Classroom session at practice

Posted for posterity, offered without comment for now.
I am to study this and attempt to make my fencing less disorganized.

Greetings and Salutations: The Blog Talks Back

Dear C,
You really should be working instead of blogging. You know that right? Just checking. Anyway, how's it going? You look a little peaked today, is everything okay? You're not nervous are you... About that stupid tournament?

C, you know I think you're swell and all, but let's face it: you're a nutcase. What are you so worried about? Remember fencing is fun, that's why you do it. This is just another way to go and have fun with your pals. You must chill.

Alright, now that we've got that cleared out of the way, let's go through our tournament checklist. Uniform, shoes, snacks, blah, blah, blah. I mean the other checklist.

1) Warm up. You always stink up the first one or two pool bouts, so warm up as much as possible.
2) DON'T look at the ratings of the people in your pool. Don't look at the ratings of the people you will fence in the DEs. Don't try to guess how good they are by the state of their uniform, or their age, or religion, or anything else. Everyone is simply a fencer, just like you. And they want to win too.
3) Don't get mad at your husband if you have a bad bout. He loves you anyway and doesn't deserve your snarkiness.
4) One touch at a time. I can't stress that enough. One touch at a time, no matter how bad or good the previous touch was.
5) For the love of all that is good and holy, if you start to feel bad about yourself, stop immediately. Feeling bad is an endless downward spiral, so just don't. Whistle a happy tune. Splash some water on your face. Anything but letting that negative voice win.
6) No excuses. If you lose, it's just because that's how you did that day. It's not because you didn't eat the right breakfast. It's not because you were fighting a big dude and it's not because your shorts were riding up. It just was. Practice starts again on Monday.
7) HAVE FUN!

So, are we set? Good! Go get 'em tiger!

Love,
Your Blog

Lady's Blade, Part 3: The Scareder Sex

My life has been much defined by fear. Whether it's fear of not being accepted in a new group, the fear that dinner won't come out just right, or just plain old fear of fire, it seems as if the feeling is always hanging out in the back of my brain. My husband constantly chides me for this, telling me there's no reason to be so afraid of everything that comes along. But the truth is, this fear was largely trained into me. You see, all through Jr. High and High School, the girls were constantly being separated from the boys and taken to watch some video or hear some speaker telling us all about the dangers that we would face, as girls, in this world. And because you can never have too much fear mongering, my parents made me read every article in the local newspaper about abduction and rape "just so I'd know what could happen".

The message was always the same: Keep your keys between your knuckles, use your elbows and the heel of your palm when attacked. But the most important message was AVOID questionable situations and failing that, RUN. This is the message that I couldn't help but to carry with me.

Of course, I let go a little bit in college. I went for midnight runs and took chances on new friends and boyfriends. I had a few adventures, but fear is a sticky thing. And even though you think you may have scrubbed the last bit off your hands there's going to be a little bit stuck under your fingernails, just waiting. So it is that I find myself still tethered to it today. There are people that I would like to reach out to and become close to. There are new adventures I'd like to have.

Lest you think me totally paralyzed, I will get to the point of this post. If you guessed fencing, you guessed right. In the interest of honesty I will tell you that it took me a long time to work up the courage to begin fencing. I learned of my first club at least two years before I finally ventured to take a lesson. It was mostly a fear of failure, I think, that was responsible for my hesitancy. And of course I still encounter fear when I am fencing, but it is the only venue where facing my Fear head on is as easy as stepping on the strip. I find I am protected and armed against it on the strip. I am powerful, I have leverage, I am impenetrable. And I will only ever become stronger in facing my fear on the strip. And the seemingly simple realization that fear CAN be overcome has given me courage in other parts of my life; and that feeling too, can only become stronger.

Writing this now, I wonder if the reason I still fear the dark alley is because I've never had reason to face it.

....
Til every river runs dry
Until the sun, honey's, torn from the sky
'Til every fear you've felt burst free
And gone tumblin' down into the sea

Pop culture

A visual representation of my inner dialogue while fencing. Previously I had thought it rather Gollum-esque, but Madonna is prettier than Gollum, so I'm gonna go with this.

"Maybe we should fleche now."

"Now? No, I'm not ready yet."

"But we're close enough."

"But he's just going to counterattack."

"How will we know if we never try?"

