Tourney Reflection v. 9

3 minute heart attack

More bitter perhaps than the fighting in the foil bouts Saturday afternoon was that which came afterwards in reflection Saturday night. Yes, I know that I am ruled by my irrational emotions, on the strip just as everywhere else. Yes, I know I am not making as many attacks as I should be. Yes, I know I act demoralized when I lose or make a mistake. Here is the point: on Saturday I was a wreck. Ashamed of how little I had accomplished, how much I had NOT improved since the last tournament...two tournaments ago even. Every problem I have is mental, whether it be fear of doing the wrong thing, or plain confusion at how fast and easily I can be unraveled by my opponent. Like I told my teammate on Sunday: Foil, to me, is like having a three minute heart attack.

I submit to you then: epee. Sunday was the first time I had flown solo in epee; the only other time I had competed at all being the Team Qualifiers. Epee was like a pleasant vacation; like a cool glass of tonic and lime on a Polynesian beach. Mind you, I still had my ass handed to me, but it was in a relaxed fashion and I didn't notice quite so much. Why the divide between two weapons, less than 24 hours apart? I suspect maybe it is because I do not expect so much of myself in epee, having not trained so long at it. Or perhaps it is just the natural pace of epee, being slightly slower than foil - in general. It takes longer to lose, and thus is not quite so hard on the senses. Either way, there were no fights Sunday night. My bravery was not called to stand trial and I may have enjoyed a fizzy beverage.

So is it the end of foil? If only I could let it go that easily. I've been discussing this with my Pride and I don't think he's going to let me just walk away. But maybe I can work out some sort of arrangement with my Guts and have them make an appearance at the next foil competition.