cycling with swords - and a sad sequel

The wonderful bike repair-man round the corner serviced my bike, which needed a new brake cable and brighter lights. I set off with slight uncertainty - I hadn't ridden it since my fall in January - but, even with the tricky load of heavy back-pack and carefully-balanced sword-bag, it seemed as though I was gliding along the cycle track. I was filled with pleasurable anticipation as I approached the leisure centre.

I was slightly late for the warm-up session so was still wearing my jeans as I joined the end of the footwork practice - fortunately my lunges aren't deep enough to cause any embarrassing tears in the fabric. I felt so good at having cycled and warmed up that I was on a plateau of calm contentment as I headed off to change into breeches.

The calm continued as I met the ex-foilist in a return bout, and I quickly learned that it's not a good frame of mind for a fencer. There was no sign of the confident aggression I'd displayed in the previous week. Instead I seemed to have absorbed the ex-foilist's most dangerous flaw - I defended without turning defence into attack and paused fractionally before attempting a hit.

Of course he took advantage. Meanwhile I could see what I was doing wrong but attempts to correct the error resulted in longer and longer pauses. He beat me with ease at 10-3 and was justifiably delighted, if puzzled by his success.

I continued to fence in the calm bubble, aware that I was repeating the same error and unable to escape it.

Eventually, against the Spaniard, I stopped pausing and fought back. She beat me, of course, but I managed five hits to her ten. Even though she didn't have to try very hard, that was a noticeable improvement. Finally I took on the ex-foilist again. I began well but he was confident from his previous victory. He pulled back and overtook me. I struggled, did my best and we reached 9-9. Confidence and speed were on his side. I didn't really expect to win and didn't. After the earlier crushing defeat I was pleased enough - too pleased? - to be beaten 10-9.

Perhaps next week I'll care about winning again. I remained calm and content as I cycled home with my new bike-lights bright in the autumn dark.

fencing the air force

I wasn't sure there would be much chance of fencing this week as our club was hosting a couple of epée league matches. This can mean that all the good epéeists are tied up, leaving little chance for fencers of a lower standard to practice. However it does provide a good opportunity to watch epée so I went along.

I had a further incentive. The club president is now acting as armourer and had displayed a price list for weaponry repairs. Last week my best epée failed to register hits and was plainly in need of re-wiring.

I've watched instructions on how to rewire an epée and looked at the helpful advice on the Leon Paul website. It led to the inescapable conclusion that, even if I had all the necessary equipment, I lack the time and ability to do a good job. I was pleased to be reunited with my healthy and much-loved epée, although I suspect I was under-charged for the work.

Inspired by the reunion with my epée, I happily accepted a challenge from one of the intermediate fencers. He's a foilist really, and less experienced than me. However he was clearly the better fencer last week and I wanted to prove to myself (and him) that I could do better. Luckily I observed his habit of lifting his wrist, offering a target to my attack. I caught him on the hand twice before explaining what he was doing wrong. After that, his hand was protected but I was pleased to manage a few more hits on his arm. At least I could once more hit a moving target.

I'm still tiring easily so didn't fence for as long as I would have liked. Instead I started watching one of the epée league contests, between our club and a local university. One of the club fencers, who is a member of both, chose to fence for the university who won by two or three points in a close battle. Then my club took on the Royal Air Force.

I noticed the cold as I stood watching. There hasn't been any snow for a couple of weeks but most nights are frosty and it felt as though the frost had invaded the leisure centre. The parents sitting round the edge were hunched into scarves and warm jackets. I was surprised to be so aware of the cold, despite wearing fencing kit. I hoped I'd get another bout soon.

As a campaigning pacifist, I sometimes find myself handing out leaflets outside army bases. I've met a range of people from the armed forces in various circumstances. Usually I like them as people, and the soldiers I've met through fencing seem particularly kind and friendly. This doesn't stop me opposing their military activities and, of course, I hoped that the club would beat the RAF.

Of course, we weren't fencing the entire RAF - only their local representatives, including some who were relatively new to fencing. Still, it was good to see my club score an easy victory. As there was no-one around to fence, I watched the whole match, getting colder and colder, and some of the friendly bouts that followed.

