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Written by Bwana Bwana

It was drab and gray as John Domico, Tom Cali, Judd Michael, Lance Bland, Bob Cornwall, Marty Klanchar, Ken Davis, Jim Moore, Costas Maranas, Tom Hilands, Jamie Volkert, Dada Todd, Lee Culver, Michael Goldfine, Ron Cunfer, Jonathan Thurley, and Marty Mazur headed for the track. But even grayer news awaited them when they got to the track. No pink! No fluff! Oh, Jamie had worn one of his pink metrosexual ties to work, but that was back in the locker room. And Michael G. had worn his sequined dashiki, but it was hanging in his locker. No, what I mean was there were no girls. They'd all deserted us!

Well, we made the best of it. We spat without looking where. We scratched ourselves more. We made crude jokes. Domico flexed his scalp muscles. And we ran hard. I mean we really pounded it. The crew wasn't nuts about the workout, Bwana, who is boning up for his dives into the valleys of Legs 2 and 9, had everyone do some long, slow repeats. Then it was balls to wall back to Rec Hall for some towel slapping and fart jokes.

I guess I'll just list all the females who weren't here. Oh, some of them had excuses, I guess. Ann is getting her knee caps beautified. Miera was exfoliating her heels. Cheryl was trying on her new bionic leg. Tara was dressed in a trench coat putting 3 roses and a half-drunk bottle of cognac on the grave of Edgar Allan Poe. And LDC was trying on a new muumuu. But by and large, they were not the excuses guys would feel comfortable giving. Even sensitive guys.

Oh: And just in case you think the title is inapprop:

http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/balls_to_the_wall