Category Archives: sport

DAY 40 – AFL (Aussie-rules football)

Fantasti-pic source: Scott Barbour/Getty Images AsiaPac

While up in Edinburgh for the Fringe I met a smashing bloke from Australia called Brett. He was a bit homesick and wanted to find some Aussie booze so we found an Aussie bar which, to his delight, was also playing an AFL match of his team: Richmond Tigers.

One reason I like doing this blog is that it makes me enthusiastic about doing stuff I’d never usually even contemplate. I’m about as far removed from being a sports fanatic as you can be, so normally if someone went ‘Do you fancy watching an AFL metch?’ my response would be ‘About as much as I’d enjoy sticking felt tip pens into my eye sockets and colouring in my brain’. However, my response this time was, ‘Oh great! I’ve never done this before, let’s grab a beer and settle down for it!’

AFL looks a bit like slightly effeminate rugby – it’s got a bladder-like ball and sticky-uppy goal things, but all the blokes taking part are terribly pretty and not one of them looks like they’ve had a club initiation involving paddles and carrots. The rules, as far as I can remember them, are like so (yes, it’s time for another list):

  1. The bloke holding the ball can run with it, but he has to bounce it on the ground every few seconds. I asked Brett what would happen if he didn’t, but apparently they’ve just got it drilled into them that they have to, so the refs never pull anyone up for not bouncing the ball enough.
  2. There are three goals. If you get the ball through the middle one you get 6 points. If you get it through either of the outer ones you one get 1 point, and if you hit the post or someone from the opposing team touches the ball before it goes in you only get 1 point as well.
  3. If you catch the ball properly and don’t bugger it up or drop it and look like a tit you get a free kick that the opposing team can’t interfere with, or you can just carry on running with the thing. If you do manage to bugger up the catch somehow everyone can pile onto the ball in a terribly polite version of rugby where nobody really gets hurt or ends up with too much brain damage.

I actually didn’t mind the game as we watched it. It was pretty easy to follow, even for a complete sports-klutz like me. Brett was happy too as Richmond Tigers – his team – were beating the Essendon Bombers, something which apparently doesn’t happen all that often. He remained quietly confident that they would lose despite their early advantage, and was pleasantly surprised when in fact they won. I maintain that it was because I was there. I am a natural winner after all (just don’t ever ask me to do anything on the spot to prove this).

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Day 35 – ‘Death Duel of Mantis’

Get ready for the Eagle Claw!

I was at my brother and sister-in-law’s house for their 5th Anniversary barbeque and not quite knowing what to combine this with as my new thing for the day, when my brother sorted it out for me. He presented me with a DVD he’d found in a charity shop called ‘Death Duel of Mantis’ thinking I’d enjoy it. He was right. It was ACE!

The plot was a pretty standard kung-fu movie plot. Hsiao Hai, an orphan, owes a debt to his master, Master Lu, who’s the head of a tong that Hsiao Hai doesn’t yet realise is evil. He falls for a girl at the market place, Ho Hwa, who is skilled in kung fu and hates Lu for killing her mother (that’s a spoiler by the way, but not exactly an unexpected one). Her father encourages the romance even though she herself isn’t keen, while Hsiao Hai rises in Lu’s organisation by getting good at chicken fist kung-fu. He eventually discovers that Lu is evil when he discovers that Lu smuggles ILLEGAL WINE and vows to kill him with the help of Ho Hwa and her father, who teach him to use mantis style kung fu.

It’s pretty typical of small budget 70s kung fu movies, but several things raise Death Duel of Mantis above the norm (not always in a good way). These are…

The performance of Kam Yin Fei (who plays Ho Hwa). She is by far the best fighter in the film and her scenes are crisp and well-executed. You never once get the impression, even when the choreography goes against her, that any of the other fighters could touch a hair of her head unless she wanted them to. Awesome.

The awful, awful dialogue. My favourite bit of daftness came in when Hsiao Hai discovered that Master Lu was smuggling – shock horror! - illegal wine.

Hsiao Hai’s friend – What on earth are they doing in there?

Hsiao Hai – Illegal wine. And I’m ordered to deliver it!

Hsiao Hai’s friend – Oooooh… They’re criminals! That stuff’s poison!

