No Sprechen Fechtsport

Last night practice was solely a preparation for Sectionals. We fenced a lot of bouts, mimicking both pool bouts and DEs not so much to practice fencing, but moreso to practice mindsets. And maintaining a proper mindset, for me, is at least as challenging as maintaining proper form. It was a great, well-timed practice but it is the practices that challenge me the most that usually leave me the most frustrated. My frustration actually came to a head last night and I swallowed my pride and I just said to our coach, "I don't get it. I can't see what you say I should be seeing." Of course he was kind and reexplained things to me but I felt a bit deflated for the rest of the night.

Something that he's been drilling into us, me especially, for a while now is that the way to fence is to move in and out of the bubble. You move in the bubble, look for opportunities and move back out. In and out. When you move in and see an opportunity for attack, you take it - quickly! - and then get right back out, whether or not you were successful. So I'm in there looking for these opportunities but I don't really know what it is I'm looking for. I'm trying to create reactions in my opponents, but I don't really know how to identify these reactions or what to do with them when I get them. So I get in the bubble and I look for...something...and I forget to get out. I enter the sacred bubble temple sending prayers to the fencing heavens that they may grace me with a sign of exactly what it is I'm supposed to be doing in there. But the heavens are silent, or the devotee is blind and deaf; either way, I'm just not getting it.

I resign myself to the fact that this must be a function of time and experience and that slowly the great Truth will be revealed to me. The funny thing is, some of my most successful attacks are when I quit thinking about this most important tenet and fall back upon my animal instincts (rabid bunny mostly). At the Sword in the Stone, my single lights against the A fencer in my DEs came when I just went after him, throwing in a few beats and double disengages when they seemed appropriate. Maybe I do see the opportunities - sort of subconsciously - and it's only when allowing my brain to get in the way that I botch it up. Wouldn't be the first time my brain has let me down.

I guess the important point for the day is that I'm looking forward to Sectionals this weekend; I'm going to exercise my mindsets and just try to have fun. I finished the practice last night with one of my most fun touches ever - a fleche disengage. Fear the bunny!

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.

Embrace the Bubble

Since starting our "new" epee program, I feel like I've learned so much; more than can be communicated here, even with italics. When we switched from drills to bouting last night I felt out of sorts, my head swimming with all the things we've been discussing and practicing these many weeks. So many things to be aware of, to remember, to do or not do; I was overwhelmed and started out by losing the majority of the touches in that first practice bout because I couldn't get a handle on everything at once.

But then we moved to more focused bouting with immediate feedback and direction and that really helped. The word of the night was bubble. This is the space where fencing actions which result in a touch can occur. Basically it's advance-lunge distance, but being aware of this distance actually pushed us even closer in many instances, uncomfortably so sometimes. My goal, both mentally and tactically, was to keep myself from relying solely on defense and attempt to be the one controlling the bout as much as possible. Whoa! This is so antithetical to my status quo that it was actually easier than I thought it would be. If I had been instructed to only change one aspect of my fencing, then it would have been too easy to lapse back into habit, but with this 180º turn, it was all I could think about: I didn't have a chance to become reactionary like usual and I felt like I actually did pretty well.

Still, I am nervous about the tournament this weekend. My normal plan for tournaments is to let myself be ruled by instincts. I don't try to incorporate new or more complicated maneuvers in tournament play until they become instinct. But I think more is expected of me this time around and I hope I can pull it off. Also, everyone else preregistered so far is from our club and I never like fencing teammates in tournaments. Am I more scared of losing to them or winning? I know, but I'm scared to to tell you.

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.

Title Track

Yes, I've been writing in this blog for two years and now at long last, a post about sentiment de fer. I have been thinking about it since last practice. During the lesson, our coach spoke about something which is totally obvious, but perhaps does not receive enough consideration. That is, despite all the footwork we do, all the strategy, tactics, and conditioning. Despite fancy bladework, second intentions, and sweat-wicking stretchy FIE uniforms, what the whole sport boils down to is: does my point land on my opponent or does his point land on me? The "point" (haha) was driven home later the same night when our most veteran epeeist was giving me an impromptu lesson. Frustrated at my apparent ineptness he grabbed my tip and compelled me in his booming voice: "Brain should be here! Brain is here!" It actually worked and the rest of the lesson went better.

