"Love is full of anxious fears."

-Ovid

Warning: Woe-is-me-isms ahead...

Last weekend was a pretty awesome weekend for our little band of epeeists. Though I could not attend, the club hosted what turned out to be a big A2 tournament. Two of my teammates earned two new awesome ratings: a B and a C. Obviously, our new coach's methods are working out...and how!

But I will admit to you, forgiving audience that you are, that after last Monday's night practice I was a little pensive. Fencing, for me, has never been solely about competition or about getting the highest rating possible. I try to make competitions an objective measure of how I'm progressing my skills. Of course I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to get that next rating or place in the top X of any given tournament. But that's not necessarily what I'm thinking about at practice.

And it seems that now my mindset has fallen out of step with the overall tone of practice. I do really love pushing myself in the conditioning exercises and trying to perfect my form in blade and footwork drills but these, along with very focused and competitive bouting, leave little room for free, fun fencing. Feels like these days every time I step on the strip at practice I am accompanied by little anxious fears that my performance in that bout is critical to my viability as an epeeist. I also feel like I get frustrated more easily than I did a few months ago and that I take the losses harder.

And...that's all I really had to get off my chest. Please feel free to chalk this entire post up to female fickleness. What was I wishing for last year? I'm guessing it was a devoted coach and more direction for practices. Yeah.

Further On Down the Road

A couple things today

1st This week marks three years of fencing for me. Three years since I took the 8 week Beginning Fencing class at Metro Tacoma FC/Blue Steel. I've since been a member of two other clubs in two other states. The clubs have been very different and important in their own ways but I think Tacoma was the best place I could've started. There were no elite athletes, but the people that taught me how to fence there were very in love with their sport and wanted only to make other people love it too. Time was not only spent on foot and bladework but also on the history of the sport, the importance of all the little formalities, writings by pioneers of the sport, and other things that coaches I've met since would think passé. But for me, this was of the greatest importance because these are the things that drew me to fencing in the first place. I think I would not have stayed in the sport this long (and - I think - for the rest of my able days) had it not been for this foundation. So, thanks.

2nd Building a little on what I wrote a couple weeks ago about teams, the New York Times this morning had an article this morning about working out in groups, and the positive and negative effects it can have. It just reinforces a lot of the things I was already thinking: that exercising with other people ignites our competitive spirit, makes the time go by faster and can lead to better results. One thing this article doesn't mention is the importance of the person leading the exercise, but I think this is at least important as the people around us. Our current coach, I think, has some background in psychology and he always seems to know exactly the right thing to say to me to make me give up every last ounce of oomph I have. So, again, thanks.

If you can't say something nice...

Last night at practice, I chose to (mostly) heed the advice of a wise sage:

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

After a long set of drills and conditioning exercises I just felt like I had no bouting in me at all. It was the walking lunges in particular that did me in. This is where we do lunges all the way down the piste, with alternating legs, and then back. A couple times. My right leg of course, is fine with this. I can lunge on my right leg all day long. But apparently my left leg is woefully out of shape. Once we got done with these drills it felt weak and jello-y. So it said to the rest of my body Y'all can go on 'bout yer business, but I'm done all for the night just as it was time to start bouting exercises.

I wanted to gnash my teeth and bemoan my outcast state, but instead, I tried not to say anything at all. I slipped a few times, but not in front of coach, thankfully. I did, however, get my butt handed to me all night, in every bout.

What this means is more lunges. Lots more lunges.

And then I'll start working on the other advice imparted by the aforementioned sage:

Eating greens is a special treat.
It grows long ears and great big feet!

On the subject of teams

I rarely think of fencing as a team sport. I have participated in a few team format competitions, but for the most part it's me alone against the hordes. And those same hordes often include other members of my club. But when it comes to practice, and seeing the same guys (I am the only female epeeist at the moment) week in and week out, sweating along beside me, I find myself referring to them in my head as "the team."

I am now at my third club in three years. Three very different clubs with different demographics, styles, and levels of competitiveness. So I feel somewhat qualified to speak on the topic of camaraderie in fencing practice. All have been mostly friendly places, though fencing, by its nature I think, always breeds a few standoffish, haughty types. But I've never felt as really welcomed into, and as much a part of, a group as I do now with the other epeeists at my club.

While I suspect this has a lot to do with me and an increase in confidence overall, I think it also has something to do with the level of competition at the club. Of the three clubs I have belonged to, my current club is the most competitive-minded, with nearly everyone competing at least at the local level. It has the most people competing at the National level and the most rated fencers - not that that is a valid measurement of anything by itself. How does this contribute to a team atmosphere? Common goals for one. Plain ol' human nature for another: No one wants to be left behind so no one is slouching off at practice. We're constantly egging each other on and pushing one another and sharing feedback. It helps, I think that we're all competitive with one another and no bout is ever a sure thing. It seems to mean absolutely nothing that I am the only female, which is good for me.

What does all this mean? It means that when one of my teammates wins a tournament, I am nearly as excited as if I had won it myself. (It was a rough day on Sunday, watching two of my teammates fight the gold medal bout and not really knowing who to root for. I just cheered for all the good touches and congratulated both guys at the end.) It means I always look forward to practice. It also means that I'm scared to death of falling behind these guys, of being a drag on the team. Whether it's because they're younger, stronger, or just have more free time, I am spurred to work as hard as possible on our two practice nights a week to make sure I can keep up.

I've had a lot more thoughts about the subject of teams, but I'll save them for another post.

The Part Where You Let Go

The club has been shaken up. Shaken up enough so that I think that those who aren't holding on tightly may be lost to the turbulence. I wonder...how tight is my grip?