Hsiao Hai – That kinda wine could easily end up killing people!

Hsiao Hai’s friend ( in a Dick van Dyke-esque cockney accent) – Moi farver was always partial to a glass of wine wiv ‘is meal. Then one time he brought a bottle home from an illegal still. After my father drank it… *Sigh!*

Hsiao Hai – What happened?

Hsiao Hai’s friend – He died!

The accents. The film is sadly dubbed and there seem to have been perhaps three voice actors doing all the dubbing for it. The accents are best described by saying that they sound like Terence and Philip from South Park, but also veer between American, cockney and are sometimes delivered in a falsetto. It’s just hilarious.

The voice acting. I think the best way for me to describe how bad this is is for you to watch the first 2 minutes 30 of this bad kung-fu voice acting compilation, entitled Chop-Sucky. This explains it in a far better way than I ever could.

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DAY 22 – Olympic Volleyball

I got very good at the ‘Your team are RUBBISH!’ bit.

A few days after I started this blog my friend Will contacted me. Will is both awesome, and a primary teacher in London. His school had been offered a load of tickets to take kids to see some Olympic volleyball and he wanted to know if I wanted to come, seeing as I was doing this blog and had probably never seen Olympic volleyball before. I did, so Saturday found me waiting for Will and the kids at East Croydon station before heading to Earls Court for the match. Will had told me the kids were Year 5s so I was slightly apprehensive – much as I was looking forward to the volleyball, 30 screaming ten year-olds from Croydon could have been a bit of a trial. Luckily there were only six kids to four adults, and the kids were all quite unnervingly lovely. Well-behaved, polite, smashing. It was a total pleasure hanging out with them. The ten of us then trooped off on the train to Earl’s Court.

Here we are!

The blurb had told us to be there two hours before the start of the match to give ourselves plenty of time to get through security so we rolled up at 6. The security check took all of two minutes with no queues so we then had a couple of hours to kill in a large concrete box full of carefully unbranded food stalls. The lack of branding in the venue actually served to have the opposite effect from the one intended by the Olympic sponsors as I was a lot more aware than usual of what the hidden brands were than I would have been had they not been blocked (the hand-dryers in the toilets were Xlerators, in case you were wondering). The kids weren’t fazed by all this extra time and had fun wandering round, eating as many sweets as possible and holding the Olympic torch. And before you ask, yes I did.

The closest I will ever come to being an athlete.

Eventually we took our seats round the court. The match we were watching was a preliminary between Bulgaria and Argentina and about 90% of the fans in the venue were Bulgarian. The kids and teachers all picked their teams. Will took Bulgaria, so in the spirit of healthy competition/baiting Will I took Argentina (also, I’m pretty sure all my Argie pals in Spain would have killed me if I hadn’t). The matches were played to 25 points, with up to 5 sets in a game. And without more ado, it began!

My lads are in the pale blue and white. I felt a bit sorry for their fans not having nice easy primary facepaint colours, you must have to go to specialist shops to find that pastel blue.

The atmosphere was pretty amazing and I was worried it would tell against my team – as soon as any of the Argentinians went to serve, 90% of the crowd would start booing! They didn’t let it faze them though and soon we were ahead by a set!

It was at this point I discovered that I’m actually very competitive.

Bulgaria took the next set which vexed me greatly (as Mrs Bennett would say) but then lo and behold my brave boys took the third! Only one set to go and we’d win!

Come on Argentina!

Poor Will. He’s so embarrassed. I wonder why?

Yes, I discovered some fool-proof ways to embarrass your unassuming companion while watching the volleyball. I have listed them below:

  1. Yell, at the top of your voice, various slogans which display your utter ignorance of sporting matters. My favourites were, ‘I LOVE SPORT!’, ‘Truly, they are athletes in the world of sport!’, ‘Yes! He is a professional at hitting that ball!’, ‘He needs to do another bouncy-to-the-side thing!’ or, simply, ‘SPORT!’
  2. Loudly proclaim that you are the best because your team is winning.
  3. Make up bad puns using the name of the opposing team. ‘Bulg-hairier’ and ‘Bulge-area’ were two of my favourites.
  4. Stand up, point and shout ‘FINISH THEM!’ when your team has brought the game to match point.

