|
|
“Upon the Nature of
Quests…” Or “Welcome the Middle Aged-ness” By “True” Thomas Whitehart, Bard of Strongbow For The Tower, the Siege Tower of Strongbow |
|
“Our Gallant hero, having defeated the
frumious bandersnatches and the dreaded three headed
peli-chiva-laure-can, continued onwards. He slid down the mountain of
glass, into the land of paper cuts, and then across the plains of
salt…..” Have you ever notice that Quests tend to make for great movies and good if not great reading but tend to verily suck if you happen to be the one undertaking it? I’m pretty certain that Odysseus, Parsifal, Bradamonte, Beowulf and other heroes would have much rather preferred at times to be sitting in front of the telly, with a bag of munchies and a cool drink. Alas for these heroes, questing for the “Wand of Power” deeply hidden within the “Cushions of Doom” makes for rather tepid storytelling. Now, as a storyteller, I much prefer telling stories about Quests, rather than being in one. But therein lays a tale….. Hark ye well, and lend ear too….. “The Saga of the Missing Feet”. Not so long ago, I was “embarked” upon a Quest. This Quest, like all good Quests, was fraught with peril, temptation, and danger, and it took some serious prodding (to do what?). My Quest was: to find my feet. For reasons mundane and typical, I had not been taking good care of myself, and had put on some weight. Okay, a LOT of weight. So much weight, in fact, that my Doctor put a needle to my head and demanded that I lose it NOW. Being a wise man, I knew better than to argue with a small Hindu woman with a medical degree and a syringe the size of polearm. After many pokings and proddings worthy of any good medieval Inquisition, I was sent forth to the next stop on my Quest.. |
|
|
Next: The dreaded “Nutritionist”. (It really sounds better if you add the “DUM-DAAH-DUMMM!). Like the black knight at the bridge, she declared that my eating and lifestyle habits “Shall NOT Pass!” With clipboard shield and sword like pen, she banished many of the things I loved with a barrage of pen strokes. Little things like food, flavor, calories, and the warm fuzzy feeling you get after snarfing plates of spaghetti were declared verboten. Alas, my poor familiar food pyramid (sweet, salty, greasy, and left-overs) crumpled like a deflated balloon, to now be replaced by lean meats, green veggies, and very little else. How could I have known that, like Superman, I, too, had my version of Kryptonite? In this case, mass produced carbohydrates (anything white and low in fiber- aka bread, pasta, potatos, rice, sugar, etc.) were bad for this Bard. And, unlike Superman’s deadly weakness, my personal Kryptonite did not have an ominous green glow. It does, however, come with lovely aromas and flavors….Sigh. With arched eyebrow, this sorceress placed a terrible curse upon me called “A Diet”. Which, very appropriately, has the word “DIE” in the middle of it. From there I fell into the clutches of the “Physical Therapist,” who attempted to get my frozen diabetic shoulder un-frozen. For those of you who don’t know what a Physical Therapist does, I assure you that this is an ancient art form and profession that dates right back to our good buddy Torquemada and the Inquisition. (Ya-dah-daaah) After I explained what a wrap-shot was and what a pell was, and just how I had done what I did to my shoulder, she shook her head sadly. I’m certain she was wondering just what kind of medieval moron had washed up on her shore. My physical therapist and I then had many lovely sessions where she painfully helped me rediscover the elusive “rotator cuff” and many other long forgotten lands, all of which involved agonizing exercises, lots of ibuprofen, and ice packs. Most quests have a “wandering in the wilderness forever” aspect, and, true to form, my journey has now taken me into the land of perdition. In this case, my land of perdition is called “The Gym” and my new triple headed foes are named “Cardio”, “Resistance”, and “Core”. I have never been a “Jock”; and growing up, my idea of a good workout was carrying stacks of paperback sci-fi/fantasy novels home from the library. Now, at 48, I am trying to ignore the sounds of the gym equipment snickering at me. Usually after a traditional Quest, our Hero finally comes back from some unknown land with all the nasty, icky stuff already done. It usually helps to come back to the family reunion all festooned with bags of treasure, interesting tattoos, stories and scars. In my case, the Quest unfortunately is still ongoing, and may be so, for a while. I’ll have to keep you posted. So far though, I’ve managed to lose 10 inches around my middle, and 50+ lbs. This of course, means my armor no longer fits quite like it used to, and sadly, I can’t just throw it on the sewing machine and take in a few inches. As far as treasure, well, I do have one observation I would like to offer: Have you noticed that many of your friends in the SCA are getting older? I don’t know what is happening out there, but somehow, magically between events, some of us are! Hairlines are receding, waists are expanding, and faces are becoming more “character laden.” When we see each other again, there’s the mixed feelings of, “Geez, hey, where the heck did all that gray come from?” Vs “Woohoo, they are still alive and playing! Yay!” I suspect that many of us are getting whomped by the “Old Age Fairy” in the parking lot. So, in traditional SCA style, I suggest we step up to the challenge. Let’s get into shape, armor up (with a healthier lifestyles), and kick the “Old Age Fairy’s” wrinkled arse to the curb. There are a million “No Bleep There I Was!” stories out there, and I for one, want to hear all the good ones! Blessings!
|
|
