Tom is a husband, father, novelist, opinion writer, and former Navy Corpsman currently living in Georgia. He's also someone who has lost almost 60 pounds in a safe, sustainable way, so he knows what he's talking about.
Once upon a time, I loved to run. Then, one day, I couldn’t. I was capable of walking, sprinting if I needed to, and using my legs in every other way, but every time I ran as part of a training program, it fell apart due to pain.
I didn’t start that way and I think I may have it beat, but I figured I’d share what all transpired in case it helps anyone in any way.
Mrs. Dave is enjoying sunsets over wine-dark seas. Dave is ruthlessly culling The Stuff. The Wee Horde rampage. I have two small goals for today. The first is to clear the table of excess stuff, and then shrink it. The fewer flat surfaces there are to collect more Stuff, the less clutter will be to make my eyelid twitch. The second, and arguably more vital to my personals barbaric goals is to clear a lane in the garage so I can lay out the battle rope. I’m nearly there, already. Just have about twelve cubic feet of stuff to shift.
Hey, all you hunters and huntresses, fighters one and all, this is Barbarian Dave rockin’ the preternatural waves of ethereal communication, and I have a message for the discerning savage: get in touch with yourself.
I was going to start off with a semi-clever shtick about two ideas warring for attention like proverbial wolves, but I realized they’re just flip-sides of the same coin. Which you should hurry up and loot from the effete city-dwellers hoarding them in not-at-all-safe-from-hordes chests. Aren’t they precious?
Dave, I hear you protesting, what are you talking about? Are you making another dirty joke? By no means! Besides, my mother (either of them) may be reading this, and while the sailor within is strong, I’m not risking the Wrath of Mom. Simply put, you need to strengthen your mind-muscle connection. That’s the first bit. The second, just as important, is you must…must figure out where your weak spots are and work to correct them. Continue reading “Dave Goes Barbarian: The Focus and the Fix”
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”
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.
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.