Salt sweat stings my eyes and I blink. My hands grip the great sword’s handle as the perspiration fights against my palms on the leather wrapping. The long heavy blade turns and circles as I listen to Carl Orf’s Carmina Burana emanating from a cheap little CD player.
It ain’t fencing.
The blade thunks into the wooden post, and wood chips flick off. I let the weight and momentum of the six-foot weapon guide its path as it whistles and hisses through the air. Heavy hand weapons are all about movement and energy.
Arcs and angles; circles and curves; vectors of force; the geometry of battle. The music incites my rhythm.
Have you ever chopped down a tree with an ax?
Have you ever swung a sword as tall as yourself?
You’re missing out, I’m telling you.
I can get into lifting weights, stretching, and even jogging. Or I did (laughs). But there’s nothing else like this.
Just do me a favor, okay? Get some training first (for both tree chopping and sword swinging). I don’t want you to blame me for a traumatic injury.
Have you started reading my stories or book yet? Ah. I eagerly await your comments and ideas. Don’t leave me hanging, man.
Join us and become a Poor Fellow Soldier.