Thinking about how to be more aware of my point is what has reminded me of sentiment de fer. That feeling of being one with my steel. Because really, the point is a rather ungainly thing. It's dangling out there, 110 cm away from me controlled by, essentially, two fingers; all the while you are moving and your opponent is moving. Always knowing where this little 1/2" piece of metal is in relation to your opponent and being able to place it willfully onto clear target is really the culmination of being one with your weapon. It really is a marvelous marriage between the human brain and body.

Unfortunately, this is not inborn and, for me at least, it's not even like riding a bicycle. You can't learn it and then just keep it forever. Every hour that I fence is an hour that I am trying to tighten my feeble grasp on such a rarefied idea, and constant diligence is required not to let it slip away. There are nights when I feel completely devoid of my sentiment and there are nights when I feel like I have reached a new level of awareness.

Observing fencers who have truly made their fer part of them is really is a beautiful site. The result is a fluidity and an effortlessness of movement that is best appreciated and most coveted when you are on the receiving end of one of their touches.

A Lady's Blade, Part 2: Nature vs. Nurture

Upon admitting my reluctance to bout with children, I have been told that these reservations are unfounded. The fact that "Well, they want to beat you" seems to be provided as carte blanche to whip the little ankle-biters into submission. And, while in a tournament you can be assured I would (do my best to) whip them all heartily, I just can't bring myself to be merciless at a practice.

I have noticed the look of frustration when they find they can gain no ground. This is especially apparent with boys who cannot bear the thought of being beat by a girl - even if she is twice his size. And so, we come to an area of great contention for madam fencer. That is that battle between herself and her foe in so many pursuits: the mothering instinct. It is a battle which isn't meant to be won, but a game of careful balancing. For me, it goes something like this:

Score a couple touches. Then, respond a little too slowly and let them land a solid attack. "Oh! You got me that time for sure." (It is not condescending, but matter-of-fact.) Another touch for me. Another for them. "Okay, here we go." Of course, I must win in the end, but I find for them a look of sincere relief when I pull off my mask: it was close all along, I assure them silently.

In the vast reaches of my experience, I have found false hope to be a faithless teacher; losses will pay for themselves in time.

Coaches aside, do men have this same sort of struggle? I suppose it depends on the man. And the child for that matter. I admit I have come across some that certainly deserved a right and proper beating. For those, the nurture trigger is dampened. Let nature take her course.

No Jeeps on the Piste

Well I took a lot of notes over the weekend as I jetted about here and there. Following is a compilation of those where I can still read my turbulence-jostled handwriting.

After reading the article "On Mastering Fencing" by Nick Jamilla I am compelled to think on the instructor/student relationship which seems paramount to learning fencing. Perhaps one of the reasons it seems to warrant a good deal of thought is the marked difference in the instruction of fencing and the coaching of everything else I have been involved in. There are no whistles, no strained screams from the sidelines, no being chased by a Jeep (yes, I did have a track coach who would ride on our heels in her jeep and beep incessantly).

Learning fencing is not just about running faster or making more baskets: Jamilla calls it a transformation of the student under the guidance of a master. Further, he says it is a relationship of trust; and while I have desired in the past to please certain coaches, the element of trust was not so pronounced, or even necessary. Also there is the element of docility on the part of the student. Now there's something that's easy for me - too much so some might say. But faced with someone with a dedication and love for the sport, I can't help but want to absorb everything and will eagerly do so to the point of bursting.

And now my thoughts escape me... Need to go back to writing during the day

~~~~random change of topic~~~~~

Alright the other things that I jotted down notes on seem suddenly incongruous. I'll save them for another day.

Warning: Non-fencing related anecdote ahead. Feel free to stop reading. I'd just like to get it down on "paper".

Seated in seat 1C on a recent flight out of Philadelphia, I was privy to a whole new world I had not yet met. The soap opera which is airline personnel. I listened surreptitiously as our flight attendant and the gate attendant had a heated conversation about Philly's new turnaround time for aircraft which were arriving and then departing again. Our stewardess was obviously quite put out by the whole thing. Once the gate attendant left she resumed her pre-flight duties with ferocity: viciously wiping down counters and beginning a pot of coffee all the while shaking her head and sighing in frustration. But then a strange thing happened - as the plane began to taxi, she calmly put her things away and even started to hum. Once we took off she was a changed beast, calmly sitting in her little jump seat, reading a magazine and rocking her legs in time to her own humming.

As I thought about this creature - more at home in the air than on the ground - I couldn't help but wonder where I will at last feel at home. When at the very same time my roots begin to happily uncurl in the soil of one place, the time swiftly approaches while I must move and once again with trepidation test new ground and hope that it is fertile.