"Well just let me do this other thing firs...." *HIT*

And now, we rejoin our hero in the Swamp of Lassitude

So since the last tournament I've missed several other opportunities to compete. I even skipped a tournament at my own club. Partially, this has been due to other Saturday morning commitments, but partially it has been due to a sort of lethargy which I described out-loud to my coach as being burnt out. I just plain haven't felt like it.

If I wanted to get psychological and whatnot about it, I'd probably blame it on being worried about not being able to live up to unrealistic expectations after my recent first place finish. But I'm not giving myself that much credit.

I don't want to ever force myself to fence; I always want to look forward to a tournament, so I'm going to skip this weekend's tournament in Boone as well. The good news is, I still look forward to practice and last night's practice was awesome. Two hours of wall to wall fencing with a satisfying mix of wins and loss inspired lessons.

Best quote by yours truly, during an in-fighting exercise, after leaping out of the defined drilling space: But he was so SCARY!

Within the sound of my voice

I recognize that it's been a while since my last post. To be truthful, I haven't been thinking that much about fencing. I'm sure this is due largely to the fact that it's been over a week since I've been able to go to practice, but hopefully I won't suffer for that too much tonight.

What got me thinking was this weekend's episode of This American Life. The subject was the devils inside each of us and one of the stories was about the Voice that many of us suffer inside our own heads. I have several of them. One of them makes me stay in bed too late. One of them makes me eat things just because they're there. And one of them likes to tell me what I can and cannot do with my body.

I first became acquainted with this last voice when I was a runner in high school. The voice was sometimes kind and sympathetic and would say to me in the middle of a cross country race, "You're tired. Who do you need to prove yourself to? There's no need to push so hard." Sometimes the voice was cruel but practical and would say, "You know you're not going to win this race anyway so just knock it off. What's the difference in 10th place and 15th place anyway? They both suck." Yet again, sometimes the voice was just downright wicked, "Look how tired you are! Look at that hole! If you were to twist your ankle right now, you'd be able to rest and everyone would want to take care of you." Luckily I never gave in to that last voice, but it was unfailing in its arrival on steep inclines.

During my years of sloth after college, I lost touch with this voice. Perhaps it was sated by my indolence and lulled into gratified slumber. But since I have started fencing, it has roused itself again and I find that often during tournaments I am facing two opponents, one of which lives inside my head. I suppose I should be glad that it is not ever present, but it likes to strike when I am weakest: when I have slipped up or am facing an especially daunting opponent. The voice was the winner during my div 2 event at nationals.

Unfortunately, This American Life did not extend its broadcast to offering ways to foil our inner devil. Attempting to drown out the voice with an internal mantra has met with some success, as has simply getting better and more confident in my fencing. But I have a feeling that the voice will never be squelched entirely and that my best recourse is simply to become better at arguing.

My Black Eyed Dog

I had planned for a couple light weeks of practice this month because I am feeling a little burnt out after Miami. However, upon hearing of my results, K. was quick to express his displeasure at my placement and set out to make Tuesday night's practice a rather miserable one. My legs are still sore. No more practice this week. Next week is up in the air.

I know that I could be more in shape than I am, but my physical state is not what is keeping me back. It's not even my technical skill, because; heck, I bet 50% of my touches last weekend were hand/wrist/forearm shots. No, my proverbial roadblock is my Crazy.

I see my Crazy as a skulking beast, small but heavy, running in circles around me and slicking my path with a cool slime of doubt. Every step is taken with trepidation and even the slightest stumble sends me back several paces. It's a dangerous spiral and I went for a helluva ride last Saturday.

I suppose that the upshot is that I am very aware of this problem and that in the waging of the war against my Crazy, I am beginning to win every so often. It actually took physical effort (jumping, jogging in place, various noises of frustration), but after my third bout/loss in Div 2, I shook free from the dark cloud. It couldn't save my placement, but it was a small personal victory.

He who overcomes others is strong. He who overcomes himself is mighty. - Lao Tzu

Me: Made to Order

On an orphaned coffee cup in the break room: "Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." While I find this a little heavy to be considering over morning coffee, it was a provocative enough apothegm to keep me occupied on the way back to my desk to write this.

If I were going to create the perfect me, what would that be? Master gardener, able chef, world traveler, carbon neutral, 15 pounds lighter? Naturally, restless heart that I am, the list could go on for quite a while, but being that this is a fencing blog, I will narrow the scope a bit.

