Victoria Dyring: So I was beaten as a Viking

With that confidence, I step down into the oxygen-poor basement room in the Old Town so that, as it says in my calendar "war in the Old Town".

In the basement stands the fencer Nils-Erik Fahlvik, an expert on old combat techniques and a consultant at film recordings where he teaches actors the right technique. He is very reminiscent of a Viking and is already sweaty. That's when the humiliation begins.

"The most important weapon is the shield and you should hold it in front of you with a straight arm," he says, standing in an unexpectedly deep ballet-like pose with one leg straight back and the opposite arm with the shield extended in front of him. The shield is insanely heavy, the arm trembles and it is almost impossible to keep it on the straight arm. "But before we start, you must have the armor."

On a thick padded wax coat is sewn. It is heavy, warm and smells of ammonia. When you fight out in the field and become pissed off, you just pee and continue. On top of that ring, neckline and helmet and I start to swing by the weight.

I am told that the only way to rest is to grab a handle on the ceiling and hang in an arm. Now there is no handle on the ceiling and I almost start to feel the varicose veins looking out at my legs.

It looks like a dance when Nils-Erik Fahlvik swings around but swords and axes while I look awkward, swinging in armor and stinking ammonia. When I stumble home on shaky legs and try to put on my little backpack with a banana in, it hurts my shoulders so much that I have to carry it in my hand.

Fighting in the Viking era required little more than lifting victories in middle school.