On Giving Up Throwing

So I am going to stop throwing in Highland Games.

I originally starting throwing in 2012.  It was something that I had wanted to do since the mid 1990's, but never thought I could because (frankly) I thought I lacked the body weight and strength to do it.  And so I delayed for another 15 years or so until we moved and and I saw a posting for "Throw in Highland Games" and I said "why not?"

I found I quite enjoyed them, much more for the people than the any actual athletic ability I demonstrated.  They were not the sort of people I would have "naturally" interacted or made friends with, but I found them to be engaging. It made for a great day.

My involvement gradually increased as time went on - I think my busiest year was around 2016, when I threw in 13 games, I got volunteered in a local group, I attended regular practices.  I was a throwing fool.

And then, as things always do, they changed.

Part of it was simply that I found that getting up early, driving on average 2-3 hours to throw for 8-10 hours, and then drive back 2-3 hours, was exhausting and detracted from the overall fun of the event.  I pulled my involvement in to games that were no more than 2 hours away.  

Part of it - an exciting part for the sport overall - is that it is becoming a more popular sport.  That is great for everyone throwing in it; it is less good when you are at best a mediocre thrower with limited upward mobility.  While the point is not ranking, it does kind of detract from the competition aspect.

Part of it was the fact that as my involvement in Iai grew, so did my training and practice of it.  At some point, one can really focus on a limited number of things.  A choice was made for Iai (both because I enjoyed it and frankly, I could go to Japan to train), which curtailed my throwing even further.

And then, of course, The Plague hit.  Festivals ground to a halt in 2020 and most of 2021, only really restarting this year.  My limited throwing range was even more limited.  Add to that the fact that I started going to The Ranch to see my parents effectively two Saturdays a month (and the other two for Iai class) and either I threw on Sunday or had to miss Iai to do it.

I have thrown twice this year:  once in Spring and once about a month ago.  Which brings us to the final point of decision.

I apparently did something to my right shoulder when I was throwing last month - I do not know for what event (my guess is the Heavy Weight for Distance, a 42 lbs. flying extravaganza), but it manifested itself over the next two days.  And then every day thereafter.  Now, I have had to lessen my weight training and train far more deliberately with Iai - and it both cases, far less heavy that I would like.

My future, if I stick with the Highland Games, is not great.  I am not a great thrower and with so many talented athletes in the mix now, I am not really going to advance.  But more importantly, if I am tearing my body up for something I do a few days a years which prevents me from things I do every week on multiple days, that is not a reasonable tradeoff at all.  People practice Iai and train in weights well into the 80's and 90's.  Most throwers barely make their 60's, if that.

I do not know that I have ever been this deliberate about giving something up before.  It is an odd feeling.  But having made it, I will follow through.  I have one more game this year that is terribly local. I  will go out, throw, have fun (and take it easy on the 42 lbs. weight), and be done.   With new people entering the sport all the time, selling my equipment should not be an issue.

It is always good to try things you have never done and enjoy them.  But I suspect it is also good to be able to give something up at your own choosing, rather than delaying until something awful happens.

"Thick"

As I mentioned yesterday, one of the true pleasures of getting back to the Highland Games after effectively a 3 year absence is being able to see any number of people you have not seen in a while.  When greeting each other for anyone you have thrown with more than one game, you typically hug.  That is the way it is done.  In the process of greeting and hugging, more than one of my friends with whom I have thrown for years but not seen recently was "Man, you are thick".

"Thick" is not the way it sounds.

The term is used to describe someone in the weight lifting, power lifting, or Highland Games community (or really, I suppose, any strength based sport) to describe status of one's core and torso.  To be "thick" means you have put on muscle in your chest, upper and lower back, and abdomen. It means at some level you are stronger than you were the last time someone saw you, just because (by default) you added mass.

In other words, "thick" is not "fat".  "Thick" is a compliment.

It implies a lot of other things as well:  That you have been putting in the work - and "work" here means training in the gym.  There is probably some implication of eating right here as well.  And training.  That there is lots and lots of training going on in the background.

It strikes me as odd as I think about it that so much meaning can be poured into a single word which no-one really "explains" but one just comes to understand by association.  It is not quite a secret language - after all, someone could look hear the expression of "thick" and look at someone from the side and think "yes, they do look a bit wide", trying to surreptitiously measure someone with their hands while carefully appears not to do so.  What would be missing from the measurement would be all that the word implies, evidenced by the knowing smile between the two exchanging the word while the spectator is trying to measure others to see how "thick" they are.

