Baby's First Grading

I left my previous school about two weeks out from their grading. I was pretty bummed about it. What's the point of knowing what a tang is if I'm not being marked on it?

I realize not all schools grade in the way that mine does. I also realize that some HEMAists don't feel compelled to assign a rank to their skill set and are happy to never go through any kind of grading process. For myself; my evolutionary hard-wiring dictates my desire to belong to a group and to adhere to that chosen group's hierarchy.

Plus, like, it's fun.

So, I graded last week.

I've been practicing HEMA for about a year and a half. Before last week, I had not yet had an opportunity to undertake a grading. It felt like it was long overdue. I was ready to prove myself. Maybe a little too ready - since I found myself unexpectedly nervous in the days and hours leading up to it. The instructors had been coy about what the grading consisted of, I didn't know if I'd be whacked with a paddle or forced to run across hot coals.

It turns out, nothing so extreme. We spent about an hour and a half doing all the same drills I knew and loved - only this time we were being watched like hawks. The added knowledge of being scrutinized made it harder to concentrate at times, and I found my footwork getting clumsy and my face betraying that fact. I couldn't understand it; people around me were laughing and joking, why was I seemingly the only one stressing?

Well, now that it's done, I can see how Not A Big Deal it is. Sure, it's nice to get assigned a colour and a patch and to be able to tell your friends what a bonafide martial artist you are. It's nicer, I think, to have a tangible way to measure the hours of work you have put into getting better at something. Some people abhor labels, but sometimes they can be quite comforting.

I'm not any better at HEMA just because I got assigned a rank. But now I'll have something I can hold, touch, look at. Remind myself in my less confident moments that I'm not just imagining my progress. Everyone else can see it too.

That's a pretty nice feeling.

When Do I Get to Call Myself a Martial Artist?

You know, I've been 'doing' HEMA for a little over a year now. Allowing for semester breaks, personal holidays, incidental absences... That's probably a good fifty classes - at two different schools, focusing on several different weapons types and styles. You'll have to bear with me here, as an arts student maths was never my strong suit - but that's about 150 hours of training. They say it takes 10,000 before you are an 'expert' at something. By comparison, my measly experience seems to barely even qualify as 'novice'. So, how do I evaluate my own progress? Can I even call myself a martial artist yet? What does any of it even mean?

I consider my arts background. When I think about that industry, anyone can be an artist. You just need to create art. Doesn't have to be good, doesn't even have to have taken you very long. You wrote a song? Artist. Drew a picture? Artist. The bar is very low, and it's a label absolutely anyone can pick up and affix to themselves. There's no training required (sure, I trained for three years, but more fool me) and, as a result, there is perhaps a little less prestige associated with the classification. So, righto. No problems calling myself an artist.

What about 'martial artist'? I often wonder where the title came from. One might think that those stereotypical masculine, brutish men who love a bit of punchy-kicky would want to distance themselves from the mincing art world as much as possible. Why pick 'artist'? Why not 'martial practitioner'? 'Martial guru'? 'Martial whiz'? 'Martial virtuoso'? 'Martial synonyms'?

I digress.

You can't just call yourself a martial artist. Well, you can, but that sort of hubris is reserved for frauds and people with Youtube channels. If somebody told me they were a martial artist, I would completely expect that that person should be able to kill me with their pinky finger. What's the point, otherwise?

Well, the thing about art is that it's a constant work in progress. Everything you make is a little bit less shit than the last thing. You learn something new every time and you take it forward with you into your future endeavours. Now, I haven't been doing HEMA long, but I'm starting to work out the parallels. Even the best of the best - who have been fighting since before I was born - are still learning. They're learning how to improve their art. It'll never be perfect, such is the human condition. But it can be better than it was before. 

In the same way I work on vocal tonality, I practice my linear footwork.

I get a little better at writing dialogue. I get a little better at keeping my point on line.

Tomorrow I might write a song. The day after that, I might finally understand how to do a cadence properly.

It's all art, man. I am a martial artist. I don't have to be a good one, I just have to be the kind who is always open to learning something new.

