My Right Foot

I was told yesterday that my right foot, is, in fact, wrong. David pointed out that when I lunge, my foot turns outward. When he had told me this, I started fencing again, and I suddenly noticed it. It was only a few inches off course, but it looked so obvious, I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before. I know it isn't a disaster, but it is slightly worrying how these habits take hold. I will need to coax it back into its rightful place. On this note, one should look closely at themselves fencing. A full-length mirror is quite useful. Practice some basic moves, and see whether anything else needs a slight adjustment.

Alone

At a refereeing course yesterday, I noticed a slightly disturbing thing. We were watching Olympic finals, and during this, one fencer scored a brilliant riposte. The entire audience cheered, but when his opponent scored a hit, only a tiny fraction cheered. I realised that it must feel quite bad to have no-one supporting you. I have seen fencers at competitions have crowds of people at their end of the piste, whereas their opponent only has his or her parents or coach. It struck a chord within me. The feeling of loneliness must lower your fencing performance dramatically, because of it's psychological disadvantages. Now, I have realised, that that is not the case. However many people support someone, it doesn't make an ounce of difference when they are on the piste. For on the piste, no-one else can fight with you. More often than not, you have to fight with yourself, to overcome your emotions. Although I may not have many people up my end of the piste, there is always support in my mind. Fencers shouldn't base their skill on their number of supporters. Likewise, their opponents shouldn't be put off by the opposing numbers. As long as they have confidence in their own abilities, they will always have the largest amount of support. Here's a line from a poem I found:

'When the mind opens, the twin sword will fall

For it has seen the hopeless cause of its passion

And so the same person fights hand in hand with himself

Gives himself hope

Gives himself voice... '

The Line of Duty

A few months ago, I was asked had I ever been injured in my fencing. I had honestly replied no. My answer has now changed, as of yesterday.
I was fencing, when my opponent lunged at me. Realising that he would try for a riposte to shoulder, like he had done before, I parried with a pronation. This carried his point straight into my knuckle with a small crack. Pain. My opponent hurriedly asked me if I was alright. For some reason, I said I was fine, and we continued. Several fights later, I checked under my glove, and saw a red bruise beginning to set in. Turning my hand over, I felt the knuckle in question 'pop' and a flare of agony shoot down my finger. Even as I type now, it's still pretty sore.
I know it's not a major injury, but it still hurts enough to be classified as an injury. Someone I know once got a sabre blade through their shoulder, so I was thankful that didn't happen to me. I think it's changed my style in some way though. Today, I was fencing someone, and I didn't want to get hit, for fear of repercussion. I fenced as if I wouldn't get hit by anything. Not panicky, not arrogant, just good old 'middle way' lunging. Surprisingly, it seems to work. If I can get injured in different ways, what else would change about my style? I won't try it out, but it's a thought...

The Simple Things

For some reason, while I was fencing last week, I got really frustrated with myself. This is quite unlike me, as I try to remain placid throughout the match. However, none of my hits were landing, and my opponent, someone who tended to whip the point in rather than place it, kept hitting me solely on the counter attack. I kept thinking, he shouldn't be getting points for my mistakes. Every point, I had to keep tugging my left handed glove down. I don't actually have a left hand, just a stumpish type thing. I have to wear a sock-like glove to cover it, so it doesn't get hurt. I have to pull it down, as it keeps slipping off. Today, I decided to just take it off. My opponent watched me cast aside my glove, and at his lead 7-2, we began to fence.

I felt better for some reason. The lack of glove seemed to have some kind of physical effect. In the open air, it felt free, and comfortable. I physically and mentally relaxed, and resumed fencing. The final score was 10-7 to me. Somehow, my lack of glove had completely changed me. Perhaps it was a pyschological thing. Casting off the remnant of a frustrating period, had mentally rid me of it, and so I relaxed. Perhaps. Or maybe my opponent was just bamboozled by my actions. Both valid points. Of course, I wouldn't recommend ripping off your mask half-way through a bout, so as to breathe a little easier. Just try and do something simple, like taking off your glove, and putting it back on again. Simple things produce great changes. A breakthrough, I feel!