The other thing that - genuinely - surprises me is that how, in my mid-fifties, I am still vain enough that I am incredibly pleased to hear it.  Yes, I train for any number of reasons which do not involve directly my personal appearance - but the inside teenager me that was unathletic and not strong giggles with glee.  The fact that those "in the know" would notice such a thing makes me internally giggle all the more.

As the saying goes "Be not afraid of going slowly, be afraid only of standing still".

Going Throwing

 

This weekend I threw in a Highland Games.

This is my second games of the year, and only my third game since 2019. Between The Plague and traveling back to Old Home more often,  there have been less games and I have been gone more to The Ranch.  Also, I suppose to be fair, I am not nearly as excited about driving long distances to throw (when I say "Drive " I mean get up before the crack of down, drive 3-4 hours, throw, then drive 3-4 hours home in a day).  But this was one of the close ones, and so I went.  

I suspected this at the Games I did last month, but I forget how much I love throwing.

To be clear, I am at best a mediocre athlete.  My numbers are not anything in particular to get excited about nor will they ever take me to Masters' Worlds, unless I can hold out until 60 (at which time there are no qualifying throws because there are not that many over 60's throwing.  Right now.  With my luck, it will happen).  That said, my numbers were at least within striking range of my personal records ("PR" for those not in the know), which is always good.  For example, in the Weight Above Bar event (Tossing a 42 lbs. weight straight up and over a bar), I hit 10', which is my PR and which I have not actually been near in almost three years now.  

But what I really miss is the people.

I have said it before - and any Highland Gamer will tell you - that the people really make the event.  We are an odd association:  strongmen and power lifters that are looking for a new challenge, track and field athletes that after college had nowhere to go, those that are interested in things Scottish, and people that just like doing a fringe sport.  It is in fact a competition, but is a very good natured one:  athletes will constantly offer advice to their competitors on how to improve (name another sport that happens in!).  And seeing these people periodically over the years, every event becomes an effective small sort of family reunion.  It is a river of people constantly coming and going, being away for a while and returning.  And it was very good to see people I have not seen in a long time.

For me, the other thing is simply being in the Games.

There is something almost magical that happens when you are on the field competing:  you are a Highland Athlete.  It does not matter how good or bad you are, or even how often you throw.  You are a Highland Athlete.  You are the entertainment.  You are the one on the other side of the bleachers, that people are watching and cheering on.  You are doing something 99.9% of the population will never do, and somehow in doing so become somewhat mythical to many people when they hear you do them (even if, as is true of me, you are mediocre).

To be frank, it is a bit hypnotic even to me.

We will see how I feel tomorrow - even with only 9 events and somewhere between 24 and 33 throws for all events (for me), I am a bit sore.  But it is a good sore, the sore of hard day of doing something I love to do.

Who knows, I may even break down and start practicing.

2018 Throwing Done

This weekend we had the last of the 2018 Highland Games, at least for me (and most of us in this part of the country).  Surprising as it may sound, I still managed to get a PR in Light (16 lbs) Hammer:  61' 2", an increase of 1' 2".

It was a somewhat strange for throwing, this year.  To be frank, my heart was not necessarily in it so my throwing was pretty inconsistent.  I was on and off about attending games and practicing was virtually non-extant.

Still, to put it into context, my score in 2012 was about 1500.  My score this year (not completely finished yet) stands at around 3800 with two games left to be entered.

But every time I go, I am reminded of why I go:  the people.  In a world of social media "friends" and relationships that do not last the next new job or next move, these are your family, the family you never knew you had until you met them.  These are the ones that care - actually care, not just kind of.  These are the sorts of folks the best stories are made with: the road trips, the overnight drives, the throwing in the rain and snow and lightning and heat - and then reliving everything in the story.

As The Viking and I drove home after the game, we were analyzing how we did.  "You have enough power"  he said, "we just need to work your technique."

At this point in my life, the fact that there is still the hope of any improvement - let alone great improvement - is a heady thing.

Heavy Weight For Distance

Making the weight fly,matter breaks gravity's bonds
for a brief instant.

(And I swung a 7" PR out of it as well.  Huzzah!)