New Year, New Beginnings... And Dolphin Jousting

It seems like an eternity since I last spared a thought for this blog - but, in actual fact, it's only been a few months. Time plays tricks on us all.

It's a new year. I will be starting at a new HEMA club. While I miss my previous school dearly, I am looking forward to the new challenges and vastly different training environment I am sure to find myself in. This club has a far broader range of styles taught than the previous one - something that is both daunting and exciting. I had enough trouble at a school that taught only sabre - I wonder how I'll go with learning longsword, singlesword, unarmed... probably some other things I haven't yet conceived of... Yikes.

I had my first go at longsword at this club's final class last year; it was like my very first HEMA class all over again. Couldn't figure out where to put my limbs. It was somewhat disheartening to feel as though the skills I had been learning the previous six months were now useless (they aren't, but it certainly felt that way at the time). Six months doesn't sound like a long time, on paper. But for me - a person who has never really done any kind of sport or martial art before - it's the longest I've committed to something of this nature.

When I left my old club last year, I spent some time convinced that I would give it up for good. I was in a shitty place mentally and emotionally. For certain (and respectfully unspecified) reasons, HEMA now carried with it some negative and upsetting connotations. I really didn't think I could continue with it, and I remained convinced of this for weeks and weeks - feeling sorry for myself that I had to let go of something that had been quickly becoming a passion. But, slowly but surely, a fog lifted - and I realized that I wasn't willing to let it go after all.

I had started something that terrified me, something I was entirely unfamiliar with. I didn't only start it - I kept it up for half a year. And I realized it was something I really, really enjoyed doing. Why would I quit now? So I didn't. And, if I may be allowed a little moment of self-congratulation, I'm a bit proud of myself for that.

Okay, mushy stuff done. So, where are we now?

Dolphin jousting. That's where. (Image credit: GLECA)

The beginning of the year at the new club calls for a long weekend away in a sandy paradise. A kind of preparatory getaway to usher in the new semester. I figured I'd better tag along - get to know my new classmates, see how well they party (hearty, it turns out). When I arrived the holiday house was bustling with excitable chatter and the unmistakable smell of bacon cooking. Swords and gear were strewn across the living room floor, and beautiful Greyhounds meandered past - receiving an abundance of reverent pats as they went. It was a great atmosphere and I was already feeling excited by osmosis to be amongst it.

The weekend's itinerary consisted of varied weapons workshops, a crash course in marching, near-excessive barbecuing, and the battling of inflatable dolphins in the ocean. I couldn't stay for the entire camp but I thoroughly enjoyed what I could be there for. This club has an incredible sense of community and camaraderie - it's really quite touching to see. I look forward to getting to know these guys as the year progresses. I am thoroughly sunburnt and my muscles still ache from the workshops, but it was a fantastic pre-semester introduction.

Class starts in earnest next week and I am excited to start this new chapter in my (still rather new) martial arts career. Go swords.

Life, Aging and Grading

These last few weeks have been filled with big events, both in my slowly growing and expanding HEMA career, as well as in life.

I turned 21, and spent much of the day demonstrating with my school at a public event. Who would have thought this time last year that I'd be spending my birthday hitting people with swords, dressed like a tavern wench? Life is a funny old thing.

Muggin' for the camera.

My lovely class got me the manual from which we are learning, leaving me a little red in the face considering the content of my last blog post. I've yet to find the academic enthusiasm to take to it with much zeal - but I've certainly looked at the pictures. I will make a proper effort to engage with the material as it pertains to each class. Even if that means squinting at a confusing paragraph for thirty seconds, then giving up and making a sandwich instead. We all start somewhere, right?

I have more or less finished my university degree - and will be finding myself with a lot more free time for the next little while. I think it's time I do myself a favour and commit to some kind of consistent exercise regime outside of class. I was considering taking up dance classes again - which would benefit both my cardio and my footwork. Plus, it beats running on a treadmill for an hour! I also need to think about some strength training - the rate at which my sword arm gets tired (from a measly single-stick) is, frankly, embarrassing.

