resuming normal service

Life is finally calming down – and I'm still stabbing people.

I'd like to say I'm doing so more efficiently but, if I'm improving – and it feels as though I am – other people are doing so faster. The club as a whole is having great successes: two fencers heading to the Commonwealth Games, two to the World Veterans' championship and numerous good results at regional and national level. Sadly the majority are in sabre which is still a nasty, slashy weapon.

I'm now struggling to recapture the level of fitness I had last year. My back barely hurts now – just twinges from time to time – and I can walk further and lift far more than I could even a month ago. I've yet to try a really strenuous walk and I haven't been swimming all year but I hope to put that right soon. I feel as though I'm able to move up and down the piste far faster and more energetically than in a long while.

Unfortunately I haven't been winning at all lately. The 11-year-old has acquired a new technique – he started our last bout with a couple of fleches which I couldn't resist, then let the score go up in doubles until he won. Another opponent has learnt how to score through a quick flick to the arm – I'm not fast or accurate enough to do that effectively and haven't yet found a way to counter the flicks. Every so often I manage a hit that delights me – even the occasional neat hit to the wrist. They always feel unplanned but happen just often enough for me to think that perhaps I'm acquiring a skill and an instinct to see a useful opening. But too often I fail to counter or to follow through a parry - I need to work on longer sequences of actions, if I get the chance.

Sadly the one-hit epée competition, though enjoyable, was a bit of a disaster for me. I began badly with two double defeats. The first was against a beginner who was on the electric piste for the first time. I had no idea how he would fence and hoped to take him by surprise with a quick attack, only to discover that he had exactly the same idea, so that our attacks mirrored one another. Later I annoyed myself by planning a swift attack on a young and ferocious fencer, having analysed his techniques and come to the conclusion that he always paused before fleching. But I was unsure the ref had said “play,” paused, and was duly fleched – as I deserved. I ended up with only one win out of ten and finished next to bottom. Yet the occasion didn't feel entirely disastrous - I enjoyed the fencing and felt that I'd at least planned and attempted a few worthwhile attacks. At the end I reflected that it had been a harder group to fence than usual - I was the second-oldest (the oldest is a world-class veteran who was runner up) and the only woman competing. I'd also been glad that the slightly smaller group made it possible to fence everyone in a poule unique.

Now I'm restless and full of energy, wondering how to rebuild my strength. Perhaps it's time to get my bike serviced and ride off for the day – not too far and not up any steep hills. Perhaps I'll find time for a good walk in the Peak District. Perhaps strenuous (and overdue) housework would do the trick. I'm still a little nervous, knowing how much damage a fall can do. But I'm also looking forward again.

the holiday problem

It was a very good Christmas dinner. There were lots of treats over the season, from Christmas cake to gluehwein. Because of the cold, I didn't go out much but sat at home, as close to a heater as I could manage. I had a few anxieties as the return to fencing approached. Some were to do with my general unfitness but others were connected with the more serious problem: would I still fit into my breeches. They are always slightly tight after washing and relax as I move in them but this time I feared a serious problem. I was right to worry. The phone rang as I was getting changed and it was hard to explain the strange noises caused by breathing in and tugging hard at the zip.

I decided not to bother with jeans over breeches and cycled off, white-legged, toward the leisure centre. After the effort to squeeze into my breeches, they seemed to shape themselves around me well enough. They haven't split so far, at least.

Fencing was another matter. I was plainly out of practice and prepared for the familiar sensation of fencing through jelly. I welcomed the pauses for conversation, hearing tales from the first competition of the year, in which club fencers had done well. Less frequent fencers had shared the anxiety about breeches although the Man man proclaimed proudly that he hadn't put on a single pound over Christmas. As I don't possess scales I don't worry about what I weight - it seems more important to know how much energy I have and whether my clothes still fit. And I certainly don't regret good holiday food and drink - the highlight was an excellent New Year's Eve dinner cooked by the chef, preceded by champagne and accompanied by fine wine.

Eventually I turned to fencing and was pleased that the good epeeists who turned up seemed happy to spend time encouraging me. While I was slow, I could, on occasion, be accurate and was happy to land a fair number of arm-hits. A particularly helpful left-hander worked on my en garde, which had slipped, as though he had never mentioned it before, He helped me to change my stance and I suddenly felt more comfortable. He even praised my attempts at lunges, which weren't very deep.