Fighting with Fire

I attended yet another competition in Camden on Saturday (missing Rob's grand return to Norfolk), which turned out to be quite productive. After a slow and generally unorganised start, the fencing began. After the first poule, I felt great. The adrenaline was flowing, and all of my pent up energy from a two hour journey was bursting out of me. I had won two matches, and lost two matches. The two that I lost, I lost 5-4, both to fencers who had rankings above 15. After a half hour wait, the second round of poules began. Afterwards, I still felt great. This time, I had won three and lost two. Once again, the two that I lost were both 5-4. Incidentally, the second loss was against someone who had beaten me in the English Youth Championships, 5-1. He won this time on a simultaneous lunge, in which he had the point in line first. A significant improvement. After an hours wait, the Direct Elimination started, and I lost 15-10. I wasn't particularly disappointed, as the fencer in question said he felt genuinely challenged by me, and his father said that I gave him a hell of a fight. It was only afterwards that I was told he was seeded 2nd in the Leon Paul series.

That day, I feel that I fenced really well, but how did I manage it? I think that initially I felt relaxed, and confident in my abilities. When I fenced the EYC fencer, however, I was loosing 4-2. I have to admit, I was pretty angry. My ripostes and beat attacks had landed flat, and he had scored on the counter. I felt pretty raging. I brought it back up to 4-4, and then lost 5-4, but only after several off-targets and simultaneous hits. The same thing happened in the DE. Parry ripostes were just landing flat on this guy. After the first break, I was down 8-4. A man approached me and said 'Try getting low. Left handers don't like that.'. It seemed they didn't. 8-6. Then it went to 12-9. I was angry. I had clearly lost the DE. I had done all the right techniques, but none of them had registered. Why? Was the equipment against me, or something bizarre like that? I was angry. Rage. 12-10. What? How did that happen? 15-10. It seemed to pass in a seething blur. Thankfully, my rage subsided on the thirteenth point, and I managed to accept my defeat gracefully.

Branching off, the Sith said that your anger made you more powerful, and the Jedi said that it would eventually destroy you. Which one? It certainly doesn't seem evil, but then again, it probably doesn't until it's far too late. However, there are two sides to every sword. Rage, and relaxation. The challenge will be to balance them out. I accept the challenge. En guarde!

The Limp Shouldered Man

This post is the neat version of an idea I half-formed yesterday afternoon. Whenever, I do a one on one lesson, my arm tends to ache after about five minutes. I am told that this is because we place emphasis on our wrist and finger work, and so we grip the foil tightly. Thus, our arm muscles are in a permanent grip mode. They will ache. Yesterday, after loosing a math 5-4, I wondered why I had lost it. I had won the previous match 5-1, and I had fenced this person several times, and always won convincingly. I think that when it got up to 4-4, I became cautious. I didn't want to throw this match away. I focused on getting the point, rather than the process with which to get the point. The result was that I tensed up majorly, and promptly became jerky and panicky.

Whenever you are relaxed, you tend to fare well, because you are not concerned with the points or the technique. You're just enjoying yourself; like a twig on the shoulders of a mighty stream. You tense, and suddenly, it's all about points. You can't really help it. It becomes vital. I think that this is the goal to aim for to gain a degree of success. Relax all of your limbs, and get out of the permanent grip mode. It doesn't really matter if you lose. You've lost nothing, except from your tenseness. Relaxation builds confidence, and vice versa.

A Couple of Competitions

Instead of attending the N.A.F this weekend, I went to Sheffield for the British Cadet competition and Junior competition. I am glad that I did. The location was a huge sports hall, and I have to admit, I felt nervous just by this. It gave the impression this wasn't just any old competition. To talk about the experiences I had, I will need to subdivide; there's too much to talk about normally!

STANDARDS

The standard of fencers was very good. Most of the people there had a ranking, so I felt a little out of place. When I casually asked someone how long they had been fencing, they replied since they were 4! Some people had brilliant technique, while others relied purely on speed. All of the fencers adapted their technique to each fight. Most of the time anyway.

TECHNIQUES

Most of the fencers were fast and flashy, flicking in ripostes and broken time attacks. Occasionally, someone would be more calm and collected, but still win fights. On the first day, I was told that to win in these competitions, you had to constantly attack. So I did. I promptly lost two matches. Looking back, I realise that those sort of fencers fight attacking styled people very often in these competitions. The next day, I changed my approach to a more relaxed, defensive approach. I won some.