Yes, Argentina won. Of course they did, they had me supporting them!

I now know a little more than I did about volleyball (though I must admit that most of the time I did have to check the scoreboard to make sure before openly cheering), saw an Olympic event, held the torch and discovered that some year 5s are really very nice indeed. Not a bad day at all! It was capped off by a night at Will’s house with him and his flatmates (my best pals), getting a bit pissed on cheapo red wine, watching frog-themed B-movies until 7am. Aaaaaaah. Home.

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DAY 20 – T’ai chi ch’uan

My t’ai chi pals from Moseley School Health and Fitness Centre!

I’ve tried a fair few martial arts to a greater or lesser degree – Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, MMA, Kali and Shorinji Kempo – but I’ll be honest, I have never really been tempted to try t’ai chi ch’uan. When I think of martial arts I do kind of belong, if I’m honest, to the ‘WHAAAA, Jump Through The Air Screaming And Kick The Other Guy’s Head In Half!’ School and t’ai chi seems… well… a bit slow. But then, I’d never tried it, and am always ready to have my opinions changed, so when I heard that there was a class not 20 minutes’ walk from my parents’ house at Moseley School Health and Fitness Centre, I jumped at the opportunity.

T’ai chi is what’s known as a Chinese ‘internal’ martial art – one which is focussed on spiritual, mental and qi-related aspects as opposed to mainly physical, ‘external’ ones. Some people are surprised to learn that it is a martial art at all, but the forms taught in t’ai chi do have martial and defense applications. However, they are generally performed slowly and carefully to focus attention on the correct form of the body and the feeling as you do them. Meditation and health are also big aspects of t’ai chi, though the guys at the class told me that the form we were using was the more martial one than the specifically health-focussed one (Bagua). I found out that t’ai chi ch’uan actually translates as ‘supreme ultimate fist’ or ‘great extremes boxing’. Eh?! This didn’t sound like the t’ai chi I thought I knew! I suppose my expectation on going to the class was that I’d be standing round doing something like this:

Instead, for the first ten minutes I followed a young guy called Les who demonstrated how to relax the shoulders and arms through various different exercises. I have to say, I was rubbish at them. It felt like I was just throwing my arms about, and though that’s what it looked like I was supposed to do I was clearly not getting it as Les and other members of the group kept on correcting me. I couldn’t even relax my arms right, how on earth was I going to get good at the rest of this!

The next thing we did was walk. We walked a lot. A smashing Glaswegian chap called Ronnie showed me how to walk properly in t’ai chi: it’s a slow process of shifting your weight around in a special way that looks like this:

Ronnie was a lot less annoying than that dude. He patiently walked along with me, correcting my movements and explaining why certain movements were done as they were. I felt very left-footed at first but I think I began to get the hang of it after a while.

Next I was doing ‘sensitivity’ work with Ronnie. For this I had to push my palm against his outstretched palms and to kind of use my legs as the force to overbalance him. It was a lot harder than it seemed. I had to try and disrupt his balance with tiny movements of my body, but when I got it right I was never terribly sure how I had done so!  The most interesting part to me was when we simply stood palm-to-palm and tried to feel where each other’s bodies were moving to. I thought I wasn’t moving at all, but in the exercise I could feel that Ronnie was making tiny movements which compensated for what I was doing. I didn’t think I was doing anything, but apparently in t’ai chi terms I might as well have been flinging my arms all over the place and jumping around! It was a very werid feeling indeed.

Lastly Les taught me very patiently the first few forms of a sequence called the ‘first 50′. I think we got up to about number 6 or 7. It’s the first 38-odd seconds of the first video on this page. It was challenging, particularly because you move so slowly that the form is very exposed and easy to criticise. In other martial arts I’ve done they’ve been very fast-paced: we might have gone over the forms slowly for 5 minutes or so, but in the end the majority of the practise that you do is high-speed. Practising the t’ai chi forms, it was very clear to me that there is a lot more to the art than simply doing ‘flowy arms’ or whatever I’d thought t’ai chi was about previously! Les explained to me as we went on why the movements had to be as they were – how doing them differently left you open to the possibility of overbalancing, and this was not good in a combat situation, and that the movements used the natural weight and mechanics of the body to achieve the aims of the art, rather than brute force.