Someone suggested I fence the woman from the RAF. I was a bit worried about this. She may have been in the losing team and less experienced but she was plainly physically fit and less than half my age. Still, it was a chance for a bout and I wouldn't get much fencing if I said no. I briefly reflected on the complex ethics of fencing against members of the armed forces, then concentrated on attaching my wire and saluting.

She was, of course, better than me. However the member of the RAF who was presided complimented me on a parry and praised my technique! I managed a couple of doubles and one neat hit and determined to keep fighting. I went for the lowest lunge I could manage and felt a muscle strain in my calf. It was a familiar sensation - the second time this year and the third time in five months. I was losing anyway so could say nothing. I limped through to the inevitable defeat and watched some more. Then I tried to fence a fellow club member. After three points I gave up.

My calf still hurts but is recovering. One fencer suggested muscles to strengthen my calf. I think I probably needed exercises to warm up but I'm not experienced enough to tell. This time no-one has started a sentence with the words, "At your age ..." - at least, not yet.

No-one to stab ....

Summer hasn't exactly arrived. There are regular thunderstorms, torrential downpours and tales of flooding in parts of the country. However, according to institutions and travel agents, this is summer, and regular fencing has stopped.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was hot, or even warm. But I'm shivering slightly and huddled up in my club hoodie as I type this. I'd appreciate the opportunity of wearing a plastron and fencing jacket. Those white socks and knee breeches are ever so warm and the mask, once you get used to it, is pretty cosy. And there's nothing like a vigorous bout or two in cold weather.

But what I really miss is not the warmth of fencing but the activity. I want to try to break through someone's defence and make a quick, unexpected hit. I even want to marvel at my opponent's superior skill and puzzle about how to deal with a better, taller, stronger fencer. I miss group footwork practice and the games we play in warm-up. Of course, I also miss the friendship of fellow fencers. Facebook and the club website aren't much of a substitute.

I read on the website that our fencing club may move to another leisure centre - one that I'd find hard to reach by bus or train, esepcially after work. I hope that doesn't happen, though of course it might be best for the club. I've been fencing for nearly three years now. I may not be much good as a fencer but I really enjoy it. These days, it's part of who I am.

restless fencer looks for a mirror

I was late to fencing and had to leave early. One hour and ten minutes just isn't enough.

All the careful arrangements for lifts fell apart so I rang for a taxi. There were none available. After trying a list of cab firms without luck - what was going on? and why wasn't I invited? - a friend gave me and my son a lift. I'd missed the warm-up and the club was swarming with sabreurs, whose slashing movements take up (I'm convinced) more room than foil or epee.

The good news was the return of an epeeist who has been unwell and off work for the past eight weeks. I thought this might affect his fencing but, while he may be rebuilding stamina, his accuracy was devastating. Perhaps he spent eight weeks in bed practising wrist hits on visitors.

I fenced two other opponents with a little more success, still not managing a stance in which my wrist was well-guarded. "Practise with a mirror," I've been advised, but we don't have any big mirrors - our biggest is about a foot square and awkwardly placed in the kitchen between the cooker and the saucepans. That's probably not the best place to brandish an epee. There are a couple of mirrors on bathroom cabinets but no space for a lunge. And then there are a couple of small mirrors (about four inches square). I suppose I could hang one on the raspberry bushes that are taking over the garden - or even on the plum tree - but I wonder what the neighbours would say if they saw me with a sword in the garden. Might they think it's a new technique for cutting the lawn or trimming the hedge? If not, an ASBO seems inevitable.

I had less fencing than I wished, but I probably had a better evening than my son, whose back is troubling him. The doctor says it's a result of growing rapidly; he's suddenly taller than me (only just) and his voice has deepened. Growing an inch a month for six months causes odd aches which makes fencing tricky. He did his best, but left early and walked home in the warm Spring night.

Since the curtailed club night, I've been tired and restless. I'm busy at work, but too much time is spent sitting at my desk. I look for excuses to prowl the corridors or go up and down stairs. I'd quite like to stab a few colleagues (consensually and competitively). But it's probably not a good idea. Mind you, there are some good big mirrors in the ladies' toilets. Now there's a thought.