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.

Flying Kites in Hurricanes

92 in D2WE.
101 in D3WE.

What is one little girl amid such numbers? One little heroine facing such an army?

As per usual, there is a small voice at the back of my head, trying to make me wonder if I am going to be in over my head. But my established (shakily proven) routine has been to not even think about what the result could be before a tournament. As I tell myself in moments of both elation and panic: One touch at a time. And remember folks, fencing is fun.

I have bad nights at practice of course, but normally, even if I am not in top form, I leave practice in a bleary sort of delight. I find myself laughing aloud during bouts when a particularly exciting or well-timed move is pulled off (even though it's usually by my opponent). I tell you that I've had a few bouts in the last couple weeks that were long and hard-fought and that I did not necessarily win, but when I got done I wanted to wrap my opponent in a great big sweaty bear hug, because I just love fencing so much. I love to feel myself on that edge of possibly being able to overcome, but having to wrench every beat of it from my struggling mortal frame.

My best wish is to make it through that figurative hurricane of epee-wielding women at Nationals clinging to the string of my little kite of jubilance. I want to hack my way through a couple rounds of DEs and finish with the same sort of elation that I am going in with.

Caretake this moment. Immerse yourself in its particulars. Respond to this person, this challenge, this deed. Quit the evasions. Stop giving yourself needless trouble. It is time to really live; to fully inhabit the situation you happen to be in now.
- Epictetus


PS - I didn't come up with the image of flying kites in hurricanes, but I can't recall now where it comes from. Fair's fair.

A thought

My literary quote of the day struck me as particularly applicable to fencing. For someone (me) who is struggling to define realistic but respectable goals, I think this is a fine one. And from one of my favorite poets no less.

"The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things".
-Rainer Marie Rilke

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.

More quotes

My collection has grown to acceptable post size again, so here's another installment of quotes that, to me, relate to my fencing life:

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.
-Anais Nin

Fear is not a disease of the body; fear kills the soul.
– Mahatma Gandhi

I loathe the expression "What makes him tick." It is the American mind, looking for simple and singular solution, that uses the foolish expression. A person not only ticks, he also chimes and strikes the hour, falls and breaks and has to be put together again, and sometimes stops like an electric clock in a thunderstorm.
- James Thurber

Try as hard as we may for perfection, the net result of our labors is an amazing variety of imperfectness. We are surprised at our own versatility in being able to fail in so many different ways.
- Samuel McChord Crothers

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe
And love itself have rest.
-Lord Byron

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.

Third is good

Despite my placement at the end of the day, I never really felt like I was on top of my game Saturday. Whether it was a product of the opponents that I faced or just an unprepared mental state, I'm not sure. Fighting only other women at a local level was a new, frustrating experience. Until my final round of the DEs I didn't feel pressed to perform much at all. Instead, I felt rather lulled into a wait and see sort of mode . I fear this may have been the main ingredient for a wicked spell of cloudiness that brought about my loss in the round of four. My eye was off, my timing was off and I just couldn't get a good mental hold on what needed to be done to win the bout. It came down to 13-13. No one thing had been consistently successful and I was feeling a sort of agitated desperation in the final time period: I should know what to do to end this. Two quick touches later, it was over and I garnered myself a third place finish.

Don't misunderstand, stepping back and viewing this objectively, I recognize that this is a very noble spot in which to finish and I am well-pleased. But, that last bout was so close, and even to the very end, I thought that I'd be able to figure her out and pull it off. But then it was just over, whether or not I wanted to keep fencing, I no longer had that prerogative.

This weekend I had been crediting my torpor, somewhat affectionately, to a loss-induced broken heart. But after the news from Virginia Tech today, that description is just so. so. ... far. away.

Selling the Sport

In an effort to make this blog a little less self-centered, I bring you the following commentary...