I asked the lady who ran the class, Peta, why she’d originally started t’ai chi. ‘I started in aikido,’ she told me, ‘and then wanted to learn kung fu. My master told me that I had too much anger in me to learn kung fu, and I had to learn t’ai chi instead. I told him, “But I don’t want to wave my arms about, I want to learn to kill people!” and he replied, “And that is why you must learn t’ai chi”.’

Going to the class was a really eye-opening experience. The group were really kind and welcoming, very informative and I’d definitely go again if I got the opportunity. Excellent stuff!

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DAY 16 – Bridge jumping

Crikey.

Ok, I’ll admit it: I booked this without thinking terribly hard about it first. A good thing really, because if I’d sat down and thought to myself, Hmm, have I ever really wanted to jump off a 40-metre high bridge? I probably wouldn’t have done it. I did though. Twice.

Bridge jumping’s been around for donkeys’ ears, invented no doubt by some folks who thought jumping off really high stuff sounded great but weren’t so fussed about the whole ‘dying’ aspect of it. I’d Wiki the history behind it, but I honestly can’t be bothered. It’s not that important. You jump off bridges attached to a rope and it feels awesome – that’s pretty much what you need to know.

I went with the same folk who’d sorted the canyoning for me – Lifestyle Barcelona – and met the guys doing the activity at a road bridge in Sant Sadurni d’Anoia (also the home of the Freixenet cava vineyards, which were annoyingly shut today). I watched a few other people doing the jump and went, That looks awesome, I need to do this now!

‘But Helena, weren’t you terrified?’ I hear you ask. I’ll admit that earlier in the week I’d been having misgivings. 40 metres is really quite high indeed. However, I’d mentioned it to Maria (remember? My guide on the canyoning day) and he’d told me that it’s actually a lot safer than canyoning, and after that I felt fine about it.

It finally came up to my turn and I got strapped into the harness. There wasn’t a whole lot of technical chat – we had a brief safety talk and then the instructor popped over to the other side of the bridge and took up the ropes. For the first jump I climbed over the barrier and turned around. It’s funny – on the road side of the barrier you feel totally safe and secure. You’re strapped in, you’ve got a helmet on, two ropes securely tied to your harness. All is well!

On the ‘air’ side of the barrier you suddenly forget those ropes. All you’re thinking is Christ, that is a bloody long way down. You’d have to be a complete nutter to jump it, right? And then someone starts counting down from three and you’ve jumped.

It’s a weird feeling to describe because in reality it only lasts for a couple of seconds, but those couple of seconds are very vivid indeed. Reality seems to sort of slip away and it’s just you in the air, plummeting towards the ground, and you’re pretty certain you’re going to die but your head and body are in such a whirl that it almost doesn’t matter anymore. It’s an incredibly liberating feeling.

Reality check!

Then you reach the end of the rope and you’re a fast-breathing pendulum and all you can think is, I want to go again!

So I did. Here is the video of my second go. The guy started filming before I even had my ropes tied so unless you particularly want to listen to a bunch of blokes speaking Catalan and miming squeezing my arse, I’d skip to about 2:50. I was the only one, in a group consisting entirely of big strapping men, who had a go from on top of the railing. My favourite thing is when the guy turns the camera round to film himself and says, ‘Con dos cojones!’ Roughly translated: ‘She’s got balls!’

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DAY 14 – Canyoning

Who, me? I’m from BT, mate, just here to fix your phone line.

Aaargh! Every time I do something for this blog I end up thinking, ‘OK, this is my favourite so far!’ However, I think canyoning may really be something special. It was just awesome!

I went canyoning more or less by accident. I found a company, Lifestyle Barcelona, that organises whitewater rafting and wanted to go whitewater rafting, but the logistics were just too difficult (it was 4 hours outside Barcelona and started at a time in the morning when no train would have got me there in time to start) so I went with one of the other options their very helpful lady suggested: an introductory course in canyoning.

