Emotions: the one thing all of us have, and none of us fully understand. Much like imagining a hippopotamus putting on a pair of pants, the more you think about it, the more questions you're left with.
But if there's one thing this blog refuses to shy away from, it's the dopamine release of viewership. With that in mind, I present to you, dear reader, the worst feelings in axe throwing.
WRONG FOOTWEAR
I don't know if this is true of everyone out there in the throwoverse, but I have a very particular pair of boots I wear when I throw (Vans MTE-2), and I've worn them for the better part of 2 years. I try not to dwell on it, but I believe when the time comes and I have to move on to a new pair of shoes, my entire understanding of the world will implode around me, and I'll experience ego death.
Just so you understand what's going on with me.
So far the Vans are doing swell, though, despite having an odor somewhere between wet mascot and the scent behind Gollum's ear. EVEN SO - I forgot my Vans weren't on my feet exactly twice in my throwing career, and those, friend, were the darkest of times.
I don't remember if my throwing was affected, but my brain certainly was. I felt like my height was all off, I wasn't confident in my slipping-to-not-slipping ratios, and when your toe-box feels off, man, forget it.
THAT JUST-RELEASED-THE-AXE-BUT-KNOW-IT'S-BAD FEELING
You know what I'm talking about. The effed up throw which, as soon as it's released from your dumb effing mitt, you feel in your bones is wrong.
I think this is a universal truth in axe throwing. And I can safely say that after a few years, it never feels any better - it's always the same level of deep disappointment in yourself, the universe, and the day you decided to throw axes. Fortunately, I've also found the half life of this feeling is pretty quick. Imagine it as the psychic version of stubbing your toe. Hurts like hell, but then you're back on your shit.
THE DROP
This one is nuanced, and the only true indicator, to me, of how a person has advanced in the sport. When you drop as a newer thrower, you kinda get frustrated by the volume, perhaps, of drops. One or two is fine, but when you get to an entire match of drops, you start feeling desperate.
After a few leagues, a drop becomes something more like a foul ball. You can see the potential of what that throw could have been, but it doesn't happen all that often, so you take it as a fluke and keep going with the match.
When you've got a bunch of leagues and tourneys under your belt, a dropped axe is as if you saw the face of God and it was weeping. It's stunning. It makes you doubt the laws that control our existence. It blows.
I will say that sometimes a dropped axe means nothing to me. It's an aberration and is best ignored. But in a particular close match with an equally-talented thrower, a dropped axe feels like you've upset an old god who, to prove her point, is deciding your fate.
I react to a dropped axe now in the same way I imagine I'd react to seeing a anteater in a top hat selling flowers on the street corner: confusion, disbelief, then acceptance.
SLIPPIN'
I don't know about your axe house, but I've experienced it a few times at the meadery and a few times in Baltimore: the slips. The slippy bipps. And it's not so much a matter of the actual moment, it's the fear living deep inside your bones after it's happened. Like, will it happen again?
Will every throw be a slippy lil' fellah?
Is this my life now?
It's the most visceral of the bad feels I'm listing, and brother bear, it's a misery.
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