Tired, Tanned, Bruised, Happy

A short Pennsic story or "Why it's important to clarify instructions":

Having been off the field for a longish time after squiring to Baron Sir Otto von Schwartzkatz of Marinus, I was both eager to take the field and dreading the prospect. On the Saturday morn before war week, I armed myself to walk up with my camp-mates to get inspected and thence to return to camp and maybe get a day's shopping in.

As I begun the process of arming, My Esteemed Knight said "Fight 20 before you return to camp." This gave me pause a moment, owing to the vast fighting gap I was returning from, but was confident in his ability to guage my limits reasonably well so I agreed. As I was striding out of camp, His Excellency reconsidered and said, "fight 10." Both relieved and disappointed, I agreed, then decided to fight 20 anyway. By the time I had reached the field and completed my inspection, I could not decide whether he meant 20 Fights, or 20 Individuals. I decided to err on the side of boldness and determined that he meant 20 individuals. Now, at this time, there were few to fight other than my campmates and handfuls of others to eager to wait for war week to start fighting. so I fought all in my group, 4 fights each. Then I went looking for others. At around my 8th dance partner, my camp-mates wandered back to camp.

I discovered that there were few left but knights (and I did manage to get 2 kills in against knights). I never made it to 20 individuals, becoming to exhausted to through anything like a decent blow while fighting the 15th individual of the day. By my estimate, I fought 50 bouts that day. I decided to return to camp after a brief rest. When I went to pick up my helm and shield, my shoulder made an unfortunate popping that felt like a too tight rubber band bouncing over a rock. It still hurts, but is almost (I think) healed. Thus, I could not fight the rest of the war. I was disappointed, but proud at what I had proven to myself. Of course, it should be obvious at this point that my Knight meant "fights" not "individuals."

That walk back to camp was the LONGEST walk of my life. I had to stop several times to lean on my shield. Although I did get an extra boost of energy when a lovely lady stopped in the street and said "my what lovely armor!" Hey, looking good is half the fun. Someone from my camp saw me a block away and carried my sheild and helm the rest of the way. Bless him. I made it all the way to the privacy of the armory tent (vacant at the moment) where I burst into tears from sheer exhaustion. I had the bruise of the gods on my left thigh. Our Baroness took a picture of it. I couldn't move my right arm quickly nor could I raise it very high, but I did it. I'm back. As soon as my shoulder stops doing desturbing things, I'll be on the field again. But this time, I'll be more clear on the whole "fights" versus "individuals" thing.