Cleavage cam and redemption at the Maryland Renaissance Fair

Thanks to Maxie, who blogs at I Hate So Much, for making me a personalized illustration after I told her what I was doing this weekend. She’s got some pretty awesome cleavage herself so go read her blog and check out her other drawings.

After attending the Maryland Renaissance Fair last year, I vowed that I would return this year for two reasons.

The first reason was all the cleavage. Duh.

The second was to complete a more noble pursuit: to redeem myself at the feats of strength.

Last year, these testosterone testers humiliated me in front of The Princess, Cagey, and Rory, making me doubt myself as a man. Especially Thor’s Hammer, a game in which you have to pound a pivot board with a large mallet as hard as possible to make a sliding indicator ring a bell mounted at the top.

I failed to hit the bell by a wide margin last year, managing to hammer that slider only a few feet. At the time, the guy running the game — an old man dressed in Medieval garb — looked at me after my embarrassing failure and said, “Go back to your keyboard.”

Do you realize the cruel irony in that? A man playing dorky dress-up called ME a nerd.

So I went back to the Maryland Renaissance Festival yesterday with a purpose. I had spent the past 12 months training like I was Rocky motherfuckin’ Balboa, climbing Siberian mountains and running homoerotically on the beach with male friends in montages set to “Eye of the Tiger”.

But when I got to the fairgrounds, I didn’t go directly to my nemesis. I started by loading up on “ye olde” festival food, eating a pork chop on a stick, Scotch eggs, a baked potato, and a meatball pocket.

I was lucky to escape without getting ye olde diarrhea.

I then decided to build my confidence by competing in some of the smaller games. I started by trying to “Drench a Wench”.

I grabbed the bean bags and threw them at the red target on a wall in an effort to dunk the woman sitting on an attached plank.

My first throw was wild. My second hit the wall with a loud thud. My third and last smacked the edge of the wall but missed the target by a couple of feet.

The wench remained on the plank, completely dry and acting smug.

“You hit the right spot but you weren’t hard enough,” she yelled at me.

Sensing their opportunity, GoPats and J-Vo responded simultaneously:

“That’s what she said!”

I moved on to the battle ax throw. GoPats and I listened intently to the guy explain how best to hold the handle, how to aim, and how to release the ax. He gave us five throws.

We missed every single one.

Ouch. Ok, two feats of strength down, two colossal failures. No use pussy-footing around the main event. I had to face Thor’s Hammer.

I approached it cautiously, scanning to see if the same dude who called me a nerd was manning it again. Nope. Instead, a small woman was there calling my manhood into question.

I paid up and some guy gave me some advice. Hold the mallet directly above your head. Bend your knees. Drive down with your legs. Focus power. Thanks, Mr. Miyagi.

I would hear later on from a self-described Thor’s Hammer trivia expert that the record at the fair was 150 hits in a row. I was glad, though, that I didn’t know that before I took my turn.

Because once again, I didn’t hit the bell. Strength fail.

Four straight times, I was unable to hammer the slider all the way to the top.

But the good news was that I improved from last year. I hit that fucker harder than I ever had and on my third shot came close to hitting the bell, falling just a couple feet short. And the woman running the game didn’t tell me to go back to my keyboard.

She did, however, make me “walk the plank”. Seriously, she made me walk on a piece of wood covering a patch of black mud. Awesome.

I walked away with my head held high, proud that I pounded Thor’s Hammer and came close to vanquishing it.

Besides, there’s always next year.

Oh, right, I mentioned cleavage cam in the title to this post. If you’ve read this far, below is your reward. Thanks to GoPats for having such a good eye in finding the festival’s busty babes. Lest you think we’re chauvinistic pigs, I also included something for the ladies at the end.