Next I tried to whack him in the leg. My efforts were rewarded with a strike to both my hand and my forearm before I had closed half the distance to him. I repeated this again and took a broomstick to the side of my shoulder. It was at this point I noticed a trend: He was hitting me at least two times before I ever got my baton close to him. At this point, satisfied that he indeed was an accomplished stick-fighter (because he could beat me, high standard, huh?), we walked back inside. When inside I asked him to tell me the key to stick-fighting in three sentences or less. His reply was 'Hit your opponent three times before he gets to you.' 'Sounds familiar,' I thought.
Read the whole story in Beaten senseless.
And when is 'bigger', not better, and 'more', too much?
So perhaps you're wondering what I'm up in arms about. I'm protected from bullets and shrapnel, what else could I want? Well, I'd kind of like to be able to move. I'd also enjoy the ability to answer the call of nature without a massive disarmament. A Marine fully outfitted with protective gear resembles an awkward combat rolley-polley. Kevlar and ceramics aren't light, either. Nor are they breathable. A full combat load of protective gear, weapon, and ammunition weighs in excess of 60 pounds (This is a change from my initial NYT post. After comparing my gear to 45lb plates in the gym, I have determined it is significantly heavier), and this assumes all personal gear is vehicle-mobile. In a fast-paced, hot, and stressful environment this can quickly become more than challenging for even the most physically fit Marine.
Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from the middle ages in A knight's tale.
