Monday Bacon: Fat, Drunk, and Stupid

Posted on June 27, 2016 by tosabarbell

I’ve written about this before. It bears repeating.

A few years ago, I started competing in Highland Games. Oh sure, I had done a Highlander a couple of  years before that in Texas. That was fun. People were awesome and I think I PR’d my deadlift that day out in the Texas heat. Matt was there, healing from his first bicep tear. So he was put to work, judging our group. And we learned that Matt judging a group that I’m competing in wasn’t going to happen again. Heh.

I came into the Games with help from the likes of Brittney Boswell (whom I get to compete with in Minnesota again in a few weeks and hopefully more often since she’s made the trek up north); Sara Fleming; the Icelandic duo of Svavar and Lilja, and many others who were both helpful AND competitive. I liked that. That’s when I got the bug that this throwing stuff might be for me.

My almost full Games was here in Waukesha where I got help from another group such as Craig Smith; KO, and Mark Valenti. Soooooo, not too shabby of a group of throwers. Heh. They encouraged me enough to make me want to do more and I tried to find as much video during that winter to try to figure out what this throwing stuff is aboot. (Old dog, new tricks. Yowzer.)

That March, after an AMAZING trip to Finland for Bigg’s Iceman Challenge with Champions League, we hit my first FULL Games down in Springfield, Il. We started out with this Sheaf thing. W!T!Fffffffffff! You want me to do what with a pitchfork? The whole thing was bizzarro and truth be told, I’m still trying to put some consistency to the event. Of course, out of the larger group of Women, I was first up. Uhhhh, no clue dudes. Maybe I could watch someone do it?

Nope. It’s go time. I think I cleared 10′. Maybe. Now, in the meantime, there were a few folks who took charge in helping the noobs with the Sheaf in hopes that we don’t kill them, or ourselves. I thought that was nice, even if their delivery was a little baffling to me. One person got really frustrated with me that I wasn’t listening to her. IT’S LIKE A CHECK MARK…JUST DO IT LIKE A CHECK MARK!!! (Which actually is STILL something I stay away from telling new throwers. Anyway.) While it wasn’t helpful, and I was more than a little baffled why she was getting so mad, I played nice. Cuz I’m the new kid, and I don’t know what I’m doing.

And guess what? The next year, I was still the new kid. Now, I was able to pick up on some things that were helpful in throwing and I had those awesome novice gains (GAINZZZZ) throughout that first season. But that didn’t mean I knew what I was doing NOR did it mean I “ruled the field” in any way whatsoever no matter how small the venue or how large the Games. That would be poor sportsmanship. That would be rude. That would be unacceptable.

Here’s why:

The Games field does not belong to one person and if it did, it would be to the Athletic Director who works tirelessly to let us just show up and play. If it did, it would belong to the fans. No matter how small or how large that group of folks are, they have invested their time to watch us play. If it did, it would belong to those judges who are most likely some of our pioneers in this sport and if you don’t know their names or how long they’ve built up Highland Games, you need to get on the Google and figure that shit out.

You need to talk to people. Hell, if I can talk to people, anyone can. I try to introduce myself to folks I don’t know. Most are pleasant, some aren’t. That’s on them. (I introduced myself to a man last year in Portland when we were standing around for the Sheaf challenge and I was needing a fork. He looked at me like I had two heads, like, why in the everlasting FOK would I talk to him. It was pretty awesome. And by awesome, I mean hey douche, don’t care if you’re a Pro thrower or not. If you’re not a decent person, you suck and I give less than half a shit which category your scores are posted in. True story.)

But most of all, I give respect to my fellow throwers. Whether you’re an elite/pro (hey I know, let’s just call the women Pro’s, k? Let’s just anti some couch change and make this a little more level playing field, k? Oh I know, budgets are tight but ya know what? The crowd like the women more, k?. Think I’m wrong? I’m not. Oh sure, there are many Pro’s out there that are quite awesome and some really nice eye candy-I’m talking to you Gilly- but the crowd see’s the gals turning those Cabers just like the big boys and that gets them ALLLLLL kinds of excited. k?) Anyway.

No, it doesn’t matter if you’re best or newest, you all get the same amount of respect. Now, I whill say that if you’re best, I’ll watch you a little closer and if an opportunity presents itself, I’ll ask a quick question and I am ALWAYS so thankful for their help. But if you’re newest, I’ll still holla out a, “Let’s go noob” before an attempt or shag their shit if they forget and always give them the benefit of the doubt if they act silly enough on the field that backs things up.

To. A. Point. If they’re not paying attention enough after a few events and we’re waiting a couple of minutes for every single one of their attempts, I’ll say something like, “just try to stay engaged, I know it’s a long day but the quicker we get through this the quicker you can hang with your friends or family.” There have been a couple of Games where we actually asked the judge to give a warning to an athlete because they kept wandering off while we were roasting in the heat waiting for them.

