a hole in my hoodie

My fencing hoodie is falling to bits. That ought to be a metaphor for something, but it's not. I have simply worn it out.

I noticed a problem with the cuffs months ago. Perhaps I should have found time to darn them then but I didn't. And the holes around the cuffs multiplies. I know darning is based on weaving but by now I'd almost be weaving more cuffs.

And now there a hole in the pocket - not the sort of hole where coins fall out but a hole through which anyone can look to see the too-large bundle of keys I shove in my pocket for convenience when going out. It's the usual bundle that has acquired all sorts of extras that aren't keys at all: the remains of a Paris key-ring my daughter gave me after a school trip, a picture of the children when they were both under 5 and - most usefully - an old-fashioned bottle opener. What with all the keys, it's not surprising there's a hole in the fabric. The key rings have worn there way through to the outside world.

Perhaps I could force a metaphor out of the hoodie, saying that I too am wearing out. But that would suggest I was once glamorous and effective as a fencer and I was neither. I'm continuing with my once-a-week attendance, unless something else crops up, and, for the first time, we're fencing through August. There's just two hours of free fencing and, at the moment, a serious shortage of epeeists. I mostly fenced foil this week.

There's not much new to say about my experience of foil fencing. I tend to attack like an epeeist, without the little pause foilists use as they take right of way from an opponent. This gives me a slight advantage at times, but not enough to compensate for lack of speed. But the foilists, who included a few visitors or new members, were a cheerful bunch and I enjoyed myself.

Watching was good too - not just seeing the skill of others but enjoying the splendid moment when an energetic fencer attempted a fleche, tripped over the box and tangled in the curtain that separates fencers from badminton players. For a wonderful moment I thought there was, at last, a chance for the sword v. racquet meeting of which I've been dreaming. However no badminton players or fencers were hurt in the making of this blog and the fencer, like his audience, was caught in the hilarity of his over-enthusiastic fleche. (He was a good fencer enjoying his sport who won the bout.)

I managed a little epee at the end against the architect - a woman who is smaller than me. Since the chef's departure for Paris I've mostly fenced men who are taller than me so have developed a tactic of moving in close so that they lose the advantage of reach. At the beginning of our bout, I scored two points, using the advantage of reach. Then habit took over and I got too close. Every so often I corrected myself and stayed away, working on parry ripostes. But I must have lost five points by reverting to my custom of seeking a close encounter. The architect, who is young and fast, won 10-7. She'd probably have won if I hadn't made the mistake of getting too close, but the bout would have taxed her more. However I enjoyed the bout for all my mistakes - the architect enjoys her fencing in a way that's irresistibly infectious.

The architect is back in town for a while. She doesn't usually fence epee but can handle all three weapons so I hope for further bouts. Meanwhile the chef, who is spending summer in the Antipodes, has not yet encountered - let alone fenced - any kangaroos.

winded

My opponent's arm was outstretched and, as I tried to parry an riposte, he evaded my blade. I must have been trying something fancy - perhaps advancing with a circular parry and accelerated lunge. His blade went forcefully and unerringly to the centre of my breastbone and I tried to gasp. Then I sank to my knees.

My opponent was horrified. He advanced again, this time to see if I was allright. "You do have a chest protector - right?" he asked. Wrong. I didn't. I economised with the two plastic saucers which fit in pockets in the inside or my fencing jacket - and his blade had found its way through the gap between them. I've contemplated the all-in-one chest protector, just as I've contemplated proper fencing socks and a side-fastening jacket, but I've never thought myself a sufficiently serious fencer for such extravagance.

The all-in-one might have been a good idea on this occasion.

It had all been going so well - unexpectedly well. I began by fencing the Man man, which usually heralds an evening of disasters. I was tired too but started with my new tactic of moving backward and forward and waving my blade around while keeping the point aimed firmly at my opponent's upper sword-arm. The moving is probably a bit lumbering when compared to most of my opponents, but it makes it harder for them to judge distance. Then, if I'm lucky, they will miscalculate a hit as they move in, giving me the opportunity to land a hit while my opponent's still off-guard. I still don't win but on a good day score many more hits.

The Man man wasn't used to all this movement. It must have put him off a bit (perhaps he was trying to restrain his laughter) as I achieved the first two hits in our bout, and that never happens. After that, he pulled ahead but I felt I was offering him decent opposition and the final score was 15-8. As we shook hands, he mentioned that I'd improved and was using new tactics.

