fopée again

I was exhausted - the sort of exhaustion that lingers when a virus has visited and not quite gone. Somehow I got on my bike but, by the time I reached the leisure centre, I was breathless. I wondered about going home again but the effort seemed too great. Reluctantly, I pulled myself into my kit.

There weren't many epeeists and, for once, I was relieved. "I'll do a little foil," I said, thinking of the lightness of the weapon. I was forgetting about the speed and the need to adopt a lower fencing stance against smaller, lighter and mostly younger opponents.

I should have fenced a tall young man who moves fast and hits hard. The architect must have seen my trepidation and, knowing I'd been ill, suggested I wait and fence one of the intermediates - a girl of about 17 who, it turned out, has excellent technique and accuracy. I have neither.We set out to fence to 10 and I tried to remember the rules of foil. As I paused before each attack, trying to establish right of way, I quickly discovered that my young opponent had a deft and deadly parry riposte. Her neat fencing quickly gave her a clear lead of 6-2.

Evidently my foil skills were not going to win the bout. I changed my method and began to fence foil like an epeeist, but doing my best to aim for the smaller target area. This puzzled my opponent who had been trained to fence foilists. I got rid of the pause, worked on taking the blade and forcing my attack through. It wasn't pretty but I began to win points and suddenly we were at 8-8. My opponent was looking anxious and uncertain - an advantage to me, I thought. I continued with my furious and inelegant technique and she faltered. It was 9-8 to me and I was suddenly determined to win. The next point was a messy scuffle but I landed the necessary hit. 10-8 to me.

The architect, who had been watching, could hardly stop laughing. "That wasn't foil - that was epée," she said.

"I know," I replied, "but it worked."

Later I fenced the architect at epée. She fenced like a foilist. She won.

slow - but it is progress

I've been busy at work and home this week - too many twelve-hour days to write this blog. I thought I'd be too tired to fence and had to force myself to go. I even bribed myself with a cab journey there. Sometimes the half-hour walk seems more than I can do. I had considerable doubts about fencing when I arrived.

I was slightly late. The warm-up had reached the point where everyone was required to stand on one leg while raising the other knee. I didn't quite fall over but I wobbled. I wobbled more as I gripped my ankle and tried to make my heel touch the back of my thigh. Then it was time to cross ankles and wrists and touch my toes. It was difficult and painful, but slightly easier than last week. I made it - just about - with my fingertips. But I felt better as we practised lunging in pairs. And by the end of the warm-up I was more awake and hadn't fallen over, which had to be a good sign.

I did some foil first, with a returning fencer who's out of practice. I was a bit worried about hitting her hard as she's slight and slender - a good build for a foilist. After a while I began to worry about my focus on her right wrist. It was ever so open to attack but not, I had to remind myself, a target. I tried to recall parry ripostes and enjoyed the knock-about. Then she went to find some coaching and I headed off in search of an epeeist.

There were only two epeeists there. The turn-out was much lower than usual. Perhaps autumn viruses are to blame. But I practised against both epeeists, trying to keep my guard up (it still slips and lays my arm open). I was moving better achieving more, better hits. Every so often I surprised myself.

By the end of the evening I was even more tired and couldn't face waiting for a cab. I knew the walk home in the dark was beyond me. I broke my usual rule of independence and asked one of the coaches for a lift. He was too kind to refuse although his car was having problems. I'm still ever so grateful.

I'm still tired - and planning to fence again next week.

Three-hit epee

The one-hit epee contest has become something of a club tradition. Towards the end of every term, all the epeeists present – and any other fencer they can recruit – fence one another for a seasonal prize, donated by the club president. This time it was a bottle of cava, which he had selected as a suitable summer wine. The mention of summer brought groans although some of us, thinking back over the past few weeks, could recall a day when it hadn’t rained.

The rules of one-hit epee are simple. Every fencer fences every other fencer. The bout stops after the first hit so scoring simply registers V for victory or D for defeat. A double counts as a double defeat.