Over the weekend myself and a couple of classmates went to a day of workshops at another local school. The idea was for their senior students to have a go at instructing a class in their chosen discipline. For me, this day was valuable for a couple of reasons. I was excited to learn the basics of some different styles, such as longsword and rapier. It was interesting to see where the techniques differed, and how much I was relying on the conflicting techniques I had been learning. Clearly my muscle memory is working, as I was told "This isn't sabre, don't do ____!" several times during drills. 

Secondly, and though the prospect of instructing is long way off for me - it was interesting to watch the senior students figuring out the best ways to communicate with their beginners. I realized I had been taking the skill of instructing for granted - ours makes it look easy. But it turns out there is a lot involved in getting a class engaged in learning a technique or doing a drill - some people are naturally gifted at commanding attention and others really have to work for it. I found myself considering all the ways I would go about it, wondering if my voice would be loud enough, if people would accept my authority as a 5'5 woman yelling at the front of a class. 

Most importantly, you have to really know the material you are teaching. Beginners will ask questions you aren't expecting and you need to be ready with an answer that will make sense to someone with no previous experience. It's far too easy to 'presume knowledge' and go about demonstrating a cutting technique, not realizing that your beginners don't even know how to stand properly yet. 

Our class is doing our very first grading at the end of the year. We are spending the next few weeks consolidating what we have learnt over the last few months, in preparation for an 'exam' scenario. As someone who hasn't had to do an exam in about four years (I'm an arts student) this fills me with no small amount of dread. I am being forced to review my progress in a really tangible way - and of course, all the worries of inadequacy begin to creep in. What if I don't do as well as my classmates? What if they progress and I don't? What if nobody speaks to me again because I couldn't do a simple Sforzi?!

On the other hand, I am looking forward to testing my mettle as a baby swordfighter, and - provided I pass - it would serve as a nice transition from 'that hobby I've just started but could still quit at any time' to 'a martial art that I am dedicated to making real progress in'. You may remember me calling myself a 'Serial Quitter'. Perhaps it's a little petty, but I'd like to show the people in my life who are used to (and are perhaps expecting) me to throw in the towel that I am capable of committing myself to something, and that I am capable of getting better at it.

Sword night is still my favourite night of the week. I've made friends, I've learnt things about myself, and I am continuing to learn all the time. This class gives me a few hours away from everything else, where all I have to do is remember how to hold a stick correctly. And sure, there are days when I don't even get that quite right - but I feel comfortable making mistakes now. I feel comfortable with my instructor and my classmates and I am proud of the environment we're creating together.

As we work together toward the grading, I look forward to watching all of us grow as swordfighters. We're all still sabre babies, but look out world... We're learning to walk.

The 'H' in HEMA

Week 12 Diary Entry

"Don't stab your horse in the arse."

For the past month our instructor has been overseas - during this time our class had guest instructors teaching us elements of pugilism and Bartitsu. I neglected to keep diary entries of these classes - but my most significant revelation was that I think I prefer learning how to fight when there is a sword in between myself and my opponent. Grappling (or extreme cuddling) while useful - is quite full on, and I'd say four weeks of it was just fine for me. 

I was glad to see the resumption of our normal sabre class this week. 

Our instructor had spent time with the man who translated/authored the manual from which we are training - and during this time he had come to learn that some of the ways in which we had interpreted the techniques were... Less than ideal. So, this weeks' lesson was spent 're-learning' some of the skills we had spent the last ten weeks trying to get right. I am going to be frank here. I was frustrated at the prospect of having to learn these things again, especially when I had just begun to feel like I was making progress. The new versions of the techniques made my muscles ache as they were placed in alien, unfamiliar positions. My knee became very angry at me as I tried to adjust my stance to become wider than it had been previously. I frowned as I tried to 'delete' the old versions of the techniques from my brain and replace them with the new ones. Once or twice I thought to myself: "What was so wrong with the old way?" 

I am not altogether proud of these reactions, but I feel it is important to document them regardless. 

