Oh yeah. This was very, very boring. But Skwisgaar, being the perfectionist he was, didn't stop just due to the boredom. He was just fine with repetition, only because that was his life. Practice in itself -- guitar practice, not sword -- was nothing but repetition of scales and songs and chords and all the things that made him him.
He wouldn't let himself down. He wanted to be able to feel how hard he'd worked, he knew he'd be incredibly sore in the morning afternoon. He looked to the roadie after about five minutes of this back and forth shuffling and tutted. "I is know how to moves my feet, I has been walkings for abouts fifty four years."