The coach that I currently work with most often thinks that I ought to be training like I am on the path to the Olympics: 1500 target drills, 1000 lunges, strength training, 30 bouts...did I mention these are recommendations for a daily regimen? I hate to disappoint him. I meekly plead my case of having to provide for my small family in lieu of international fencing fame. But to be honest, I don't even want international fencing fame; that's not the kind of fencing self I want to create.

Considering... Simply ecstatic upon receiving my E, I quietly covet the vaulted C that a few fencers at the club have. I like to be competitive at state tournaments, especially with the other women and currently I'm not looking much farther afield than this. I am looking forward to Div II/III events at Nationals this year, but have not as yet set any goals for final placement, and I probably won't. Hopes were made to be dashed. Two nights a week is about all I am willing to surrender at this point to training, though I would be glad to give up a Saturday morning were it an option at this club. More likely, that's when I should be doing those drills.

Having considered... I present to you the carefully molded fencer I would create: An able C epeeist, consistently finishing in the top eight at divisional tournaments and regular in attendance at Div II/III NACs and Summer Nationals. Strong and fast with excellent point control. Witty and intriguing contributor to club life. Thoughtful and eloquent blogger. Still 15 pounds lighter.

Mortal Coil

Or, Literary Cross-Referencing

Would that I could shuffle off said coil and return to that coil of yesteryear. Yea, the coil that was lean and strong and never got tired; felt weightless and looked good in cutoffs. But nay, I have taken up this new coil, which weighs upon me and makes me sore and tired and desirous of Advil.

Coil, I name thee albatross! I carry you as penance for watching cable television and cooking with butter.

Weighing me down, this coil is the brand that burns red hot when I cannot lunge fast enough or grow weary too soon in an evening of bouting. Burning so that all may see what a cumbrous coil I have reaped.

Ware, Coil! For I sow new seeds. I eat many vegetables and yea, even do I jog a little. Your day will soon turn to twilight and in time even that shall wane.

I shall lunge and recover and lo! I shall redouble and I shall be as graceful and strong as the African swallow.

Coil, be not proud, for coil thou shalt be shuffled.


Oi. With apologies to Shakespeare, Donne, Monty Python and....oh, everyone.

The Winding Stair

It's amazing to me that it's been nearly a month since I wrote. In my head, somewhere in the neighborhood of 8-9 minutes has passed. I recollect some catchy phrase about sands in an hourglass and days of our...well, you know.

The thing is, I was just starting to find my groove again; I felt like I'd just clambered up onto the next giant step on the stairway to competency. My lessons had suddenly become more difficult. Maitre called it "ratcheting down" to another degree of detail. But now I'm dangling off that step by my fingertips, praying that I don't tumble all the way back to the bottom.

The ringing of the division bell has begun...
(Pink Floyd)

North Carolina? Really? Oh.

Let me be clear. I'm not good with change. I'm not good at meeting new people. It was hard enough to start at the Salle, small as it is. The thought has actually crossed my mind that perhaps I could continue my training without a club to practice at, but that's silly. The thing is, I have this desire and unfortunately that desire depends on outside forces: training help, practice partners, structured practice. I hate it when I can't do something on my own. And, there's always the biggie: What if they don't like me?? Sorry, couldn't suppress my inner 12 year old.

Fencing is supposed to fill my well of bravery so that I can draw on it elsewhere in my life. I guess I need to build up some stores while I'm here, fill a few jugs, the bathtub maybe.

I just hope they don't make me start from the bottom.

Gooooooooooaaaaaaal

The topic of goals keeps coming up lately. I had recently read a couple articles about goal setting when I walk into the Salle this morning and Maitre asks me what my goals are?

"Make it past the first round of DEs," I say. "Finish painting my upstairs bathroom?"

I was serious on both counts, but as I've been reflecting on the subject in earnest, I find I am somewhat dismayed at myself. In the words of someone infamous (or perhaps not): If you aim for suck, you're going to get sh**. Obviously this person was not such a well-bred lady as I, but I hope the point is clear. I make a lot of self-deprecating jokes, which is okay, but I've begun to think that I don't see far enough past them. When I fought Scott O'Neal (A06) in the first round of DEs in my first epee tournament this year I smiled prettily at him and said "Hi, I'll be your speed bump this afternoon". (Indeed, he beat me 15-1.) It was cute, but I hope that next year, I am at least a curb to him.

