Tourney Reflection v. 3

Or, How life does not imitate art.

Or, Lost in Translation.

In practice I feel so fluid, graceful even. I feel confident in drills. I feel like I must look good to whoever happens by. Why then, when it comes to competition, do I feel like a flailing madwoman? Why is it so hard to translate movement - executed repeatedly week after week with confidence - to a three minute bout?

I hear myself saying in one of these bouts, "Disengage, you must disengage!". But it seems near impossible. The distance between myself and my opponent is suddenly a chasm and my arm suddenly disobedient and useless. I can't disengage. He's moving too fast, too unpredictably.

I guess I would have never made it in the military. As smart as I like to think I am, I forget what I know under pressure. Parries, which at practice are tight and controlled, suddenly fly way off course. And footwork - well...

Regardless of all these realized inadequacies and great hurdles before I even reach the rank of mediocre - I was not wholly unpleased by how I did. 3 out of 5 in the pools isn't awful is it? I like to think about that, my shiny badge of slightly-above-average and leave the thoughts of the DE for a day when my pride is running a little too high.