Kosher Eucharist / יוקאריסט כשר

It fits the meter pretty well, doesn’t it? If my French hadn’t decayed so much, I’d try to write out a whole collaborationist version of “La Marseillaise,” but I had a hard enough time even getting camping supplies when I went to New Caledonia.

I have a new goal. Remember how I made that generic fitness New Year’s Resolution, like everyone does every year? I’ve made it more specific.

By the end of this year, I am going to meet the recommended minimum entrance requirements for the French Foreign Legion, according to random guy on the internet who claims to have been a Legionnaire.

You probably assume, as I did, that the minimum physical requirements for anything French were “Eat a wedge of brie in one minute without throwing up, successfully make love to a woman who hasn’t bathed in ten days, and run away from a threat.” Turns out that’s for the regular French Army. The Legion is more hardcore, probably because it’s full of foreigners. Here are the recommended minimum physical entry requirements, according to Dude Who Was In It And Wrote A Book:

- 30 pushups.
- 50 situps.
- Climb a 20 foot rope without using your feet.
- Run 8 kilometres with a 12 kilogram rucksack in less than one hour.
- 8 chinups with your palms away from you as you grip the bar.

This will be incredibly difficult, but at the end I will be a titan. A juggernaut. A terrifying war god. An avatar of virility. And I will get mad tail. I refuse to allow a French person to be stronger than me. I want it to be a conscious decision that I’m not in the Foreign Legion, breaking up riots in French Whateveria, every day.

Also, the tail.

I will inform you of my progress, or Mikeleh will inform you of my hospitalization.