The thing about HEMA - so I am slowly learning - is that nobody really has their particular discipline completely figured out. We have these very old treatises, books, manuals - some damaged, some incomplete. We make do with these and fill in the blanks wherever possible. We sub-in some more modern techniques when they seem more prudent. We do guesswork when we have nothing else to go on. What we are left with is a kind of jigsaw puzzle that we put together with some of the pieces missing. As far as I can see, there will never be a 'perfect' interpretation of anything that we do. 

Now, here is where I fear I will get controversial. I will be the first to admit that I have very little understanding of the historical relevance of the skills I'm learning. I know that some HEMAists will scoff at that confession. This lack of knowledge is through no fault of my instructor - I simply have not taken the time to read the material we are drawing from. I am in no way trying to be anti-intellectual, but I am not a history buff. I know that our particular discipline was used for cavalries. From the frequency that my instructor mimes sitting on a horse - I can only assume that some of the techniques are derived from horseback combat. 

To be entirely honest, placing these skills in their rightful historical context is not a massive priority for me. 

Standing in the unforgiving lighting of a primary school hall in Lycra on a Wednesday evening with a sore sword arm, ruminating on a long day at uni/work, replaying a crucial conversation with that cute barista, trying to remember if I still have eggs in the fridge - knowing the ins-and-outs of Radaelli's combat manual is kind of the last thing I'm thinking about. Such is the reality of the 21st century lifestyle - it's hard to place your mind anywhere else, let alone several centuries earlier. Does this make me a bad HEMA student? Should I be poring over every historical document I can find, with notes ready to bring to class, in the hopes that they will make me a better swordswoman?

From what I have observed of the community - people go nuts over discussing interpretations of Liechtenauer and Fiore and other old men who lived many, many years before me. Whilst I absolutely applaud this dedication to the art and its various minutiae - I still wonder what kind of a place that leaves for someone like me. Someone who sees HEMA as a hobby - who uses it for stress release and for self-discipline. Someone who is happy to swing a sword in the Here and Now, and maybe isn't so preoccupied with how they were doing it Back Then. I think about all the other casual HEMAists who have busy lives, who want to swing a sword but feel intimidated by all of the historical precedent. Is there a happy medium for all of us?

Perhaps, for me, this interest in the 'Historical' part of HEMA will ultimately come from prolonged exposure to the art. Maybe I will grow curious the more I hear my peers discussing the most historically accurate ways to cut at someone's head. But, for right now, I'm just trying to remember how to aim for the head. And I think that's okay too. 

For now, I think that all I can do is what I have been doing - which is to watch and listen to my instructor, and trust that they will impart the relevant information I need in order to improve. If a hunger for knowledge about the historical intricacies takes me - I will gladly follow it to its natural conclusion and stick my head in a book. If I am told that these new interpretations are better - well, fine. I am content to be a sponge. Maybe the curiosity to learn about the people who invented this stuff will grab me. Maybe it won't. I hope that fellow HEMAists will accept me regardless. 

Either way, I still enjoy hitting people with swords. 

My First Tournament

Yesterday I had the privilege of attending and spectating The School of Historical Fencing's 200 Year Tournament. As a HEMA baby, this was an exciting prospect - and felt like the next logical step forward for me in regards to my involvement in this new and shiny world I have so recently found myself in. Though I had seen some examples of 'real' bouting before at the initial open night (see my first post), I was looking forward to watching people of all backgrounds and skill-sets come together to show what they could do.

A full day of watching people bash each other with swords seemed like everything a girl could want.

In the week leading up to the event, I admit I was a little nervous about the possibility of being seen as the odd one out - that maybe people would look at me as if I wasn't supposed to be there. I probably don't quite look like what one would imagine as 'the typical fencer'. This was hammered home when I first walked through the Scout Hall doors, and was met with a room almost entirely full of men - many bearded, many bespectacled - many very, very tall. All clad in the dark coloured jackets I have now come to recognize as essential HEMA gear - I could even name a couple of the different brands, which I realized with a little bit of happy surprise. This felt like a very similar image to that of my first time ever witnessing anything HEMA related - when I first saw the sword swinging, the heated debates, the gear. It was kind of nice to see how much of it was now familiar to me, even after only a couple of months.