There were nine of us: seven who fence epee reasonably regularly, a 17-year-old sabreur who had done some epee, and a fencer who had joined the beginners in September and had never fenced epee before. A little was into the contest, we found we had the youngest ref in the business – a boy aged about 9 who took it all very seriously, watched us with care and filled in the score-sheet with great deliberation. He was a rather small and quiet ref but I feel he will soon acquire an air of authority.

One-hit epee makes me feel uneasy. Even in a bout to 5 there’s a chance to get a sense of your opponent and how he’s fencing. (I say ‘he’ because I was, yet again, the only woman competing at epee. The occasional epeeists among the women wanted to fence foil last night.) In a one-hit contest there’s no chance to pause and analyse – you just have to take your chance while watching your opponent.

I began badly. My concentration wasn’t good. Walking to the piste for my first bout, I was sure I’d forgotten something but I couldn’t work out what it was. I did a quick check: mask, hairband, protective plasters on the ears, breeches, plastron, jacket, bodywire. I was just connecting the wire when I realised what was missing – I’d left my epee at the other side of the hall. Not a good start, and my level of concentration didn’t improve much during the swift opening bout.

In my second bout I was beaten by the novice – the one person I’d thought I might beat. I began to worry that I’d score no hits – at least last time I did better than that. Then I was up against the young sabreur. It was some time since I’d fenced him and that was at foil. He’s fenced for longer than me. However, his sabreur’s stance laid him open to hits and he was evidently trying to remind himself of the target area. One hit to me – it wasn’t going to be a blank sheet.

A couple of other fencers dealt with me quickly. Meanwhile, the new fencer was scoring some wins while the sabreur left the piste assuming he’d lost again, only to discover that he’d won with a neat but unintended hit to the hand.

Then I found myself against someone who’d begun fencing when I did. He’s taken part in a couple of competitions at epee and also coaches fencing, so I didn’t have much hope. However, as a coach, he has said encouraging things to me in the past so I decided to take them seriously. He attacked first – and missed. Instinctively I’d responded by extending my arm and he walked onto my blade. A win to me – and an opponent cursing himself for the failed attack.

My final bout was against the ref’s dad – a far more experienced fencer. My previous opponent urged me on. “I beat him and you beat me – of course you can do it. He likes fancy fencing – go straight into the attack and hit him straight away.”

I took the advice. My first attack failed and left me to parry a counter-attack. I couldn’t mess around trying to fence well. I didn’t even aim for the arm but pushed forward as fiercely as I could. A chest-hit shouldn’t have won against a better fencer but it did.

I’d scored 3 hits out of a possible 8. This put me in joint 6^th place, beating two fencers. Meanwhile the novice had achieved an unexpected 3^rd place. One of the regular epeeists took him off for some coaching. A few minutes later I watched the novice hitting the wrist with apparent ease time after time. He's shorter most epeeists but I think the weapon has just got a new recruit.

I got to fence the novice again when he was tired – he’s not used to a heavy sword. And I ended by beating the sabreur again – 5-3, I think. He had a convenient tendency to pause after each parried attack, as though to establish right of way – and his sabreur’s stance continued to lay him open. Of course, if he were to switch to epee he’d soon learn to avoid such faults. But for the moment, there’s something very satisfying in beating a sabreur.

If I ever fight a duel, I want the choice of weapons.

P.S. The winner of the one-hit epee was the rather good young fencer who I beat so surprisingly a couple of weeks ago. It went to a final elimination bout in which he scored a neat wrist-hit on the club president, who'd donated the prize. Many of the usual contenders lost out through double defeats. And I'm beginning to think there's something to be said for one-hit epee.

fencing for couch potatoes

Thank you, Eurosport.

I never thought I'd say that. But last week at fencing the word went round - "There's fencing on the telly."

The following day an e-mail arrived giving the times of the broadcasts.

I didn't get to see the events I would have chosen. I'd have liked to see Laura Flessel-Colovic win gold at epee.