But being winded didn't help. Even after I'd got back to my feet and continued the bout, I was finding it hard to breathe properly. My opponent was clearly trying to avoid the area between my neck and waist so practised hitting to the leg instead. I acquired a couple of large bruises - one just above the knee on each leg. The bruise on my right leg seems reasonable - an unfortunate result of an attempt to hit from a lunge. But that bruise on my left leg - my back leg!) - shows how shambling my performance had become. I'm not sure what I was doing but plainly my stance and footwork were rubbish. I continued fencing for a while - and tried my best against another opponent - but although I continued trying to vary my movements and change distance, I was still finding it slightly hard to breathe and the area around my breastbone continued to hurt.

Of course, it was varying the distance that caused the problem, forcing an opponent who usually hits lightly to hit harder, to be sure of attaching the blade. It's still a good tactic - and my breastbone still aches.

slightly drunk and rather bruised

I went to the pub after fencing. It's a while since I've been to the pub but one of the fencers who began when I did - and who is now rather good - is headed for that mysterious place called "down south". It was his last night at the club.

Probably I shouldn't have been fencing. I was tired and bruised from last week. I'd had less than five hours sleep and a busy, exhausting and infuriating day at work. But of course I wanted to stab someone - as many people as possible.

I was glad I turned up. For the first time, there were more women epeeists than men (well, it was only 3 to 2). One of the women had just received her first epee and showed it off. "Shiny," every fencer remarked in turn, admiring the guard. The fencer was a little reluctant to risk her new treasure in combat - it seemed possible she'd be so protective that she'd be easy to beat.

It wasn't so. She has never beaten me so thoroughly. Even concern for her shiny guard didn't stop her. She said the pistol grip felt good in her hand. I'm back to being the only club fencer who uses a French grip.

I had a great deal of strategy this evening and tried mixing my attacks to take my opponents by surprise. This might have worked had I combined this with speed and accuracy. I was hit hard and hit hard - often, unfortunately, after I'd been hit by opponents. Occasional hits worked well and it's just possible this strategy of varying moves and attacks may work better when I'm awake, alert and accurate - the year after next, perhaps.

Then, hot and exhuasted, I headed with the crowd to the pub. I don't drink much these days and this has a wonderful side effect: in the right circumstances, small amounts of alcohol make me feel very merry quite quickly. We sat outdoors - probably a good idea as fencing is a rather sweaty sport. Half way through the first half-pint, I felt a happy glow as we discussed subject ranging from good fencing tactics to tactics for taking over the badminton players' part of the hall. Dynamite in shuttlecocks was discussed, as were posters casting doubt on the sexual prowess of badminton players. We NEED their part of the hall - our club is growing. Strong tactics are vital. Of course, some fencers play badminton as well - but not usually while fencing.

Eventually the laughter and jokes came to an end. I got a lift home. The bruises still don't hurt - evidently the pint of beer I enjoyed had an anaesthetic effect. And that's good too.


Note for connoisseurs of beer: the pub didn't have my favourite real ales but a half of Kroneneberg followed by a half of Cobra - very pleasant for a summer evening.

return of the epeeists

This evening, there was a shortage of foilists. Two of the three electric pistes were taken over by sabreurs while the third was epee territory.

I felt slightly out of practice. My wrist ached more from the weight of the weapon - or perhaps that was the effect of the first few minutes in which my opponent took control of my blade pretty thoroughly, even spinning it out of my hand on one occasion. (That's the penalty for using a French grip, but I still prefer it.) But then, something happened.

I remembered a friend fencing sabre telling me of useful advice she'd had - "Don't imitate your opponent - play your own game." I realised it applied to me. I'd been imitating my opponent and it was never going to work because he was using strength I didn't have. So I risked a few tricks a coach had shown me some weeks ago - tricks which had never worked for me in the past. And when I provided an opening to invite an attack, it worked. My opponent came straight at me and I was able to catch him quickly before he could attach my blade. I was thinking much more and working out tactics. I was also staying still at times, watching for openings, or threatening one attack and changing course to do something different. I still lost more points than I won (it wasn't a proper bout) but something had clicked and I was winning points I would have lost a week or two ago. I was fencing tactically and I knew what I was doing.

Against other opponents it was harder, but I still kept my head and surprised myself with some of the hits I managed - to the wrist and forearm as well as down to the knee, despite some wobbly blade control. I'm aching now - and I've a fine supply of bruises for tomorrow - but it was one of those occasions when I felt I'd progressed. (Of course, the unofficial bout at work helped boost my confidence.)

And now I need - (if only I had time!) - to work on arm and wrist strength, speed and point control. An early night might help too.