I’m feeling philosophical today, my barbrethren. I spent yesterday sorting and reorganizing the garage while Mrs. Dave helped some friends conquer a neighboring village move house temporarily. Consequently, I got a peek at the past. Which, as Mum says, is a different country, and besides, the wench is dead. I’m not really clear on that last part, but contextually, it seems to fit. Continue reading “Dave Goes Barbarian: Where Lies End and Truth Begins”
I don’t know if HEMA loses people on a regular basis or not, but if they do, I bet I know where that happens. I suspect it happens in most other martial arts as well, to be fair.
You see, people get bored with the early days when they’re learning the basic foundations.
I know, because I’m there.
When I train, I want the perfect training method. I want the ideal balance of strength, conditioning, mobility, everything. I want it to be just intense enough to make me a fitness diety while being fun enough that I don’t actually care.
The question is, does such a training methodology actually exist?
*The Kilted Barbarian stumbles into the firelight. His helmet sits askew on his head. Ash smudges one cheek and reddens the eye above it. His tunic is rent through and blood – not his own – stains his clothing. His shoulders slump and he drops onto a log as though his legs suddenly lost all strength. *
Sorry. It’s … it’s been a week. The school year is ending all over the place (though some places don’t end for another week or two. Or three) and here at Caer Dave, things are no different. Domesticity is hell, you savage horde. I’ve baked, cooked, cleaned, and I’m still behind. I swear this isn’t going to be a long-term pattern. On the other hand, Mrs. Dave heads back out into the howling wastes in the near future, so who knows what’s going to go down. Continue reading “Dave Goes Barbarian: Here, Hold This”
Hello, my barbaric brethren (and sistren)! It’s another Friday, and we find ourselves here, once again, together. The fire burns, the skulls of our enemies are top-filled with libations, and meat roasts on a spit.
Which, seriously, we ought to do some time, sparing only the skulls of our enemies, perforce bowing to legal requirements. There will be swords and fellowship aplenty. But to business! Continue reading “Dave Goes Barbarian: Sealegs”
I’ve spent a fair bit of time talking about being a Barbarian. That, in a lot of people’s minds, has a fairly distinct definition. While I’ve tried to define it my own way, it’s still based on what the term means in most people’s minds.
But then I join a HEMA group that espouses chivalric values. It’s made me take a step back and think about what each of those terms means, at least to me, and decide if they’re in conflict and how I’d deal with it they were.
Luckily, I don’t think they are. Let me explain.
It’s time for me to get back to basics and that means back to Starting Strength. Yesterday was week one, day one back on things, and I definitely felt it.
But the question is, just why did I go back to something I’d progressed beyond?
Hey, Barbs. Mrs. Dave gets home tomorrow, and everything changes. Again. Always. Until the next time. You see, we’ve just about gotten settled into a routine, here at Caer Dave. It’s not the greatest, and there are some things I’d *really* like to change about it. Forex, the Wee Horde needs to start getting into bed earlier, so they can get up earlier and not make my morning a pit of stress and frustration. Continue reading “Dave Goes Barbarian – Rhythms”
I’ve been stuck. You see, I’ve been working at what weight loss for a while. I’m still brand, spanking new at HEMA. I’m in a weird place right now where I’m all, “What the hell am I supposed to write?”
It also hasn’t helped that I’ve been dealing with some personal stuff for the last several weeks on top of everything else. Plus, I needed to write here.
But, as I’ve said, I didn’t really know what to write. That’s because when your mind, body, or spirit aren’t working as they should, you’re just not productive.
Yeah, you in the back holding the banner dripping with the blood of your enemies. Sit down. Seriously. There’s a time and a place.
No, that headline is *not* a joke. I bring it up because I’m late with my column. Again. While twice can be coincidence, I’m not thrilled with the emerging pattern, as I imagine Tom is not, either. We’ve bemoaned our mad skills in this arena (as in, we’re mad, and got no skills. Or at least I don’t) that I feel I’m safe dragging him under the bus with me. If he’s added another skull to his throne by next week, we’ll know otherwise.
Tempus fuggits, just as hard as it ever can, and it often seems to disappear just ahead of my grasping claws, y’know? I don’t mean to wax lyrical, so much as I’m a writer trying to describe the incredible feeling of never having the time or energy to manage to do everything I feel I ought. Continue reading “Time Management for the Modern Barbarian”