First, let me apologize for abandoning you last week. You see, I had the Norovirus, and I was only capable of sleeping and cosplaying as a gargoyle, so I didn't have much drive or desire to write pithy things about a tiny sport. No, no, I spent my time brushing my teeth and watching YouTube documentaries about JRR Tolkien's life. It also meant I missed two league nights (Wednesday and Thursday), which I don't believe I've done since going to Iceland last June. Fortunately, I was able to make up those missed matches on Saturday, but going from some sort of vom-wyrm to a fully-functioning axe thrower isn't the best, and I felt shakey as hell in the lane. But, you know, I did well.
And, frankly, I did pretty well the whole season. Not the greatest (we have some powerhouses in that league, and I also wasn't throwing my very best), but pretty well.
And then I looked at where I was falling in the ol' roster. the ol' roll call. the OOOOOOOLLLLL' league standings:
5th.
And like, fifth is perfectly fine, espesh in a big (for the meadery) league, espesh with Bob, Otterguy, Russian and Brian taking the 1-4. Espesh, Espesh. Just say it once. Espesh. It's fun.
But it didn't feel like a 5th place run to me. It felt like, I dunno? Maybe a 3rd place run? And that's where I tripped myself up, I think. I had an expectation. an Axpectation. and that kinda stuff is almost never a good idea.
Put on your stoicism hats, we're gonna talk about pseudo philosophy.
Don't hope for the best, and don't expect the worst, either. Just kinda do your best and accept the worst.
This sport is a mix of muscle memory, endurance, and consistency. If you nail down those elements, you'll do better than many. But, as is ever true: your body will betray you. You'll have a tiny ache or your brainbits will be distracted thinking about the video where little ocean puppies are singing Kissed By A Rose or whatever.
And those little variances will mess up your ability to be consistent. And that leads to big frustrations, Freddy. It leads to agitation, Alice.
Naturally, when I do poorly in a league, I get a little - well, I don't know if retrospective is the word, but I do get a little quiet in myself. I think about how much I practice (if it's enough?), I think about how many thousands of words I've written about this sport and if I'm just a big phony. And then I find myself spiraling into that delicious mindset of "well, maybe I've peaked?"
And maybe a pint of ice cream and a few hours of self loathing later, I'm no better as an axe thrower, and I have a tummy ache.
So, to avoid that delightful self-pity-party, I just try to remember that, you know, this is supposed to be fun. I don't lose my house if I don't do well in a league. I try to do my best, and if that isn't enough, it's whatever. I've fortunately got my "well, this blows" energy down to about a three-minute duration after a match, and that's pretty good. I'm working on getting it down to a 5 second turnaround, but we all have room for improvement, no?
All of this to say: I have goals. I keep track of 'em. But I don't agonize over every step forward or staggering step back. I'm trying to enjoy the journey, as it were, and reduce the axpectations I have on myself to simply this: laugh as much as you can, and have fun regardless of whether you're winning or losing.
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