The Caber

I hate The Caber.

The Caber is my worst event by far.  It is the one event which, after three years of competing more or less, I still have yet to actually complete it (e.g. make a turn). 

The Caber is a beast.  It is 70-110 lbs and 16- 18 feet (depending on what game you are at for my age group) of wood staring you in the face.  Sometimes they are rubbed smooth, sometimes they are covered in fibrous bark (mostly cedar where I am) which comes off in your hands and on your face when you try to throw. 

And they are alive.  They have nubs and stubs that will scratch and tear at you when you try to throw them. They will cut you and rasp you, leaving marks on your neck or cheek (or even your ear) that will be with you long after the initial throw is gone.  They even, in some cases, will try to break your bones if given the opportunity.

For me the Caber is a mental challenge every time I throw it.  I can hear the dialogue in my head as I step up:  "Okay, this time we are going to do it.  It is big, but you are bigger.  You can do this."  I grasp the caber in my hands, wedge it against my neck, and slowly begin to work my way down the shaft.  There at the bottom I wait for a few moments, trying to see how it feels.  One, Two Three:  Pull with my shoulder and neck and scoop with my hands.

It is at that moment that you know whether or not you have a good pick.  With a good one, the caber is more or less balanced upright; with a bad one it is pulling back and around and over trying to reach back to the ground as quickly as possible.

It probably goes without saying that I seldom have good picks.

And thus the dialogue in my head as I get ready:  I have done this before, I not done this well before, and this is going to be just like the other times.  I can almost feel the Caber falling even as I am reaching down to try to grab it.

There is only one way through this, of course:  turn the Caber this year.  It is hard, but there are plenty of people that weigh just as much as I do that are doing it.  It is not a matter of matter so much as it is a matter of mind.

The Caber is waiting for another season, growling to come and get it.

Cuts and scrapes and rasps aside, I am coming.