The Relentless Pursuit of the Unattainable

This weekend was the Kickoff of the 2016 Highland Games Season.  In some ways it probably functions just as the old Games 700 years ago did:  coming out from the Winter, seeing friends you have not seen in four to five months, brushing the dust off and trying to throw again.

My game has not wholly failed me - I got two minor PRs, one in Heavy Weight for Distance and one in Heavy Hammer (both of which are super sweet because the heavy events are the most adverse to people with my weight) and came super close to 18' Sheaf above bar, smacking off the bottom of the bar three times (which will be mine next year).  Other throws were, for the most part, where they probably needed to be (except for Braemar Stone, which was a heavy nasty 24 lb lumpy mess that had no handle and did not fly so much as waddled through the air).  It was a rather satisfactory beginning to the season.

But that was not the important thing.

The thought struck me, as I was standing under the bar for Weight Above Bar preparing to swing the weight, that really Highland Games was no different from Iaijustsu or Weight Lifting:  a series of prescribed motions that we repeat over and over, attempt to get them better.  Progress is occasionally measured in large bumps but more often in the small forward motions of inches or slightly improved form:  the sword held at the correct height, the back that is where it should be on a deadlift, the drop after going down but before up on Weight Above Bar right after the weight becomes weightless (yes, it is a thing).

We are chasing the Unattainable.

We are chasing perfection of form and execution.  In a sense, there is never an ending place to where one can be with these things - or almost anything, actually.  There is only the continued to work to make one's self adhere closer to the standard, of seeing things become more and more elegant and beautiful and appear as if no effort is expended when in fact the effort has been channeled into perfect motions and movement.  We may never reach it, but we are always trying.

My Weight Above Bar only hit 9 feet.  My PR is 10 feet.  My goal is 12 feet.  But that is okay.

I have all season to pursue it.

Why I Throw

Yesterday I had the purest form of Highland Games I have every participated in.

It was in a pasture owned by someone who, for his birthday, decided he wanted to have Highland Games.  The competitors were all known to each other, all Masters (over 40).  There were only a few friends of the birthday man there to watch - no crowds, no announcer, just 7 throwers (5 men, 2 women) under warm November skies in a pasture.  One trig to throw from, one set of standards to throw over.  That and the implements were all.

It was the greatest of all throwing days.

Why?  Because this was the very origin of the Highland Games themselves:   friends and associates coming together to throw to challenge themselves and each other to feats of strength.  No glory but in achievements, no cheers but that of their friends.  No prizes but of the simplest sort - except the badge of participation, which is ultimately all any Highland athlete can lay claim to.

People sometimes ask me why I throw.  I am certainly neither the youngest nor the strongest on the field. And it is seldom that I walk away from the field with more than a t-shirt to show I participated.  There is little glory to be gained and certainly no prize money to be had.

I throw because I can.

I throw because 99.9% of the world will never do what I do - for many, they would never dream of trying what I am doing.  I throw because every time I hurl a stone or weight or line up to a caber, I am trying to better myself, become a little more excellent.  I am trying to achieve a little bit more.

And I am surrounded by people doing exactly the same thing.  Seeking to better themselves, to become more excellent at what they do as well.

And we all do it in one big happy group, full of jokes (sometimes coarse) and jeers.  And underlying it all, a sense of brotherhood.  And (if you asked them to look deep down in their souls) love.

We came to celebrate our friend.  And we came to do what we love - not for money, not for glory, but for greatness.  For greatness in ourselves.  For the greatness we see in our friends when they throw.

I went home with a roll of athletic tape and a container of deer chili.  And a mind full of memories of doing something I love so very much with the people I love.

It was a very good day.

Throwing Life

Returned from throwing;
my real life still here.
Can both not combine?

Returned From Throwing

Returned from Throwing:
Do my joints pop more or
does the house creak more?

Gone Throwing

Today I leave for a weekend of throwing.

Well, really a two days of helping and a day of throwing, plus set up and break down.  My reward for this endeavor?  Heat, sweat, a floor to sleep on, a ride to and from, water, snacks, and a shirt suitable for wearing.

Oh, and seeing the best group of people of the world.  And pushing the heck out of myself to try.