I know, all of this is new and fun. Putting on a little show before every attempt is fun for adults who never got enough attention in life. And we’re forced to stand there and watch it. Which is tons of fun for about never.

Look, at the end of the day, it’s up to the experienced to teach a little etiquette. That’s okay. It shows that the Highland Games isn’t just about throwing. It’s about showing respect. It’s about showing an ability to play nice with others. It’s about being amazed by OTHER PEOPLE’S ACCOMPLISHMENTS. (read: it’s not about you.) Encourage others to watch.

Watch how those who’ve been around for a few years behave. It’s likely they’re always ready to go for their attempt. It’s likely they’ll walk out even a little bit and grab the implement from the nice person shagging their shit. It’s likely they work the crowd and even put a smile on their face after a horrible throw (that one’s been the hardest for me to learn.) They support their other throwers. They play nice. They support their judge even when their judge is wrong. (Bwahahahhahaaaa, j/klol. Judges are never wrong silly.)

They are dialed in to their throwing without being dicks. Learn that. Don’t be a dick. (Also, please accept that folks dialed into their throwing is okay. They may not want to wear a Tiara from Claires for a good throw, they’re just happy enough to throw a PR. Okay?)

Here’s what you DON’T do, especially as a noob:

A. Bark at a Pro athlete. For anything. Ever. You may even be right in your idea of what “should” happen on a field. But you’re not. You’re so wrong and now you’re just an asshole who’s wrong and likely not to make friends with a Pro. (You should want to make friends with a Pro. Cuz they’re probably awesome and helpful and tons of fun in the beer tent.)

2. Tell someone how to throw. Look, here’s some harsh mommy words, “You’re a C, maybe B thrower at best. You’re just repeating stupid words that another noob doesn’t know how to perceive only to look like you know what you’re talking about. STFU.” 

III Do not ever, EVER, EVER, hit a Pro. Even if it’s in jest but not really because you connected and at it’s lightest, is so obnoxious and wrong in so many ways that you and I mostly likely have just become non-BFF’s for life. You will cross a line that is a one way ticket to dicksville. (And by the way, if you and I don’t have any relationship at all and you’ve thrown attitude on the field all day and THEN decide to put your hands on me, it is game on. I will drop you. I promise. I’m an old lady but have enough piss and vinegar flowing through my veins to unleash some pent up frustration and if you open that door, I will close it.) Hashtag true story.

4. DO NOT behave in a way that makes it torturous for your group to be around you. Do not disrespect the Highland Games. Do not teach others to bring attitude and disrespect to the Highland Games or those participating in them. Don’t pout. Don’t temper tantrum. Keep your fucking kilt on. If you don’t like wearing it, go compete in Track and Field. They throw and don’t wear kilts. What a great fit.

Come to the Games. Have fun. Get better each time out. Learn to fail on the field (I went 2-6 on the weights this weekend, soooooo, kinda like a weightlifting meet.) Learn to support others. Learn to lose. Learn to win. Learn to show respect.

Cuz fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life.

My name’s Pitt. And your ass ain’t talkin’ your way out of this shit.

Jules 

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Monday Bacon: Literature

Posted on June 13, 2016 by tosabarbell

It is a sad fact that, in general, folks don’t read enough these days. I blame Obama. And Carter.

Anyway.

I’d like to highlight my most recent read. It was entertaining and thought provoking. It evokes emotion like nothing I’ve read in a long time. While tragic, it remained light hearted and you just never knew what the next page would bring. That, my friends, is a good book.

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Andy Riley’s, Dawn of the Bunny Suicides is one in line of many highlighting this oft tragic event. It is sure to make you think from now on, while managing daily menial tasks, how your actions are affecting suicidal bunnies. Example:

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The Ozman just took his drivers test last week. He was doing great, but then almost got t-boned in an intersection because he failed to look left. He had his step-mom’s car so he said they were playing down the actual incident a bit. Heh. Anyway. Because of that, he gets to try again this week. He’ll be fine. I’m going to make sure he looks out for suicidal bunnies in cones though before he goes. And cars in intersections. I’m helpful that way.

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I’m not very good at going to the movies. Usually I’ll just fall asleep and I don’t like to pay $10 to take a nap. Matt and I decided to hit a Tuesday cheap night where all movies are $5. Cool deal. We sat in the bistro lounge where, when you push a button, they bring you all the food and drinks you want. VERY cool deal. Our tab was $85. So that’s the last budget movie we’ve been to. Live and learn, folks. It’s part of life.