Now my unharnessed imagination has a bit of trouble drawing a line between real goals and never-in-any-life goals. But I've tried to rein myself in a little bit and have come up with the following list of realistic, but tough, goals. With you (whoever you may be) as my witness to hold me to them:

1. Go to an NAC this year and not make a complete fool of myself. Memphis would be great, but I haven't finished paying off Nationals yet. Maybe Atlanta in March.
2. Get a rating
   
3. Finish in the top 8 in a Virginia Epee event
4. Successfully fleche in a competition (I did it at the Salle last Sunday. It could happen)
   
5. Make my footwork feel more natural.
6. Remember to use footwork when it counts.
7. Write a book.

Okay, that last one is a little OT, but rounds off my lofty aspirations nicely.

The next list to make is what I actually need to do to reach these goals. Once again, I am committing these to virtual paper in the hopes it will make me adhere to the plan.

1. 3 days a week - cardiovascular conditioning (not fencing) to lose weight and build leg power (running/biking)
2. 2 days a week - stretching/strengthening routine (yoga/pilates)
3. Fencing at least 3 days a week
4. 25 bouts a week at least

These don't seem out of reach to me. The last couple weeks I have stuck to them nicely. It will be harder come winter, but not impossible. And at the end of the season if I have met one or more of the goals...well...

My dreams are always full of weaknesses. Constantly needing to defend myself: I never find the strength to throw the punch, I never find the speed to escape my pursuers. I'm sure this probably means something.

My ripostes are getting quicker. My stop hits beat the tempo to the punch. It's not perfect, it's just the first step on a roadway which yawns away into the distance.

On the piste, reality may actually become a welcome vacation from myself.

Attacks...Out of Time

Upon realizing that it's been nearly one year since I made my first post to this blog, my heart literally sank. What has become of my year? I am dying in the suburbs and that's something I always vowed to avoid. Everyday I am becoming more normal and less interesting. It kills me. Why does it feel like yesterday that I was so happy in my breezy, sunny, beautiful apartment in my beloved city? God...

Well it was not meant to be a self-pitying post, but I had to vent a little. Here is the brilliant segue: My sense of time is rotten. I realized this last night in a lesson when the topic turned to training your opponent to react in a certain way. Repeating an action multiple times until they're reacting just the way you like, then...wham. I thought about this on the way home and had a hard time coming to grips with the idea. Certainly this is not because I disbelieve Maitre, but because - to me - 3 minutes just does not seem like enough time to accomplish this and still get in 4 more touches and/or avoid being touched as many times.

But this shouldn't surprise anyone, given that I become an unmitigated embodiment of urgency at every allez!. How many of my tournament bouts have honestly lasted longer than a minute and a half? That I am too aggressive and in too much of a hurry has already been established. Perhaps it is a natural inclination toward a quick and (not so) painless death. I suspect my subconscious feels this limits my exposure to humiliation.

Perhaps I can use this tactic of training my opponent to trick myself into prolonging bouts. Can I use it slow down the rest of my life? Doubtful.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but you're older
And shorter of breath and one day closer to death

-Pink Floyd

Prejudice for Pride

Thon hast learned, my little bud, that, whatever may betide, Thou canst win thyself no joy by passion or by pride. - Louisa May Alcott

In case you missed the story on your local evening news, as of the first Saturday of February, I have been fencing for one year now. Granted I don't know if a beginner's class qualifies as actual "fencing", but technicallly: one year. And I find myself wondering if there is some benchmark for this. What should I be able to accomplish now? Who should I be able to beat? Should I be rated? Oh man, I hope not.

One of my greatest fears is that one of my peers who has been fencing for less time than I will overtake me. Why? Pride of course. One thing that fencing has revealed to me is just how much pride I have and how easily it is wounded. If I had self-discipline equal to my hubris I would be practicing for six hours a day. The funny thing is I never considered myself a prideful person before I started competing. I was perfectly content to bout at the club and never even considered how much I needed to be winning. Even when the topic of competition would be raised I would demur, "Nah, competing isn't for me." Now my desire to maintain my place in the pecking order troubles my heart to and from most practices.