I am badly in need of a weekend such as this, a weekend where I can cast aside all responsibilities and all concerns and just be a guy there to help and see his friends and go and throw things.  It is a luxury almost, the luxury of  being one's self in the midst of friends being themselves to throwing and laughing and the speaking of smack.

On the other side of this, of course, I will probably be completely exhausted, bearing some sort of unusual sunburn, and creaking around all Monday morning.  But it will be totally worth it - after all, how often can a man say he has spent a weekend doing what he truly loves, and all of it for the price of a little effort.

Hard and Difficult

There is a significant difference between hard and difficult.

This difference is subtle and slight to the unknowing mind - so much so, in fact, that many people confuse one for the other.  I have missed for years until it clicked for me yesterday.

"Hard" is what the simple or lazy or uneducated call something which they cannot either believe themselves to do or understand how it is done.  It is an easy enough thing to say and is some ways is a generalization of all we do not believe possible:  "It is hard."  With these three words, many people banish themselves from the realm of being able to accomplish anything at all.

Why?  Because, in our mind, if something is hard, that means it is not easy.  And not easy is something that most people do not like to do.  We want simple steps to improvement or success or goals.  When they escape us in either conception or application, when they look they may require effort or education or time, we too often simply say "It is hard".

Difficult is what the educated and understanding call something which they do not know how to do at the moment or do not understand how it is done.  They understand that the only thing standing between themselves and accomplishment is learning and practice.  "Difficult" implies that there are a number of things to do or steps to take to master something, but it is not impossible.  It can be learned and it can be done.

My example, the moment of clarity that brought this to light?  Yesterday, throwing the caber.

Hard:  Those that do not know or will not learn look at throwing the caber and thing "It is hard.  It is a telephone size pole that looks long and heavy, much heavier than I can lift.  And besides, the people throwing it are so much bigger and stronger than I could ever be."

Difficult:  Those that will learn and want to achieve say "It is difficult.  It looks long and heavy, but obviously people are doing it.  They may be strong and big, but surely that is not impossible and is not the only key to succeeding."  And after they look into it, they find three factors:

1) The Caber:  Cabers differ at every game.  They are different lengths, widths, woods and surfaces with different tapers and different size heads.  Each one is unique; therefore to learn to throw one must be more than becoming expert on a single one.

2)  The Condition of the Caber:  Wet cabers are slick and heavy.  Cracked cabers may pinch you, cabers which have not been smoothed can tear you up with the small extrusions and cabers that have not been debarked  may create an odd surface to grip.

3)  The Conditions:  Rain makes a caber slick and heavy (and the ground muddy as well).  Ground with holes make an obstacle course.  Throwing downhill is better than throwing uphill.  And a windy day will shift the caber as you stand and pick it (after all, you have it 15 to 20 feet in the air) and can make it very difficult to pick and pull.

Those are the factors.  The actual mechanics - pick, move, pull - are the same no matter what caber.

But to those that will simply not try or learn, all this is merely hard.  It is only in the willingness to learn and the motivation to succeed that we learn that they are difficult - but not impossible.

Off to Throw - Results

So how did I do in throwing this weekend?

A lot better than I expected.  I got two PRs - one in Heavy Weight for Distance (18' 6", previous record 18' 4") and a giant one in Light Weight for Distance (30' even, previous record 28' 3").  I also got three moral victories - a throw of 20' 6" on a Braemar with my record being 20' 7" on a much smaller Braemar, 2 picks and pulls on a 15' 9" caber for 20 degrees and 34 degrees which completely confounded me a month ago, and shooting for a 20' sheaf and getting close to 18' (my record is 16', so I was trying for 25% above what I have done before).  Open Stone was consistent, and Weight Above Bar - well, I got a mark but the less said about that the better.

All in all it was a wonderful weekend - got to see a ton of people that I like and be useful in helping.  I also got the privilege - once again - of actually being part of something much grander than myself.

The best moment for me occurred during throwing on Sunday, when, as I was making a trip to the bathroom, a young woman caught my eye and said "You guys are really cool".  I thanked her.

Be thanked for being a Heavy Athlete - good heavens, for being an athlete at all - and bringing joy to others.  I never thought I would see the day.

End of Season

So the Highland Games season officially ended for me on Saturday.  Overall I was happy with my results -afte.r an abysmal no height in Weight Above Bar (Came in at 9' and missed, should have come in 8') I went on to get three Personal Records:  Braemar Stone (20'7"), Heavy Weight for Distance (18'4"), and Light Hammer (51' 5.5").  Out of seven total events, that is not too bad.