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We go through the limes here at tosabarbell. Tell ya what, we’ll never get the scurvy in this house! Well, unless we run out of gin and tonics or brandy mules. Then we’ve got bigger problems than scurvy. Last Friday was hot. SO hot. Like, 80 something. How people bitch about winter and like the 80’s I’ll never know. Matt was on the road last week and caught an earlier flight home. He rolled in, hot as fok, and announced he was making a brandy mule. I was all, “Nooooooo, we’re almost out of limes and I want a gin and tonic when I’m done training!!!” So he ran to the store and got limes. Crisis averted.

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The kids and I lived in a cozy little town called Hutchinson in Minnesota. Our house was right off the country highway JUST as you entered town from the north which meant we saw people getting pulled over all the time because they were still going 80 and the speed limit changed to 30 parallel to our street. The city decided to build roundabouts to try to limit crashes on heavy intersections AND slow down those entering town.

The caveat was that this was the route truckers/haulers would use, including those extra long carrying the bases for windmills. The first convoy that came through, post roundaboot, and tried to maneuver the narrow passage immediately got stuck. Uhhhh, fail. They tore up the roundabout; the grass on the roundabout, and stopped all traffic for about two hours until they could get help.

A week later? Same thing. The next convoy did the exact same thing. Now, I am no windmill carrying convoy expert but if I were, I’d call ahead and say something to the effect of, “hey guys, don’t go on that roundabout. It’s a trap.”  So after it happened the third time (yes, there was a 3rd time. Wonders never cease) the route changed to a much longer, but straight, one from the west AND was given a police escort in town. It was very dramatic. But I still think of it whenever I see a windmill. Now I’ll think of that and suicidal bunnies. Life is strange.

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Call me Ismael! or something like that. I dunno. I never read Moby Dick. You could almost ask yourself how the bunny stayed alive in the ocean, found tape and situated himself on the snout of a whale. Don’t do that, it ruins the funny.

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Yesterday we went and watched Sue Hallen and Ruth Welding throw at a Masters track & field meet here in the Milwaukee area. Well, kinda. They started at 9 and I didn’t get out of bed until around 8 or so. I had to cook my food for the day and I made such amazing coffee that I had to sit down and enjoy it. At 10, I told the hubs it was uppy uppy time and then HE sat down with a cup of amazing coffee and by 10:45 I’m crackin’ the whip to get movin. So we only saw their weight for distance event which was still awesome. We also went and got some post throws food and beverages and had the most awesomely horrendous service that  I was pretty sure we were being punked. (Example: at one point, she came and asked us if we were ready for the bill. Pretty normal, right? The problem was that our food wasn’t out yet and we hadn’t been sitting there too long. The list goes on, but that one was a first for me.)

Lastly, but shirley not least:

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Now, hopefully the bunnycidals that wish to go this way know to attach themselves to Cabers being thrown by folks with last names such as Wilson; Vincent (pick one, doesn’t matter), or Crowley (may also use Steingraeber, also doesn’t matter.) They’re wasting their time if they pick one of mine, I haven’t turned a Caber yet this year. That may be more sad than suicidal bunnies. It’s a toss up.

At the end of the day, the mission is clear. We need to read more. I’m going to go out and get another Riley book. He has one called, “great lies to tell small kids.” I already love it. Stay tuned for a review.

Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.

Benjamin Franklin

 

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Monday Bacon: From The Beginning

Posted on June 6, 2016 by tosabarbell

beginning

When we had tosabarbell built up, I had very specific ideas on the energy I wanted. See, I had just spent two years in a gym where A. I loved it’s people; but B) I hated it’s energy. Oppressive. Aggressive. Mean. Abusive. I lost count of how many people, both regulars and visiting dignitaries, told me I needed to leave for my own good. They were right.

Anyway.

I wanted tosabarbell to be strong; you play here you work hard; understanding; stern yet calm; you learn; you apply; your coach is constantly learning; and it’s boundaries are firm but fair. Our walls were filled with plates and barbells and as I looked to fill it’s space without cluttering it up, I started looking for just the right picture. Oh sure, there are some very kick ass Arnold posters that you see here and there at true strength gyms. And they are awesome. There is a scene from Pumping Iron where he is posing in his last Mr. Olympia and looked at the camera with a smirk on his face. I love that look. I can’t find it in a poster though, only the one where his arms are spread as if he’s saying, “just look at all my glory.” That’s pretty cool. But, imo, a bit overdone in gyms. The smirk is gold, if I found that one I’d get it.

But then I came across this poster:

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Yup. That’s it. If you’ve seen any training videos out of tosabarbell, you’ve seen this poster. From the beginning, it’s been on the wall.

I grew up watching Muhammad Ali on the Wide World of Sports. His bantering with Howard Cosell is legendary and, I believe, some of the best television in the history of television. There were even some Saturday’s when my dad would have the luxury of an afternoon lounge and come watch with me. And this is where our parents can unintentionally impact our lives with one glib little statement. When Ali was on, touting himself as “the greatest”, Pastor John laughed and said something to the effect of ‘no one can call themselves the greatest, except for Muhammad Ali.’ 

