"I Beat The Finn"

This week (like all preceding weeks) was otlichna (great). The Russian is coming along, the day of thanks has nearly come, and the belly is full. Speaking of the belly, I would like to give a public shoutout to an experienced missionary mother who sent me a delicious package full of edible delights. The climactic moment of this segway story was when the package of food contained two boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

 

 

 For those of you who live under a rock, or have a distinct distaste for the sound of happiness, two boxes meant that I received 24 doughnuts. Yes, I understood that my mother intended for me to share. And I did. At first. Let me just say that between the dining hall and my personal stash, I have averaged several donuts a day, a happy mind, and a stomach with the mood swings of a pubescent tween. 

 

 

Now this sets the stage. Two nights ago, at around 9:30 PM,I was on my final doughnut of my stash. I was savoring each bite of glazed perfection. The Swedish district is a couple doors down on my floor. Among them is a man straight from Finland. He is pure 6’3 Scandinavian muscle, with the accompanying accent.

 

 

 If you are having difficulty hearing his voice in this story, think "Terminator." He loves pushups. In Priesthood meeting, his companion told us how he was always doing pushups. He makes his district do pushups for eating bad, and when they saw me eating my last scrumptious morsel, they made sure he was aware. He came up to me and said, “Do ten pushups. Donut is bad.” I explained to him that I was in between sets of pullups, and refused to do his pushups. A minute later I had a genius idea. I said, “I ate a donut, you must do 10 pushups for me.” He then terminatored these words to my face, “If you do pushups, I will do them with you.” By now, most of the zone had gathered around. I was not about to back down. I agreed, as the crowd made space in the hall. When we were about to begin, he said, “When I say down, we go down. When I say middle or up, we do it.” I agreed once again, as some in the crowd began praying for my survival. So it began. “Down, Middle…down, hold.” We were lined up right next to each other, eyes locked.

 

 

 He had impeccable form. But what he had not accounted for was that so did I. With burning arms and stone cold eyes, our necks stayed rotated at 90 degrees, staring into each other's souls. It went on for well over a minute. At last, he said, “10 more pushups, right?” As we continued to push up and down, I replied (with many more than 10 pushups on my arms recently), “That is what you said.” Soon after, the crowd, in awe, heard these words fall from his lips, “Can we stop now?” I agreed, and it was over. The missionaries,

 who were already on their feet because we were all in a hallway, stayed on their feet. The fives were high, but the voices were low. The Finn retreated to his room, sulking in defeat. While USA chants were not heard, some say you can still hear the Finn in his room, doing more pushing, awaiting a chance for revenge.

 

 

In other news, the Finn and I made up and took some sweet pictures. 

 

 

I'm getting ready to invite people half way around the world to read the Book of Mormon. It is true. Read it.

 

 

I love you all so much,

Elder Sheppert

 

 

PS- I apologize for the length of the letter, but I wanted to capture the full story.

 

 

Is it the sweater or the donuts in this picture? Laugh now, but many of you may ask that same question later this holiday season.