Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The blade itself

I returned to competitive fencing about a month ago. It's pretty much been great. I love my club, and the people I train with. My coaches are wonderful. Both are reading my novel draft (fencing is fairly important in the story) and Ro is actually doing a tech read for me, making sure that my terminology is accurate, and that everything I have on the page actually works. (I blocked the scenes while writing, obviously, traumatizing the neighbors by fencing with myself in a blizzard, and traumatizing my brother by practicing disemboweling him over the Christmas holidays, but it's nice to have someone double check these things.)

I had some expectations of how things would go when I started training again, and nearly all of them were wrong. I'm about a 25 mile a week runner, and I thought I was in shape. Which I am, but not fencing shape. So that was a rude shock. I started thinking like a fencer again much earlier than I thought I would, which is awesome, but it also means that my brain is faster than my hand right now. So I'll see a line, and move into it too late for that to be useful. But at least I'm seeing the right things.

I started taking lessons again tonight, and that will help a great deal, because I have also picked up some weird habits, like dropping into octave instead of riposting after I parry. And I seem to want to do all of my bladework in low lines. 

But my calluses are coming back, and I regularly have new and colorful bruises, and really, nothing makes me happier.

2 comments:

  1. smiting = best label ever!

    I love it how you talk about your bruises and calluses. It's a sign you're born for a sport if you cherish its specific "marks," I think.

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  2. Glad you like the label. :)

    It's funny how pleased I am to be beat up by my sport. But I look at the lime green and purple blotch on my shoulder and think, oh yes, this was from that bout, and I got the next point.

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