Last week on television, I saw a commercial put out by the NCAA featuring fencers. It was a great commercial and can be viewed here: http://www.ncaastudent.org (go to TV Spots and click the one with the fencer - duh). This is part of a series of commercials, each featuring a different sport, promoting the fact that the NCAA prepares students for life. Kudos to the NCAA for choosing fencing for one of them (the other two were basketball and field hockey). I hope that, like myself, it stopped many people in their tracks and made them say: "Wow, that's a beautiful sport." Because it is, but it is hard to impress upon people sometimes and it would be grand if the spot prompted at least a few people to pick up the phone and call their local club to learn about it.

Fencing, when executed correctly, is marvelous to watch. I do admit to getting a little weak in the knees and fluttery in the chest when a handsome, white-clad man performs a perfect lunge or snaps into a fine fleche. So I make this plea to the USFA: If you got, flaunt it! Let the people know that they too can partake in the graceful assault. They don't have to be fancy, high budget TV commercials. A beautiful still shot targeted to the right audiences could do wonders. Let more people know that fencing is an accessible and thriving sport and that anyone can get involved at anytime.

And where are the fencing personalities? Admittedly, the masks make it more difficult to identify potential heroes, but I hope the USFA uses the upcoming Olympics to get a few fencer's names on the lips of the public (maybe we can rename one of them 'Tiger' - that seems to work). Surely it's possible. Myself, I have zero background in short track speed skating, but at this point, I'd know Apolo Ono if we happened into the same Starbucks. It's all just marketing, and I don't mean that as cynical as it sounds.

Fencing is filled with dedicated, devoted players, but currently the "national association" seems more like a patchwork of insular geographies. Some flourish and some barely survive. Provide some professionally designed marketing materials to local clubs to use at demonstrations and in their windows to provide a streamlined, unified front for all fencers. Put bumper stickers in our yearly registration packet. Make the USFA logo a recognizable symbol so people don't mistake us for US Foosball Assocation. There must be one...hi foosballers!...get your own damn logo.

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.

Concentration on the...Hey, cookies!

I know this is a topic I've dwelt on before, but it's been at the forefront of my thoughts again....Okay, honestly, it's at the forefront on and off for about 30 seconds at a time. Yes, it is my eternal battle with concentration. Exhibit A: Not being able to concentrate on work and writing this instead. I read two articles this morning on livescience.com about recent studies into our powers (or lack thereof) of concentration. And while it's comforting that I am not alone in the frequency of my space-outs, there is no cure yet. Meditation was mentioned as a possible means of training the brain. Fencing was not.

But, perhaps I misrepresent myself. Fencing does not help my ability to concentrate. However, my time on the strip is virtually the only time I can keep my mind on a single finite thing for more than a minute. It is a relief, truly, to have a break from the constant struggle to focus and to have a reprieve from reprimanding myself for drifting off to other matters (usually fencing, actually).

The question though, is what am I concentrating on while on the strip? Last night, I tried during a couple bouts to focus on accomplishing certain maneuvers and find that the times that I am trying the hardest to think through my moves are the times that I am least successful. It just seems like too much work for my little brain to execute attacks and maintain a heightened defense at the same time. When I think about the times I am most successful, it seems that my mind is more abstract. Sort of...feeling my way through the bout and relying much more on instinct than on plans. That is all well and good, but I do not think that I can improve much fencing this way forever.

That is why I'm going to advocate for more drills at practice. I do believe that instinctual may be the best way to fence, but I think that I can train my instincts in order to reach a higher plane of fencing. If, by drilling, I can make more advanced actions - and perhaps even analysis - a more automatic part of my game, then that is the way to go.

I do realize that I have drifted from the original slant of my post, but really, what did you expect?

NAC E 'n ATL

In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.
- Dwight D. Eisenhower

I have good days and bad days. Fortunately, last Sunday was a good day. I had made a very conscious effort to not make any actual plans. Usually when I arrive at an event with vaulted expectations, that's exactly when I fall flat on my face. So I tried very hard not to think about Sunday at all before it actually arrived. Every now and then a little voice would pipe up in my head and say "Wouldn't it be nice to make it to the round of 32?" but I would promptly quash it with a quick "Hush you!".

