My freshman year in college, I was at a school that had a Swords group. While they were admittedly not made of metal, that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt when you got hit. Anyway, we did a bunch of practice fights, alone and in groups. One group fight had me and a few friends against a couple of other people–also friends, but ‘opponents’. People got scattered or beaten until I and one of my friends remained against three opponents. Then my friend slipped on some slick, wet grass. I saw the hunger in my opponents’ eyes as they began to swoop in for the ‘kill’. I knew what I had to do–fight them off until my friend could get her feet back under her again.
So I stood over her, weapon in hand, to face three of them. The exact strikes, counter-attacks, parries and ripostes are not particularly memorable. What is memorable, however, is delivering opportunistic hit after hit on my foes, not giving up ground, twisting away from attacks and realizing as my friend got back up that her pursuers had all been downed, beaten by my blade.

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Well, to get to the bottom was an adventure in and of itself. Any time you walk eight miles out and one mile down in a rock canyon in summer…that’s an adventure. It’s gorgeous, and as much as anything else, the soaking of feet is a goal preceded by “take multiple digital-camera cards worth of pictures inside the Grand Canyon”, “walk across the bridge to the cabins at the bottom of the Grand Canyon”, and other excellent ‘tasks’. But as awe-inspiring and beautiful as it was, it didn’t really sink in until the next morning, nursing sore legs and feet and soaking in the surprisingly-cold stream that it hit me: I was one of a million people to have ever gone to the bottom…and it was absolutely criminal more people haven’t been graced with such an amazing adventure.

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A few years ago, we went down to Florida to see some family members on my mom’s side that I didn’t know existed. Y’know how there’s boring old folks and cool old folks? These were the second kind. Anyway, we go out deep-sea fishing with my great-uncle George, and talk about a lot of stuff. I caught some big fish, he caught some big fish…and then a story so ridiculous I swear it belongs in hollywood.
My brother hadn’t caught a thing all day. Watching us get fish just got him bummed out at not getting anything. The day’s wrapping up and they say to pull in your line, we’re heading back. I do, my great-uncle does, and my brother starts to…and then his rod just about bends double. The boat crew ask my brother to reel his line in, and he says he is, that there’s something stuck on it. It takes two or three people, but we finally bring in the biggest catch all day.

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Well, I was on vacation in pennsylvania with the family, and we went whitewater rafting. On a previous set of rapids, I flew out of the raft. Tried to reach back for the raft, couldn’t get there. Someone extended a paddle to me, but my soaking-wet hand couldn’t get a grip. I slid away from the raft, going down the current, and all of a sudden I see these boulders. I’d been told “don’t plant your feet. The only easy way to die rafting is to get your feet stuck in the bottom and have the river pull you face-down and drown you that way.” So I’m floating down the rapids, hands out to keep me from hitting any boulders. Turns out I negotiated the rapids pretty well–better than some of the rafts, which flipped or ejected passengers. I didn’t end up out of the raft the rest of the trip, but that was one experience I’ll never forget.

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This is a project that I think you will like.

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