I ponder now if this is healthy. Perhaps. I am not competitive about anything else in my daily life so this is a nice spike in my otherwise flatlining meekness. But I am often chided by my significant other: If you're not having fun you need to stop. I retaliate that it's never fun to lose, no matter what you're doing. Besides, the good feelings by far outweigh the bad. And maybe the Type A side of my personality needed to be roused a little. Even now when I leave the salle, it's pulled the pillow back over its head and gone back to sleep by the time I get to I-95.

There's another tournament this weekend. The salle will have its largest representation ever and I can't lie: I have fretted some over how I will finish. But what would I be doing otherwise? Probably cleaning house and listening to reruns of This American Life. Fretting seems like payment enough for a healthy rush of blood.

Sit. Stay. Parry. Riposte.

Maitre asks if I feel like I am improving. I admit that I feel like I have reached a plateau lately. He is reassuring of course and says it is hard sometimes for the fencer to notice their own improvements. It is a kind response, but not altogether convincing. I cannot seem to pull off certain moves when it comes to a bout and the basics deteriorate when I lose focus.

So where does one look for inspiration in times like these? Well to her puppy of course. Where else? She is a stubborn thing and I fear, at times, not the sharpest tool in the proverbial shed. But when she learns a new thing, she seems to learn it all at once. (Last week she learned to bark at everyone who walks by our house and isn't that grand.) Like how we worked on "Lay" repeatedly, day after day, without the faintest glimmer of understanding. And then one day, she just did it, like it was no big deal. Now she does it all the time. She just lays down and looks at me expectantly, looking for the treat that she thinks should come with such a feat.

Perhaps this is how it will be for me. I see snatches of advancement sometimes. In extended parry exchanges, I always think "indirect riposte" but the connection from the brain to the arm never seems to make it all the way through till its too late. But it happened Sunday, and I was hardly even thinking about it. And I got the point. And a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. Which is almost as good as a jerky bit.

Bullet The Blue Sky and Balestra

It doesn't seem like it should be that hard: Doing an advance-lunge, extend the arm with the back foot of the advance.

But apparently, for my impaired self, it is nearly impossible. Only a millisecond off...okay, "maybe 2 milliseconds". I like to think of myself as a multitasker, but the timing of these two tasks at once seem to have me stymied. And I am quite aware of the problem, I can feel the disconnect, I don't need someone to tell me.

It brings me back to something I have been considering lately. If I know that I am doing something incorrectly, does that make it any less of an offense? Earlier this week, I knew a circular parry was coming. I was ready for it. SO ready! And then I did it and as it was happening, I could feel how wrong it was, how wide the point had gone, how completely ridiculous it looked. I stood there, stupefied. I didn't need to be told this was wrong. Does that make it less wrong?

Probably not. But this awareness of my body and the awareness of what is and is not correct has to be some small kind of victory I think. My mind is learning quickly, even if my body cannot keep up so I will take whatever victories I can. It's rather depressing for someone who has, in the past, had a great deal of pride in the abilities of her body. It's just one more reminder of how time is advancing... like hearing The Joshua Tree on the classic rock station.

WTF?

Fencing is a sport for gentlemen and gentlewomen. There is always the saluting, the shaking of hands, the prancing about in knickers. It all lends itself to this image of fencing being the undertaking of fine and upright citizens. I tell you now that it is a very clever ruse, though I can only speak for myself. Should any poor soul happen upon the thoughts in my head while I am bouting the last thing they will be thinking is "genteel".

While in a bout, all thoughts of what is decorous or lady-like go right out the window. There is a great deal of cursing and vague threats. Every touch is punctuated by a stern but silent epithet, very often involving the letter 'f'. When fighting someone better than I (usual), I ask myself burning questions like "How the hell do I hit this guy?". If the guy happens to be way better than I, and I know I am about to lose badly, I might scream like a little girl in the world of my head.

Likely none of this should be going on in my head of course. I know I should be concentrating wholly on what I am doing, where my point is at, maintaining proper distance, etc and etc. But sometimes a well placed curse is just good for the soul. I will always shake hands afterward, and be sincere in my congratulations, in the tradition of a true gentlefolk. But also, isn't it like a true gentlefolk to quietly wish a pox upon the house of thine enemies? Yeah, I thought so.