So it was that I stepped off the shuttle bus with nothing particular in mind except to get some fencing in with people I didn't know. I managed to time my warm-ups pretty well so that I was raring to go when the pool began....Or so I thought, because I was confounded in the first bout 1-5. I was somewhat relieved later when that same girl won the pool by a large margin. After several close calls, I finally ended the pool 4 bouts up, 2 bouts down and a safe third place. The bad news is that I made a lot of mistakes. The good news is that I'm finally recognizing the mistakes when I make them and (usually) don't make them again.

After the pools, I was seeded 34, and got a bye to the round of 64 where I had to face number 31. I did not expect an easy bout and I did not get one. We were very evenly matched and I wish that I had that girl for a bouting partner. The score was incredibly close the whole time though I kept a one point lead for most of the 3 periods. Finally, we were at that much dreaded point 14-14 and as I turned to come on guard for the last time, I got a glimpse of my coach in the early stages of heart failure. Since my opponent was left-handed, my normal tactic of waiting for a counter-attack was a little dangerous, as her point was always dangerously close to my wrist. Throughout the bout, I'd found I had a rather unexpected knack for anticipating her attack and had nailed her several times right at the decision point; right when she had decided to attack and was not prepared to defend. I continued my role as the passive aggressor and inched her backwards without attacking, hyper-aware of her blade and arm. Finally something triggered me and I took the chance, with a quick extension towards her underarm with opposition. There was no counter and I got the single light. I got hearty congratulations from my teammates watching and a gracious handshake from my competitor. I really enjoyed that bout.

But from there it was a long period of waiting till the round of 32 (I made it!). I saw my would-be competitor - the No. 2 seed - dispatch her round of 64 opponent 15-0. I knew the girl, a young, skinny high school girl that I had fought in Virginia and never beat. My coach came over and watched her briefly too before turning to me and saying, essentially, that she looked pretty good and he didn't know what else to say. Just as well, I entered that last bout with no preconceptions or unreasonable ideas. I am proud to say that I scored 8 points on her, only one or two of which were doubles.

And so it was that I emerged into a beautiful day from the noisy and oppressive fluorescence of the conference hall. I found a comfortable bench and I relished for a moment the sun and breeze and did not feel particularly impatient for the shuttle bus. Later I was compelled to chat a little to a guy in a tell-tale blue blazer who sat down next me (and admitted, when I queried him about directing foil that he had a little color-blindness that made it difficult for him to distinguish between valid touches and off targets). I smiled a little and at last the shuttle bus arrived to carry us away. I was tired, but it was a good tired, the kind that I have been striving for as part of my New Year's resolution.

I can feel something beneath my skin, hidden somewhere in the musculature...An understanding of movement and a capability of strength which I have not felt or seen since college. But it is still buried too deep and I resent these hours I must sit at a desk instead of running or playing. Like I said, there are good days and bad days and there are still plenty of practices where I feel like a flailing hippo. But the islands of perfection are growing larger, and standing upon one, I can see the next rising ahead. The goal now is to have the good days outnumber the bad days.

The Gender Gap

So this should be apparent by now: I am a female. Do I fence like a girl? Likely. However, at practice and even at tournaments I fence almost exclusively men (and boys).

Now, this doesn't really bother me. For several years I've worked with mostly all men. Going farther back I've mostly been a participant of sports where the guys and girls were, if not competing against each other, at least practicing together. So I'm comfortable sweating around members of the opposite sex, to say the least. I am not a priss. That fact becomes important in a couple paragraphs.


Likely, this informs my style of fencing. From a purely physical standpoint, I am almost always the weaker opponent. I know with most men that I have a difficult time taking the blade and I can never bind unless I catch them at exactly the right point. So this has forced me instead to hone my disengage, find speed, and (as a perpetual work in progress) try tactics like second intention. This is all fine and good and I have no complaints about this facet of the gender gap.