I ended the year by exceeding all nine event Personal Records that I started with in 2014 - in some cases, more than once.  Just for fun I looked back at 2011:  For example, in 2011 at my first games my Heavy Weight for Distance was 9'5", my Light Hammer was 41' 10", and my Weight Above Bar was 8' (I hit 10' this year).  That reaches one of my goals for the year and makes me feel like - overall - I am making progress in this sport.

It also makes me feel surprisingly good about myself in the sense that I can legitimately claim the title of "Athlete".  This is not something that I had anticipated happening at my age - at all, actually.  But here I am, actually doing a sport and even making progress in it.  I am realistic in the assessment that I will probably never be truly competitive in the sport, but since this has never been a barrier for me to do anything else, there is not reason that I should start no.

I have had a lot of side benefits as well:  meeting a lot of really great people whom I now count as my friends, getting to go all over the State to compete (goal for next year is to try one game outside of this State), and overall improving my health:  what's not to like about that?

What next?  Off season, of course.

Which means training for next season starts today.

Turning a Caber

The air is warm and the sun beats down as I settle the caber against my shoulder.

It is our local city games and we are throwing the challenge caber, a 12 foot 65-75 pound blue plug of wood.  If you turn the caber - get it completely end over end- you can advance to the next level.  This is my great challenge - in three years and 20 plus games, I have never legitimately turned a caber.

I keep working my way my way down the shaft of the caber, fingers locked together and the caber standing almost straight upright.  My head is locking it into my neck and my legs are out to the side as I bend lower and lower.  The caber shifts back and forth with the breeze or my actions and I have to wait and settle it back into position.

Finally I get to the near the bottom.  Proper technique is to get your hands to the bottom, give a short lift with your head and shoulder, and scoop your hands under the base.  I cheat this a little bit:  I pull up and then get my hands in position.  Fortunately the caber is light enough and forgiving enough that I can get away with it.  My hands are not locked but are on the bottom.  Close enough.

I pull up and stand up, remembering to mash it into my shoulder the way I was told to do.  The base of the caber is now up at waist level, the head probably 15 feet in the air.  The Athletic Director who is announcing has said something and the crowd  is making some noise but it is all background noise to me.  My world is now a blue piece of wood I have to make fly.

I start running forward.  There is no defined distance except that you have to demonstrate forward motion.  I cannot tell how far I have run but I do not think it is far.  I stop.  The caber starts to fall forward.  I take my hands and pull them up to my crown as the caber head falls.  The end of the caber rises and the head hits the ground.

And I start yelling.

All of my frustration for three years of trying, all of the times I said I could not or believed I could not, all of the times circumstances were against me when they should not have been - all of this I channel into my yell, willing the caber over with my sonic emotions.

And over it goes, making a small "poof" of dust as it hits.

The crowd breaks out into cheers.  My fellow athletes - especially the ones who know how I have struggled with this - cheer.  I am jumping up and down, screaming like a madman.  And not caring.

Today I turned my first caber.

Today was a very good day.

Picking Cabers

One of the surprisingly great things about Highland Athletics is simply what you can learn about yourself in the course of throwing things.

Yesterday, for example, I managed to get three perfect picks on the challenge caber.  I do not believe I have ever had three legitimate picks on any caber that in which I got it to the point of throwing, even if I failed to have a full turn.  In the course of these picks everything went right:  the caber was balanced, I got low, and I scooped it from the bottom.  All of this with an actual crowd cheering for me.

The focus is what surprised me:  that in the midst of sun, cheering, and my general concerns about lifting the caber in the first place (the event I struggle the most with) I was able to start the first part of the process.

I have a great deal of work still to do, of course, such as overcoming that initial moment of realizing that I have picked the caber and what the heck do I do next and remembering the timing of the caber (you have to pull it sooner than you think you do).  But if I look back to three years ago when I first threw a caber at this venue - my very first games - and see the improvement over time - I can be nothing but amazed at my generally un-athletic self.  I can see improvement.  And it is measurable.

And I remind myself once again that I can do far more than I think I am capable of - if only I can focus.

Caber

Rough under fingers,
rising up in grainy bliss,
breaker of spirits.