My notion of what was involved in canyoning was very vague indeed. I had an idea, of course, that it somehow involved a canyon and that water might be involved (as they told me to bring a swimming costume and towel as well as trainers). I had an idea that we’d walk through a canyon, maybe scramble up some bits, wade through bits of river, it would be very pretty etc etc. What actually happened was way more awesome.

When I arrived at Vilafranca del Penedes me and two other folk – a lovely Spanish couple called Adria and Andrea – were driven 30km away in a van. Here we were told to strip down to swimming costumes, given wetsuit socks to put on inside our trainers and made up packs comprising a wetsuit, helmet and abseiling harness. Aha! I thought, this looks like it could be quite cool.

We then hiked up a track for about half an hour. The hike was made all the more intriguing by the fact that Adria hadn’t brought swimming trunks with him, so was actually trekking in just his boxers.

It was so cheerfully bizarre I may start a new sport called ‘Underwear Trekking’.

We then all put on our wetsuits, helmets and harnesses and had a brief safety talk in Catalan from our guide, Marià (who spoke no English but was very good at explaining using actions and whatnot) involving warnings like, ‘When you jump into the water, do it like this’ and asked if any of us were afraid of heights. This was all sounding very promising. We looked quite cool by this point as well.

Quite chuffed with how I look in a wetsuit, tbh.

As you can see from the pic, the landscape had also got all awesome and pool-y too, which boded very well. For the next 5 minutes we walked carefully along the canyon, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the landscape, which was gorgeous. Butterflies flitting by, dragonflies and all that sort of stuff. Very lovely all round. Then we got to a big pool of water and this happened:

WHEEEEEEE!

Basically we spent the next five hours climbing up rocks and cliffs and then jumping off them into pools of water, then climbing back up them and jumping off again. I’ve recently finished teaching at an English summer school here in which we had to take the kids into the swimming pool every day, and it never ceased to amaze me how some kids would ask me to throw them in the pool, then immediately come back for more and never get tired of it. Well, that’s basically how I felt when canyoning. I could have spent all day climbing up pretty cliffs and jumping off them into pools. And the jumps got higher…

…and higher…

…and higher…

…and higher!

The climbing part was super fun and Marià actually said I had ‘climbing in my blood’ because I was good at it! I don’t entirely believe him, but I really enjoyed it! The only – the only – bad point I could pick on about this day was the thought constantly at the back of my mind: This can’t last forever. At some point we’ll have to stop and then I’ll be all sad. It would be going a bit far if I said I felt like Lara Croft for a day (I just don’t have the boobs for it) but we did all start singing the Indiana Jones theme tune at one point and I could totally have fitted in with those mental birds from The Descent.

Where are all the beasties then, eh? I’ll show ‘em who’s boss!

Marià was a wonderful instructor and – as predicted – I was so sad when it was all over (though we got a good five hours in, which I reckon is pretty good going!) It was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done, and a fantastic way to explore the great outdoors. So… London has canyons, right?!

I WANNA GO AGAIN!

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DAY 11 – Slacklining

Damn my unladylike lack of poise! If only I’d gone to finishing school!

One of the places I like most in Barcelona is the Parc de la Ciutadella. It’s pretty, there’s plenty of shade  for picnicking, there’s an awesome mammoth statue and an amazing fountain with griffins. One of the other things you always see in this park is people with lines strung between trees, practising slacklining. I’m not sure why it’s always this park – maybe the trees are a good slacklining distance away from each other or something. Anyway, yesterday I decided to go down there and see if I could persuade someone to teach me how to be a slacker.

It was simplicity itself. On arriving at the park I found a group of folks practising slacklining with their slacklines strung up next to each other. Within 10 minutes I’d convinced one of them – a lovely chap called Paco – to show me how it was done.

Slacklining is essentially a variant of tightrope walking, in which the rope is replaced with a strap of webbing stretched between two anchor points (such as trees). In the sport a slacker must use his/her arms and free leg to balance and to stop the slackline from wobbling (easier said than done, as I found out). Unlike a tightrope, a slackline isn’t kept completely taut but is quite bouncy. The slackline can thus be used as the base for tricks such as bounce walking, jumps, 360s, chest bounces and flips. However, I did not get this far.