Just because it's a good new song: The Part Where You Let Go

Club Sweet Home

The big news at the club is that They are looking for new digs, very fancy digs in fact, announced at last night's meeting. It is a grand vision, but one hard to come to grips with. Inexplicably sparkling on the horizon - like flying across the desert and seeing Las Vegas rising in the distance. The problem is, when you actually get to Las Vegas and see it up close, it is overwhelming and a little terrifying.

Full disclosure: I get comfortable with things. I get attached to otherwise mundane things with a fierce sentimentality. I don't like change. While I have not yet become attached to my current club like I did to Tacoma, still the idea of such sudden transition leaves me a little shaky. Keep my (mostly irrational) "quirks" in mind during the following.

A world-class facility - it doesn't seem unreasonable given Charlotte's steroidal growth rate - but such a facility demands an income stream to maintain it. That means lots of fencers. Here lies the source of my greatest apprehension. One of the reasons that I enjoy fencing so much is that - unlike fitness clubs, soccer fields, and the like - practice time does not resemble a droning beehive where one earnest little bug cannot be identified from the next. During the meeting, grand tales of other national clubs were told where fencers wait in line to fence at one of sixteen strips for hours every night. And that's what we want to emulate? Alas...

In all sense I realize that even if this level of success (for success it would be for the owner of the club) could be achieved, it is probably a couple years down the road and that my rationality and common sense could grow along with the fencing population. Just spare me a moment for consternation - that is one thing I am comfortable with.

Fire and Ice

So to recap: I had just barely passed the year mark in Virginia when I moved to North Carolina. I was off from fencing for about a month before joining Touche Fencing Club in Charlotte. It is very different from the Salle in that it is very much a club. The emphasis is much less on instruction and much more on just coming to fence. This may be an unfortunate thing for the long run, but for now, I think it is a good step. At the salle, I received a ton of personal instruction and coaching from Maitre, but had less opportunity to test those skills against opponents that were really challenging. Now I test my skills excessively (after my half hour drive home, I'm still soaked with sweat), but I fear I will lose my technical acuity that I was working so hard to perfect. I don't want to be just a fencer who wins a lot of bouts, I want to be a fencer who looks like a good fencer. It will come down to discipline and whether I can get my act together enough to drill at home on off days. I have grand plans for the garage, but currently it's just a storage room.

...And now that we're all caught up, I'm left thinking of the two practices I've had this week. Where I've been either on fire, picking off every wrist that came within range, or ice cold, barely able to get my feet off the ground to move. And I'm not talking about different days, just different bouts. I think the loss of my extremely detail oriented drills has left me less able to depend upon muscle memory and more upon muscle exertion. I haven't (this week at least) felt like a good fencer, just someone who knows which motions to perform.

Add to that the fact that I'm still a little uneasy in the club setting. I still feel like an outsider, more than I ever did even after only a couple weeks in Tacoma or at Salle Green. That's a whole 'nother can of neuroses though and has to do with fencing only on a peripheral level. That's a whole other blog that I wouldn't burden anyone with.

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.

The Necessity of Competition (?)

I find myself looking at the schedule for the Virginia division and becoming aggravated - so little is scheduled for the new year, but I love the competitions. Even when I am quite soundly trounced, I'm having a rollicking good time. I bring this up casually while practicing and am reminded that tournaments are not the only way to measure one's success. Yes, I agree, silently chiding myself for this simple but overlooked truth. Two or three times a week I compete with my salle mates in honest to goodness bouts. Some of them are more tough than what I face in competition. And I know at least that anyone I fence at the salle will smile and be happy about shaking my hand at the end, no matter the results. But, the flip side is that, even if touches are hard fought, I know generally what to expect. Do I lose something by removing that element of the unknown? Can I grow fighting the same half-dozen people all the time? I don't know...that's why I put a question mark in the title.

Yorktown, 23693

So here I am in Virginia. I've been trying to wait to write till I had resumed fencing, but I imagine that's going to be at least another month. Which is disappointing to me; I honestly miss it. I kept my gear out of storage, but I haven't actually done any practicing yet besides a few half-hearted advances and retreats. It's not the same without a club. It's not the same without the people that got me interested in the sport in the first place. I know that there will be another club and I'm sure there will be other people, but until then I am awash in a sea of latency.

I kept tabs on the goings-on of the Nationals in Sacramento. I looked for names that I knew and I offered my silent little cheers. It is true what they say about the small community of fencing. I think perhaps, if I can resume regular training...if I am as good as I think I can potentially be...I will see some friends again, down the line. I wait expectantly for the announcement of the location for next year's competition.

Luckily, I have been able to keep myself from being totally dormant. I jog a little, take the dog for late night walks, play a little driveway hoops, and some softball. Today in fact was the final tournament for the softball team that adopted me so late in the season (lucky my dad is the coach). And yes, we won the tournament. But I played one game last night and three games this afternoon and let me say this to you: Sweet lord almighty, I am sore. I am sore and I am sunburned and I just want to go to bed. I was also very dirty until I hit the showers. The breeze was nice to cut through the typical Virginia heat, but it meant that I had that softball field clay dust all over me.

Regardless, there's something satisfying about calling an end to a day which allowed you to sweat out all your aggressions. A line drive into left field alleviates, at least for the trip around the bases, the stressors that weigh upon your mind. The snap of leather when you make a good catch takes your breath away just for a second; but it is a second of elation and self-satisfaction when otherwise you are full of doubt. There are similar moments in fencing, and maybe that's why I am missing it right now - during a time while stressors and self-doubt are abundant.

So I will go to bed tonight - weary, but in a good way. Naturally in the morning I will be sore as hell, but ... I'll worry about that tomorrow.