw a 7,500-acre fire (or maybe a holdover), CalFire was partying shirtless at Coachella, Summer is starting to develop across the nation slowly, and everyone was telling me WW3 is about to pop off.
“Bro, nuclear war is coming!”
I asked a young bartender this weekend what he would do if he got drafted into a war… “I’d flee to Canada,” was the response. I asked the older bartender what he thought about the potential for a world war; he responded, “Well, this kid ain’t gonna be able to fight for us… look at him. But it’ll all just be fought with drones anyway.”
I agreed but didn’t verbalize it.
The waitress was a very talkative gal, 24 years old and covered in tattoos. She joined in the conversation. “I just want a husband and chickens… but I can’t even get a guy to hold a door for me.” She was from a small town in Minnesota near the Canadian border.
I asked her why she thought she couldn't find a husband… She replied, “I think it’s because I got all these tattoos, and I probably moved around too much. But I know how to fix a house and shoot a gun; I just thought I’d be married and have a kid by now.” The young bartender who said he would flee to Canada at the first sign of hardship set down my brisket and gave her the side eye.
The romantic in me adored her.
I got to thinking, if a world war broke out, being a wildland firefighter is probably a pretty solid occupation during those times. Out in the woods, consistent paycheck, already in federal service, and you are likely fit and mentally able to overcome adversity. The best advantage you could have during tough times is health and personal fitness.
So, as I listened to the collection of personalities bicker about how the world was ending, I ate my brisket, planned my next workout, and remembered what my grandpa told me a few Christmases ago before he passed.
He had shore leave in London after D-day operations. He met up with a young gal who had been his pen pal since 2nd grade that his Catholic school set up. He memorized the address and walked down a bombed-out street to the house where she lived. He asked the family if he could take her out for a walk in the park; they were nervous to let him, but after realizing who he was, they obliged. They showed him all the letters he had sent, and they had them saved in a box in the living room.
In the park, he was eating an orange he had been given on the ship and tossed the peel to the ground. He recalled children running up and fighting over the rinds he discarded, with destruction everywhere. He hadn’t seen home for months and was talking to a gal he had only met through pen and paper, and everyone had nothing. It’s the only time I saw him choke up.
That’s war, that’s hardship. Our reality is much different. We still have the luxury of complaining about things over brisket and beer. It’s not as bad as the news tells you it is. Could things be better? Of course. But we are not to the point of what World War once was.
But just in case things do get really bad, you should probably be in shape to handle it.
So, let’s be thankful for what we have and start the week with a banger of a workout.
Find yourself a good soundtrack or podcast, and let’s get it done.
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Get loose and dynamic stretch until warmed up.
Round 1: Three times
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