SCA

Warning: Spoiler alert! There are articles here that have yet to be published elsewhere. All content copyrights belong to “True Thomas the Storyteller” (Robert Seutter) and/or the SCA. If you would like to re-publish these articles in your SCA newsletters, magazines, etc. please feel free to contact THL Thomas Whitehart (True) and he’ll be glad to help you.

• ABC-SCA, The SCA Alphabet Primer
• A Shield Wall of One!
• Bad-Bard, Bad-Bard, Whatcha' Gonna Do?
• Born in the SCA
• Crag's Lyst, (April Foolish!)
• The Medieval Diner
• Sunny Valhalla SCA Retirement Home
• Secret Stratagems
• Siege Towers 101
• The Boke of the Dyseases le SCadyian
• The Fyne Art of Combat Brewing
• True’s Glossary of…EVIL!, Version 3.0!
• Happy Hanu-Kwana-Solsti-rismas!
• The Fyne art of Feast Warfare
• SCA Heraldic Zodiac Bling
• Welcome to the New Middle Aged-ness
• The Fyne Art of Picking a Nemesis
• A Visit From Sir Sven A Claus

• Class Handouts

Upon the Nature of Quests…

Or

Welcome to the New Middle Aged-ness

By: THL Thomas Whitehart

Lately, I’ve been pondering the nature of quests, epics, adventures, what have you. Have you ever noticed that quests tend to make for great movies and entertaining reading (if good), but tend to suck verily if you happen to be the one in the middle of it?

My theory is, that if we could reach into one of these epics, and offer the great heroes the alternative of sitting in front of the telly, with a cool drink and a bag of munchies, I’m fairly certain the only fighting that would occur afterward would be for “the wand of power.” Adventures, I think, tend to be thrust upon us. One of my favorite sayings goes like this: “God never closes a door, but he throws you out a window.” Not too long ago, I too, was thrown out the “metaphorical” window. And so (with your kind indulgence) I too, have a quest to relate!

“Hark ye well, and lend me your ears…errr…eyes for…

“The Saga of the Missing Feet”

My quest, like all good quests, is fraught with peril, temptation, and danger, and it took some serious prodding. 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 Indian woman with a medical degree and a syringe the size of pole-arm. After many pokings and proddings worthy of any good medieval inquisition, I was sent forth to the next stop on my quest. To face 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 a plate of spaghetti were declared verboten. Alas, my food pyramid (sweet, salty, greasy, and left-overs) crumpled like a deflated balloon, and was replaced by a nasty speed bump of lean meats, green veggies, some fruit, and 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, potatoes, rice, sugar, etc.) were bad for this bard. And, unlike Superman’s deadly weakness, my personal kryptonite does 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 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 rap-shot was, and what a pell was, and just how I had done what I did, 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 re-discover the elusive “rotator cuff” and many other long forgotten lands, all of which involved agonizing exercises, and 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 work out was carrying stacks of paperback sci-fi/fantasy novels 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 comes back from unknown lands, and all the nasty, icky stuff is already done. It helps to come back to the village, 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 when it happened, 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 that mixed feeling 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 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!

THL Thomas “dieting doth sucketh verily” Whitehart is also known as “True Thomas the Storyteller.”