BOOM! The respect my dad showed for Ali was impressive to me. Through hard work and a belief in oneself, you can achieve good things. Maybe even great things if you’re lucky enough.

That’s the energy I wanted, and still do, for tosabarbell. And I have it. Oh sure, there have been a few folks here and there where we’ve had to part ways for one reason or another. But at the end of the day, I protect the energy of my gym. If someone threatens that energy, they’re out. Sorry I’m not sorry. The people who train here are high in integrity and low in bullshit.

I believe I can honestly say that Muhammad Ali was one of my first sports role models. Now, I had absolutely no interest in boxing. Yes, it’s kick ass (boxer Scott LeDoux had a bar on the edge of Nordeast Minneapolis we would hit often. The upstairs was more ‘club’ but we’d head downstairs after grabbing a girly drink and listen to his stories. He was the shit and could portray boxing as a ballet mixed with a locker room brawl through his stories. I’m a lucky girl to be able to listen to them.) But I knew that the attitude and self worth that Ali gave himself was something to behold. Nothing I possessed until, probably, I hit 40 something.

And now he’s gone. Well, quite honestly, he’s been gone for a while for those of us not directly related. His lighting of the Olympic torch in Atlanta is embedded in many of us. The shaking; almost questioning look of the true G.O.A.T. It was heartbreaking for me to watch. But then I realized that it was actually a gift. Because we’re not always going to be who we are in our strongest moments and that’s okay. We’ll falter and if lucky enough, grow old. And right now, we don’t know what that will look like.

But those who love us will know. They’ll know what we “once were.” The attitude; the skill; the talent, and even the ego. They’ll remember. And maybe they’ll tuck a little bit of that attitude into their heart and let it come out in their own work. Because, I think, that’s what I do with those memories of Muhammad Ali looking straight into a camera telling the world that “…I’m in a world of my own.”

Ballsy. I like that. I’m confident you’re not surprised.

It’s not bragging if you can back it up.

Muhammad Ali

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Outrage

Posted on May 31, 2016 by tosabarbell

outrage1

I’m not talking about a zoo bound dead gorilla. Ever. JHMFC people, you are the media’s puppets.

That should outrage you. See, today everyone is outraged. I’ve seen the word on different social media posts no less than two dozen times. It’s only 11:00am and I slept in and the Americans are outraged. Not because our next President and leader of the free world will either be (imo) half of one of the most corrupt political couples in U.S. history (the Clinton’s make Francis and Claire look like Ricky and Lucy, srsly) or a bumbling, egomaniac that has the ego of Putin without the diabolical smarts. Either way?

Fucked. That’s outrageous. This is your country. What could Americans accomplish if their outrage was channeled towards making America better? We just won’t know, we’re too busy letting the media sway us onto benign topics and chewing on their bone for however many days they are told to keep us busy.

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Meet Za’layia Jenkins. She was 9. Sitting in her house watching television in Milwaukee when a shoot out opened outside her home. A shoot out. Not a cool, Kurt Russel’ish ‘AND HELLS COMING WITH ME’ shoot out but a real one. Where a little girl was shot and eventually died just because she was sitting in her house watching tv.

That, friends, should elicit outrage. That is outrageous. If each and every one of you fools who are ready to string up a mom for letting her kid out of her sight (like you NEVER have/did/would do) marched your asses over to North Milwaukee and were led by Sheriff Clark (we love him too) and said,

“No more. We are OUTRAGED that you are killing children in your own neighborhood. You’re DONE.” And that’s just north Milwaukee. Name any city and you’ll find that neighborhood where these outrageous things are happening every day.

Oh, and uhhhh, the elephant in the fucking room (I was going to say the ‘dead gorilla in the fucking room’…too soon?) is that pesky number of abortions in America since Roe v. Wade. Something along the lines of 59 million plus. Now, pro-life or pro-choice, don’t care. Really, I’ll respect your right to own a solid opinion on the matter. But your opinion doesn’t dismiss the fact that over 59 million babies have been aborted.

59 million babies. One gorilla.

Wow.

Living life through meme’s? Check.

Moral outrage on something that has no affect on you whatsoever? Check.

The media’s sheep? Check.

I find that outrageous. Absolutely outrageous. Today is a day to read a book. Or watch Soap Operas. Or mow my lawn by taking an eyebrow scissors and individually cutting each blade of grass at a time. But stay off social media (except to read this blog post of course). Because the amount of outrage makes me outraged. And I’m trying to be zen today. So piss off pretend gorilla lovers, you’ve done nothing in the way of furthering the species to date. Why start now?

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A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right.

Thomas Paine

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