A Lady's Blade, Part 1

When a man lifts a sword, it is a mark of power and an expression of virility. The author assures her audience that the simple action of a sword being swung by a worthy man is enough to make her tingly all over. For the sword is a tool designed, crafted, and used by men. Of course, dear audience, we speak of the sword in the context of history at this point, leaving the modern sporting arena to for discussion another time. Thus the sword has been a tool for achieving whatever man desires: power, land, religious converts, and yes, even tingly women.

So we are used to seeing a sword in the hands of a man. It is natural and to be expected. (The author wishes to point out here that even if it is natural, it's still hot.) However, in the hands of a woman a sword becomes a whole other beast. The woman herself often becomes a beast, though in a cunning and fiercesome manner rather than hulking and grisly.

Women, for the most part, are not wired to claim power with the same forthright audacity as a man. If a woman picks up a sword, you can be assured that she too seeks her own kind of power. Though the sword be heavy, and bear a hilt not meant for fair hands, she will raise it with finesse. And though she may assume a defensive stance at first, there will be a certain light to her eyes that says, "Yes, I am going to kill you. But won't you be surprised when you find out how."

Yes, Corona, we will take your advertising $$

What a good day it is outside. I've decided now that I shall champion the cause for outdoor fencing. Wouldn't that be marvelous? - a strip by the sea - having to factor in wind speed when executing your disengages. Of course, the jackets will have to go in favor of 350N tank tops if we're going to capitalize on some of those marketing dollars that go to beach volleyball now. There might be a little blood, sure, but we don't want sissies in the Seaside Fencing Federation anyway.

Of course all of this is just an amusing way to avoid what I should really be thinking about. Yeah, footwork. I have such a hard time dealing with such a simple and concrete subject - at least as much on paper as in practice. But if you can't think about it, how can you train your body to do it? It just seems like it should be so simple. Mobility is already ingrained into the body so it seems like it should come naturally; but now it must be done differently, so it must be thought about. This is a line of reasoning that is getting me nowhere except back where I started.

And, while in the SFF bouts will actually take place in a large circle to provide that extra edge of excitement that cable tv viewers demand, for now footwork is limited to a subset of the human range of movement - forward and back. Which makes my failure to grasp the subject even more frustrating. Whether it is because or in spite of the wide array of ways to accomplish moving forward or back remains to be seen.

Yes, yes. I know the solution. Starts with a 'Pr', rhymes with cactus.

So that last post was pretty worthless; it's been sent back to Very Rough Draft Land till it learns to say something useful.

Instead I would like to share a charming analogy I heard on NPR this morning. Incidentally the commentator was actually sharing the analogy in relation to writing her own blog, but it made me think of fencing. It could be applied to many things.

A young girl clings to the edge of pool, frequently shouting to her mother, "You must keep an eye on me, I cannot swim!" But as she begins to get distracted by the other children and to join them in play, she remembers less and less often to remind her mother that she must be watched over. At last it is the mother who shouts to the child, "Look, you are swimming!" And sure enough the child finds herself gleefully paddling out in the middle of the pool.

Now you say to yourself - what does fencing have to do with swimming? And I tell you...well, very little, but this is an analogy after all. There is a natural progression to learning any new sport which begins with the fundamentals and cautious learning, proceeds slowly towards testing the waters of competition and ends - hopefully - with a confident new athlete. I feel I am on the threshold of that first area, tremulously peering ahead of me to the next stage.

Give me drills to do. I'm good at drills. Teach me the skills and then drill me.
A tournament you say? Well...I don't know about that.

Competition, while it ends with simple, cold numbers showing how many touches you made and how many touches were made against you, is, after all, a lot more than a score. It is undeniable proof of how well you prepared: how well you learned your drills, trained your muscles, prepared your mind. And if it can be used to prove, then it can also be used to disprove.

Perhaps I am not cut out to be a fencer after all.

You think now that I have forgotten all about my little swimming analogy in favor of self-pity, but just give me a second. In spite of the preceding gloomy thoughts, betraying the nature of my internal struggle. In spite of the creature of fear always slinking along at my heels like a hungry dog. In spite of these things, I am slowing letting go of the edge of the pool.

There will always be moments of struggle, losing a foothold, gasping for breath but as years wear on those moments become farther between and you gain the confidence you need to recover from them and learn from them. Maybe someday I will be surprised to hear someone say, "Look, you're a fencer."