But it was amazing to see fencing on television at all. Usually the most anyone in Britain can hope for is a 30-second montage of very exciting bits without explanation - and that happens only in an Olympic year. But Eurosport, a cable channel, carried live coverage from the European championships. Blocks lasted between three-quarters of an hour and two hours. And I watched the last two broadcasts.

I've never seen film of fencing at that level. The skill I saw made up for a shortage of epee broadcasts. I saw the team men's foil final and was startled by the technique of the German Benjamin Kleibrink.

Instead of the small, economical arm movements I was taught, he made large movements. On one occasion he followed a parry in the low-line with a riposte over his opponent's shoulder that attached on his back. Meanwhile the expert British commentators discussed right of way, the reasons for yellow and red cards and the techniques employed by the fencers. It all seemed so clear - and if there were problems, the referee and the audience had the chance to watch the slow-motion replay, which evoked further comment on technique.

Later I saw the end of the final of the men's epee and the women's team sabre final, where everything hung on the final point.

There was a huge distance between those fencers and me. When I started fencing, I used to admire all the experienced fencers and know I'd never be as good as them. But these international fencers are far beyond anything I could have imagined.
I could never lunge so deeply or move with such speed and precision. It's not just a matter of age. These fencers are magic.

But I'm not depressed by the distance between their fencing and mine. I'm thrilled at taking part in the same sport.

And I'm convinced that fencing works on TV - and not just for fencers. It's far more exciting than football (or the tennis or the Grand Prix or the Tour de France). It's fast, elegant and immensely clever. And they use swords.


Note: Not all the photos I've borrowed for this post show this year's European championship. Two come from earlier championships. European championship website - click here to start browsing.

glowing in the dark

Soon there'll be tales of a new ghost haunting the water-meadows. I don't think anyone screamed. Perhaps they were mute with terror. It wasn't intended. I just went to fencing and came home when it was over.

This week, I booked a cab. My son planned to come but then he was tired and, at the last minute, his back hurt, so I got in the cab on my own. I was already in my fencing kit so that I could join the warm-up straight away.

It was only as I got ready for footwork practice that I realised: I'd forgotten my jeans.

When I'm with others, I phone for a cab if I don't have a lift. If I'm on my own I either cycle or walk. And fencing kit isn't every day walking gear.

I put it out of my mind and got on with the footwork practice. I wanted to get my lunges right. Footwork was harder than usual. The coach's instructions ,included "and when I lunge, I want you to parry quarte and riposte with a lunge". So we were moving backward and forward, trying to keep steps neat and maintain distance through shifts of speed, waiting for the cue to parry and riposte with a lunge. By the end, we were moving at speed awaiting the cue to fleche. At least I didn't fall over.

Therer weren't many epeeists but in any case I'd made a resolution to do more foil. My opponent said that at least I wasn't fencing like an epeeist but I had to keep reminding myself "small target area", "establish right of way", "parry", "no doubles". It was helpful, however, forcing me to be precise and deal (or fail to deal with) different kinds of guard. And it paid off when I moved on to epee. I was better able to plan hits - well, sometimes. On one occasion I even said to myself, "Next time I'm going for the wrist" - and I made it!

My second opponent was on top form; light, fast and accurate. Most of the hits I landed were doubles and it took me quite some while to land any at all. Between bouts I stood with other resting fencing by the open doors. The weather's warm again and everyone's first impulse after a bout was to stand in a cool breeze.

Only as I took off my jacket did I realise the impact I'd make when walking home, dressed in white shoes, socks and breeches with a black T-shirt and hoodie. My bottom half would glow in the dark. Mty top half would be invisible. I'd look like half the ghost of a fencer sliced in half by a careless or vicious sabreur.

Luckily my path lay along the road throuth the water-meadows and one young fencer's mother stopped and offered me a lift. But I'd already walked a quarter of a mile or more, with my bottom half glowing white in a black night.

I wouldn't mind a few new ghost stories.