Here is where I have a complaint: fencers who practice unnecessary roughness. Fencers for whom Finesse is just a shampoo. Who always hit as hard as they can, no matter what. Who wield their epees like a machete and hack at you like they were running blindly through the jungle with so many rabid wildebeests on their tail.

Exhibit A: A knot on my palm after my opponent crashed into my bell guard so hard last night that it lodged the pommel nut into my hand.

In all fairness, there are probably women who fence like this too, I just haven't met them. Call me a coward or a wimp or anything you like. But fencing is supposed to be fun and to me, it's just not fun to limp away from every touch.

Maybe I'll never be able to beat these guys who choose brute force over tactics. I'll just take solace in the fact that I look way better in knickers than they do.

Tooting My Own Horn (*long, self-centered post ahead*)

Giddy is a word that I can very very...very rarely use to describe myself. But I'll admit it here in front of God and everyone that on Sunday evening, yea, even unto Monday morning I was giddy. Did I come into a large inheritance? Win a trip to Tuscany? Accept a position as official marmot cuddler at the zoo? Nay, one simple little thing - I got an "E07" placed next to my name by making it into the round of 4 in Sunday's tournament. Certainly to everyone sensible, fencers and civilians alike, it is a trifling thing. Even a master of the sport said many times to me that "ratings mean nothing". So be it, I'm still excited.

There were two events Sunday. The first, an Open Mixed Epee had 33 competitors. In my pool, there were six fencers including a C, D, and an E. I tried really hard not to take the bouts too seriously. I am confident that my biggest downfall in a tournament is always my own mind. It was mentally exhausting to keep the terror at bay when the score was even, or I was behind, but I kept repeating my mantra, 'one touch at a time' and it seemed to work. I even came back from a one point deficit (after both my weapons failed before the bout started) to beat the D 5-4. In the end, I won three bouts and lost two and was very satisfied with that. Being satisfied with myself is a victory in itself. The DEs that followed were strenuous and I just barely won my first one 15-14. This is the first time I have ever won my first round DE! I was ecstatic. The day could've ended right there and it would've been a good one. I lost the next round to a B, but I don't think I made it overly easy for him and got 7 touches of my own. In the end, I was 12th out of 33 - the highest placing U and the highest placing woman. Had my teammate not knocked a C out of the top 8, I would've earned my E right then, but I'm happy that he did so well and not unhappy with my placement.

The second event was E and Under Epee and it still drew 25 competitors. My pool had 5, and only one E. I was not as happy with my performance in this pool and felt like the day was beginning to wear on me. I was 2 & 2, but thought I should've won at least one more. Perhaps the prior event had given me a false security. I ended up facing a slightly higher seed in the round of 16, but it was someone I had fenced earlier in the day and I knew what to expect. I went in a little reckless, trying too hard for the points and initially fell behind. Thankfully, his equipment was not cooperating and I had a few minutes to reflect and talk some sense into myself. I took it easier from there, waiting for his mistakes and taking advantage. For the first time, I made it to the round of 8. There was a teammate of mine waiting for me there. I knew that he could and had beat me in the past so I had to be on my game: the winner of this bout got the E. Bless their soul, a kind person reminded me before the bout of his strengths: He can be wild, but he's got a fast hand, watch your distance. I took it to heart, evaded his blade and managed to get the counterattack consistently. Not to say it was easy, though! Again, I had a first, and got to the semi-finals...and an E! My final competitor was a high school kid I had already beat in the pool. However, someone had apparently got a hold of him and his style had completely changed. I couldn't get the hang of the rhythm. I parried, but was out of distance for the riposte. I tried to get closer, but got nailed in the chest. I'm not sure what I should have done differently but at this point, it was nearly 8 hours since I started fencing at 9 that morning and the epee seemed about 3 pounds heavier. He was younger and faster and deserved his spot in the gold medal bout. I, personally, am in love with my third place medal.