ADVICE

Some of the fencers had advice to offer. Some said that you should chase your opponent to the back line where they can't retreat. Others said that you should go to the back line so that you could stand a better chance of hitting with a parry riposte. The general advice was don't let your opponent dictate the fight. Sometimes, comments like 'pronate the hand more' and 'don't argue with the referee' would surface. It's all good.

REACTIONS

I for one think that a fencer should be modest in victory and humble in defeat. Evidently, my opinion was not shared by many. Some fencers would scream with ecstasy whenever a hit was awarded, whereas others would sink to their knees if they failed. There were several arguments with judges about right of way and covering, which resulted in several yellow and red cards. The worst, and perhaps most amusing reaction I saw was when the fencer, who had been ranked highly in the pools, lost in the direct elimination. He slunk into a corner of the gym, threw his foil onto the ground, and sobbed weakly into his lame. It was quite painful to watch. The quarter-finals especially were pitiful. Basically, every hit was argued for, and the victor gloated in his opponents face. I long for the time when two fencers accept their victories and defeats without hysteria.

JUDGES

Some of the judges were quite fair, while others were tougher than something very tough indeed. Fortunately, the judge that I had was very nice, and dashed off to get my foil taped when it stopped working. In one fight I watched, one judge gave two red cards to a boy who slightly bowed his head when lunging (one after the other for the same offence) . He also gave another out when the boy argued against it. Whilst I agreed with his decisions (the boy was being very argumentative and abrupt) it was still quite moving to see the boy reduced to tears. Still, I suppose the judge is always right.

I think that that's about it then. A good experience all round, I suppose!

Questions

I was doing some creative writing the other day (just a hobby) and I was suddenly struck by the question, 'Why do I fence?' It seems an odd question (especially occuring to me when writing a novellete), but I have been trying to find the answer. It's not really a 'crisis of confidence' question, just a 'I got into this, and why am I still going?' type thing. If my memory serves well enough, I started fencing two years ago, as part of a compulsory sports fixture. A few lessons in, and I was hooked. But why did I continue? David once told me that the sword that gives life (katsujinken) is more important than the sword that takes life (setsunito). I think this means that you fence, so you don't have to fence. Paradoxical? There is a story of two samurai, staring at each other over a crowd, neither breaking their gaze. Their outer visages served as their weapons. When one realised that he had been beaten, he turned, and left. Musashi was once accosted, saying one of his opponents had in fact sliced a flap of skin from his scalp. Musashi then approached him, saying that because of a tumour growing on his head, any scars would still be intact. He invited the accoster to check. The accoster, completely unnerved by his presence, refused, and left. Zen master Bo Mun said that 'The other aspect is the sword that gives life: the experience of empowering ourselves, doing things which come naturally, that we love to do and find fulfillment in. When we do too many of these things, most of us get a certain softness or flatness. There's no keen working edge to our practice. It's hard to believe in ourselves if we go too far to that side. ' According to this, we fight so we can keep ourselves alert to our everyday pleasures. My own opinion is that the sword that gives life is symbolic. It symbolises cutting through the illusions of life, like false images of happiness. In a sense, the sword that gives life is a zen term that represents a tool used to reach enlightenment.

So why do I fence? I think I fence to gain something. I don't know what it is, but I will know what it is when I get to it.

In a Corner

On Saturday, I went to a coaching session, wherein I fenced someone from the N. F .C. This person was quite arrogant, with no real sense of technique. His attacks were simply: Rush forward, possible parry riposte, hit. As I said, no real technique. So, I was quite determined to beat him, which is quite unlike me. I think I wanted to prove that technique can triumph over force. So, we started fencing, and I was soon losing 7-2. I was trying to stay where I was as he rushed at me, so most of the time, my ripostes were landing flat over his shoulder. I knew I wasn't going to win it. I stopped trying to win. What was the point of trying to win? The score that followed was 9-7. To me. What had I done? I had transmogrified into a comeback specialist. I was quite suprised at this; so suprised, that I promptly lost 10-9. However, I didn't really care. I felt more satisfied with my comeback than I would have been in victory. How had I done it?
I think that when we are in pressured situations, we have an apathy for our success.I know that I did. So we stop trying to win. We start fencing. The margin is quite small, but greatly important.So, in future when I am in a bout. I will not fight to win. I will fence, and see how it goes.