Flash forward to June, about two months later. My legs felt like overstretched rubber bands, more from a hint of nervousness than from all the lunges I had been practicing. I could hear the rush of blood to my ears as my heartbeat picked up slightly, more from excitement than from the fatigue that came with all the advancing and parrying I've endured.
You'd think I'd be used to this by now! Apparently not....
On this day, these sensations were not from yet another exhausting fencing lesson, but from another similarly exciting experience. Like my first fencing lesson, I suppose first dates are always a little nerve-wracking. Whenever you meet someone new, I think it's safe to say that most, if not all, people feel that strange combination of adrenaline, apprehension and curiosity. Then, when you finally see that someone new walking your way, you let go of all those emotions, take a deep breath and just say to yourself, "Why the hell not? Let's see where this takes me."
As I stood on the steps of Union Square one warm Sunday afternoon, waiting for my date to appear, I realized that I had experienced a similar onslaught of emotions when I first entered the Fencing Academy. Like meeting someone new, learning a new skill such as fencing also conjures up (at least for me) those same feelings of excitement, curiosity, apprehension and eventual courage. In my case, I suppose that apprehension was the most dominant emotion during this moment. After coming off of a year-long relationship and then recklessly getting involved in another month-long...how shall we say..."experience" shortly thereafter, I was naturally a little hesitant to start dating again. In fact, I was beginning to think that perhaps I wasn't quite ready to do this at all.
Then, as I observed the nearby street performers, musicians and sketch artists, my mind wandered back to one of my more recent gruelling training sessions at the Academy, after which I remained for another half hour and watched the more advanced students sparring back and forth. In particular, my attenton was caught by the Academy's competition team, consisting of fencers between the ages of 16-18. As I watched them parrying and lunging with each other while I massaged my aching triceps, my instructor sat down beside me on the hardwood floor.
"Do you see that one," she asked, pointing a long, slender finger towards a young girl, poised in the en garde position. She was dressed in the starch-white fencer's uniform and holding an épée ready for attack. She was facing off against a boy who was at least three inches taller than her and easily had a longer reach. "Who do you think will win?"
I looked at both fencers. The girl, who looked as if a slight breeze could knock her over, was slightly hunched over, and her free hand was shaking. "The boy will win," I replied.
"Why," my instructor asked.
"Because the girl is nervous," I observed. "She doesn't look like she's concentrating. Her free hand is shaking and she's hunched over. The boy easily has a longer reach and is twice her size."
"Ahhh," my instructor said with that sly smile indicating that I was about to be proven dead wrong. "True, the girl is nervous, but watch."
I turned back to the two teenaged fencers. As soon as their instructor yelled, "En position!" something amazing happened. Suddenly, the girl's posture became ramrod straight. Her legs bent slightly as she readied herself for the match. Her free hand went from swaying back and forth to becoming as steady as a statue. Gone was the reed-thin, apprehensive teenaged girl, and in her place was a young, confident warrior ready to lunge, parry and strike.
And that's just what she did. When the signal to begin buzzed, the boy with the longer reach and the advantage of height suddenly found the tip of the girl's épée batting away his blade as if swatting a fly, and in the next second, it was planted squarely in the center of his padded chest. It was as if this young, scared girl simply said to herself, "Why the hell not? Let's see where this takes me."
"Holy s--t," I whispered. My instructor raised an eyebrow at me as I suddenly realized that, in addition to various parents and teenaged fencers, there were also a couple of eight-year olds playing in the far corner of the room, who stopped and looked up at me dumbfounded. "Uhhh...." I stammered, realizing that their parents would have words with me later about my apparent potty mouth. My instructor sighed and patted me on the shoulder.
"I thought for sure that she'd lose," I whispered in awe. "That's what everyone thinks when they first see her," my instructor said. She pointed to the other students, who were awkwardly sparring with each other in the other lanes. "You see how these other students hesitate before they strike," she asked. "It's because they're nervous. They're afraid of getting hit or looking bad in front of everyone else. But this one," she continued, pointing back to our tiny champion, "although nervous at first, lets go of her hesitation when she engages the other person. She welcomes her opponent to the match and is not afraid of getting hit, taking a risk or looking bad. That's what is putting her ahead of the others."
She then turned to me. "Once you have that mindset, your body will become more relaxed in its technique, and your form and speed will improve. Let yourself go a little more, and the technique will follow. Don't try to be an expert fencer. Just be you, be relaxed and don't be afraid to take risks."
As we continued to chat, I also learned that the difference between the intermediate-level épée and the basic training foil is that the épée has a larger bell guard for a hilt and a stiffer blade. Competing with the épée is the only weapon in fencing where the opponent's entire body is an open target, and it is the heaviest of the three fencing weapons (i.e., foil, épée and saber). Historically, it evolved from the 17th century smallsword and eventually became the main weapon used for duelling throughout the 18th and 19th centuries. In the 19th century, authorities eliminated the fatal aspect of duelling and turned it into a sport where "first blood drawn" such as a nick on the hand would decide the victor, which required more skill and accuracy than-
"Are you Otto," a soft, female voice asked, snapping me back to Union Square's reality.
I turned to face a raven-haired, brown-eyed, Maggie Gyllenhaal look-alike. Suddenly, my legs regained their strength. My posture straightened. My heartbeat grew steadier. The apprehension that had been weighing me down slowly dissipated and courage (or recklessness under the guise of courage) took its place. No matter how this date ended, my fencing lessons taught me a very important (and somewhat therapeutic) lesson:
"Just be you, be relaxed and don't be afraid to take risks." With that, I introduced myself. "That's a cool name, by the way," she said, revealing a dimpled smile.
Why the hell not? I thought. Let's see where this takes me.
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Good for you!
ReplyDeleteEven though I am no where close to that place in my mind!