I fenced the four other epeeists who were free and then left early - I was tired and had an early start the following morning. But I determined to take more exercise.

For months I'd been turning down Sunday invitations so that I could do housework and work. But when, at Meeting, one of my friends suggested a swim, more out of habit than anything else, I said yes. As soon as I got home I packed my black Speedo with a towel, shampoo and shower gel - and wondered if I could remember how to swim. The lengths at the public baths are 25 metres and I set myself the goal of 30 lengths in the medium lane.

It was neither a disaster nor a triumph. I stopped after every six lengths for half a minute or so, and began to feel a little tired after 28 lengths. I did my 30, pulled myself out of the pool and headed to the showers, where I enjoyed the treat of some Christmas shower gel from my daughter. It got rid of the chlorine smell very nicely.

So I'm not fit and can only just squeeze into my breeches. But I'm still fencing.

cats and swords

As you can see, he's a beautiful cat. I'm not sure if he's our cat yet, but if he's ours his name is Joe. He's lived with us for a week and a half. He came in quietly, as cats do, and lay down by the fire, indicating that this was his house and we were his people. There wasn't much we could do about it so we offered cat food. He's living with us now. And I think he's already had an impact on my fencing.

Last fencing night looked good. I was able to work from home so I reckoned on a leisurely stroll to to fencing - perhaps even time for some exercise at home. I should have known it wouldn't work like that.

I've told the full story elsewhere - and that's where I'll post feline follow-ups. It's enough to say that on the morning of my fencing day, I came downstairs to pools of blood - and no cat. A fox had been barking in the night but I don't know what was to blame. The cat came in briefly and left again - he may have overheard my daughter's phone-call to the vet or my call to a neighbouring sabreur who owned a cat basket. We finally got Joe to the vet in the evening. His wound opened again and he dripped blood over the vet's table.

(Note to North American readers: we Brits always call a veterinarian a "vet" - here the term has nothing to do with the military.)

A decision was made to keep Joe in overnight and operate in the morning - the only question was "Do you take credit cards?" Afterwards my son and I picked up pizzas and I wondered whether to head, late and shakily, to fencing. There was no time to walk. I rang the cab company, changed, grab my swords and backpack and headed into the cold.

The hall was warm. There must have been about 50 fencers in attendance, 20 of them beginners learning what a plastron was and how to wear a mask. I had no chance for a warm-up. Instead, I found myself telling anyone who would listen the story of the cat, and how I seemed to have a cat even though I didn't really want one. A critically ill cat seemed more than I could cope with in a world of responsibilities.

I tried to forget the cat and focus on fencing. "Let's impress the beginners," I said to a fellow epeeist. She suggested gently that we might not be very impressive. "We're rather slow," she said. I thought that the size of the swords might compensate. So for five minutes or so the beginners were treated to the sight of me being hit repreatedly - and fairly slowly - with a big sword while I went on thinking about the cat.

I might have been hit just as many times but I like to believe that, if I hadn't been thinking about the cat, I'd have put up more resistance. Eventually my blade found it's way to one or two hits - even on the arm - but it had little assistance from me.

My fencing didn't improve all evening - and an attempt at foil resulted in a run of bib hits, which aren't, I think, legal yet. Still, I was half distracted.

At the end of the evening I set out to walk home - given the vet's bill I plainly should avoid too much expenditure on taxis. It's only a mile and a half and an easy walk - or so I thought until I realised that I'd arrived in fencing clothes with no coat. It was the only day all week without rain. Instead, the night air was white with freezing fog. I gritted my teeth and strode out, shivering slightly.

At last luck and kindness were on my side. A fellow fencer - the victim of my wine the week before - pulled up beside me and offered a lift. I must have reinforced his impression of my clumsiness as, between cold and shakiness from worry, I dropped my swords on the road. But I clambered in and was soon home to discover a neighbour's cat had taken Joe's place and was fast asleep on my bed.


Note: In case you're concerned about the cat, he came through the operation and is now convalescent. He's got to go back to the vet a couple of times but he seems much happier and livelier. He's had a go at using the computer too.