Paco and I had an interesting slacklining lesson, as my Spanish is dire and his English was non-existent. We got by though! Paco told me that the best way to start was to try and get my balance on one foot, and then to switch to the other foot, get my balance on that and slowly keep switching feet until I was walking. He made it look like a piece of cake. *mirthless laughter*

The first moment  put a foot on the slackline it began to wobble like crazy and I fell off immediately. Paco helped me out by putting his foot on the slackline to keep it more steady and then told me to keep my arms high up and the foot that wasn’t on the line close to the line, so I could use them for balance. He also told me that I should remember to breathe (always a handy hint) and that I shouldn’t look at the line beneath my foot but at a point on the line a little further away. I found this very difficult – your instinct is to stare at your feet and make sure they’re still on the line!

Slowly, slowly we made progress, until I was able to balance with one foot on the line (though not to switch feet) without Paco keeping it taut. Paco then thought I should try walking along the slackline, holding onto his arm to help me balance. At first I found this impossible, the slackline was wobbling so much, so Paco again put a helpful foot on the line for me.

Paco lends a foot.

This was much easier and we progressed to a point at which I could walk the line without Paco standing on it (though sadly still with his arm to help me balance).

Baby steps…

Pretty sure I fell off about 2 seconds after this was taken.

I definitely had fun trying out slacklining and can see why people really enjoy it. Sadly my dreams of casually strolling across the slackline unaided that afternoon died with the realisation that my sense of balance is still hopeless, but I definitely made progress, thanks to Paco’s very patient tutelage.

If you’re interested, give it a go! It’s a rapidly growing sport and equipment is easy to find on the net. A beginner slackline will only set you back around £50 and then all you need is a couple of handy trees (and preferably a patient person like Paco to show you where you’re going wrong)!

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DAY 5 – Bellydancing

This experience took me so far out of my comfort zone it might as well have been a giant arm yanking me out of my bed and spilling my tea. Bellydancing?! Me?!

Yep.

I should perhaps explain first of all that in many ways I am very English. I am easily embarrassed, quite self-conscious and most of all I am very uncomfortable dancing in front of other people unless I’ve got a couple of pints of chunky beer down my throat. Yet despite this, off to bellydancing class I went in the name of novelty. I’m even a little over-qualified in terms of the belly I have. Let’s see what it’s got.

I got the in from a fellow teacher, Irene, who goes twice a week and loves it. She told me the name of the school – Munique Neith Bellydancing Academy – and I did a little research. Turns out this wasn’t just any bellydancing school, but the biggest bellydancing school in Europe, and very well-respected. Eek! I must admit, I was pretty nervous by the time I showed up.

The school itself is lovely – very different from your average gym or leisure centre. It’s painted in warm, orangey tones and decked out with Egyptian statues and pictures. As soon as you step in the door you begin to feel exotic and as if you really can take a step away from normal life and become a sultry siren of the desert for an hour and a half.

Just your average gym then.

Just like a Fitness First.

There were around 12 of us in the beginners class, which was taken by a lovely lady called Amaru who moved with a quite startling grace. She began by taking us through some basic moves, building them up into more complicated ones. When I watched her, the moves seemed simplicity itself but when I came to try them I felt (and looked) awkward and absurd! Why didn’t my hips turn in one fluid line like hers? They seemed to judder along in a series of jerks!

One particular move had me completely flummoxed. We were supposed to shake our shoulders back and forth while keeping our hips still. I just couldn’t do it! I looked like a Thunderbird puppet trying desperately to keep a fart in. I also got quite self-conscious about my knees. I was the only one who’d turned up in little shorts rather than three quarter-length trousers and it made my knees feel very exposed to the eagle eyes of Amaru.

Gradually the moves were built into a small routine. I got through it, all the while realising that while my arms were ok my feet had a mind of their own, and then when I thought about my feet my arms starting whirling around of their own accord. Thankfully most other people in the class seemed to have similar problems and the atmosphere was light-hearted and jokey, so the nervousness I had felt at the beginning evaporated away.

I honestly had fun – a lot more fun than I had expected – doing the bellydancing class, and I can’t remember when I was last that concentrated on something I was doing! I’d definitely recommend it to anyone who’s curious, but be warned: it’s a lot more physical than it looks!

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