*TooooooT*

Next up, lessons learned. For now, I'm still in my happy place.

For a change...

Usually my posts are very "woe is me" so since I actually had a few good things happen at practice last night I thought I ought to write about them before I return to my usual state of melodrama. In recognition of this rare occasion I have prepared the lovely piece of art you see here.Distance
I can recall two distinct times where I played the distance game like a pro. The first, I parried and took a step back and just as my opponent was starting to step back as well, I launched (literally) a super long lunge and riposted to his wrist. My immediate feeling was not one of excitement, or even surprise. No, my immediate thought was "Holy crap, it's a good thing I stretched first." Because otherwise, I'd still be feeling that lunge this morning.

My second gratifying use of distance came when I at last achieved a tactic that I've tried to use many times before. My opponent was steadily backing me down the strip and we had defined a definite rhythm that I could feel. So I kept the rhythm but faked the size of my retreat just a little so that I could take a quick short lunge and ping him on the forearm.

When something finally works after many failures, it's a good feeling. Is it one of those islands of perfection? Perhaps an experienced fencer would read this and just say "Pft! What's the big deal? You're supposed to be using distance." I hope that eventually it will become as natural for me too and I can treat it flippantly.

Speaking of experience, let me mention a patriarch of our club who, while in his 70s, still tidily dispatches just about every epeeist with minimal effort. I consider myself lucky to get a single touch on him. But last night, in a display of unusual self-discipline, I struggled for nearly the entire three minutes, concentrating on suppressing all unnecessary movements, keeping my point on target, and getting the hell out of the way. Thus, I had a long, incredibly mentally stressful bout (for me anyway) with him and still lost, but it was 5-4. Four points that, I think, are worthy of a sunny happy face.

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.

Another Year, Another Zip Code

** Watch this space **

I haven't stopped fencing or writing. The new year will bring new posts.

Wait and Hope

It's been hard to have a mind turned towards anything except selling this stupid house. So far I've had two lessons this week and in both I've felt like I was stumbling around like a sedated rhino. I've been back and forth on going to the Kickoff this weekend; normally I think of fencing all the time, but it just seems like lately my heart hasn't been in it, hasn't been in anything. But I'm going to beg one more lesson on Friday and then go fight. There aren't many chances to fight only other women and I think it's important to test myself.

Last night I lost to my best sparring partner three times in a row 5-4. I don't often beat him at all, but three times (count 'em) it came to 4-4 and I couldn't pull it off. He is an excellent fencer, but I think I will fall back on blaming my defeats once again on my failure to analyze a bout DURING the bout.

When it comes to the strip, I live in the moment. There is no notion of past or future any more than there is a notion that we ought to stop the fighting and talk things over instead. My husband, who does not understand that his mental acuity far outstrips mine, explains to me rather simply that all you need to do is: Decide what you're going to do, decide what you'll do if that doesn't work, decide what you'll do if it works halfway, decide what you'll do if your opponent attacks first, know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, etc.,etc. Then you're ready for En Guarde.

But once the director calls Fence, I have a terrible time containing any information except for the action which I am executing at that very second. Bringing into play what has happened previously in the bout and what I will do should my execution not result in a touch happen only accidentally, if at all. My hope is that as executions become automated and I don't have to think about them specifically, there will be more room in my head for thinking about their causes and consequences.

Until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words,--'Wait and hope'.
Alexandre Dumas (1802 - 1870), The Count of Monte Cristo

Passing time..

These came from an email containing military quotes, but I found some of the applicable (and fun) for fencing too:

If the enemy is in range, so are you.
Infantry Journal

Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid.
David Hackworth

If your attack is going too well, you're walking into an ambush.
Infantry Journal

Never trade luck for skill.

Whack!

Oh! I forgot to say. Sabre is fun! Hopping about and whacking people in the head is tops with me. Even if I couldn't break into the top five .

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.