Gear in all shapes and sizes. (Photo credit: Justin Masters)

Even so, I couldn't shake that initial feeling of wanting to shrink into a corner and hope nobody noticed me or asked any questions, lest I be found out as a total and utter fraud.

In fact, to begin with, I did place myself in the nearest corner - trying to give myself a moment to take in the intensity of all the goings-on around me. I spotted my instructor across the hall and waved gingerly as my eyes threatened to fall out of my head from darting around so rapidly. There were the ever-popular longswords - all differently shaped and hilted - their menacing appearance only stymied by the almost comically bright tape on the ends. There were single-swords - slightly more familiar to me, but still with so many variations that I couldn't quite keep up. Was that a rapier? Hang on, is that one a sabre? But where's the curve? And what the fuck is a dussack?!

I was learning quickly. I had no choice. Things were moving at such a fast pace - owing to the event's impressively efficient organizers. I did have a chance to meet some people who I had seen around the various HEMA social media pages - or caught glimpses of at the first info night. As I shook hands and exchanged smiles, I felt my initial trepidation begin to fade. Everyone I met was warm, passionate and excited about the day ahead - they were the antithesis of the image their immense armoured figures and large steel weapons suggested. 

I also met several awesome female fighters - who gave me real, tangible proof that I can get in that ring and face off against the tall dudes too. 

Sounds of metal clanging were punctuated by laughter - from the participants, from the judges, from the spectators. The mood was a bright and joyous one. The competitors were there to fight, but also to enjoy themselves - and this shone through more than anything else. The camaraderie was incredible to see. My heart swelled every time I saw two massive men embrace each other after swinging swords at one another's heads.

The love in the room was real, and it was infectious.

The sportsmanship I witnessed was also first rate. Fighters raised their hands to admit when their hits were not 'true', even if the judge had already awarded them a point for it. I had to take a moment to honestly reflect on whether or not I'd have made the same decision in that fighter's place, and felt a little bit morally inferior that it had never really occurred to me to do that. These fighters set the standard for me, and I now understand what will be expected of me when I am ready to compete for the first time.

Several of my fellow students were competing - it was great to get their insight before and after each bout. They all fought formidably, and one student even came second in the novice single-sword. Though ours is the newest school in the area, I know that we will prove ourselves to be a force to be reckoned with in the coming years. Our support for one another even with only a few of us competing illustrated that for me.

On a more frivolous note -  we also went and got lunch together in the break - it was nice to have a different context in which to relate to these people who I had been getting to know in class for the last couple of months. I really think that strengthening our bond as fellow students in this way will be of real benefit to us when we all get the chance to represent our school together in future.

All in all - I had a wicked day. I met some wonderful people, saw some truly impressive fighting, learned a lot, and didn't feel judged or intimidated by anyone - which I admit I was a little worried about. HEMA seems like an incredibly welcoming art which has room for both great discipline and great fun. The event ran incredibly smoothly, a testament to the judges, the sticklers and the organizers. 

I really can't wait until I am at a level where I can compete myself. And - considering I was deathly afraid of sparring not even a month and a half ago - I'm very happy to be able to say that now. I owe that new-found comfort to the amazingly supportive people I have come to know in my short time in the HEMA world. Yesterday's tournament is the first of many for me.

A tentative bash with my instructor during lunch break.

Mental Fatigue and Trusting Your Fellow Fighter

"It's just like line dancing."

In this day and age, it is something of a given that we live our lives 'on the go' nearly constantly. Rushing from one commitment to another with hardly any reprieve in between is a lifestyle that many of us tend to accept as an inevitability. In such a culture as this, a person's hobbies, passions, and general well-being can often take a backseat. In the context of HEMA - it means that sometimes it can be a real struggle just to be present, mentally and physically, at training.

This was abundantly clear to me in class last night. I left my A game at home.

I was beat from a long day, and already running only on a couple of hours sleep, as is too often my custom. I tried to compensate by downing a Red Bull before class and blasting some Iron Maiden on the drive over - futile attempts to induce some kind of alertness. My schedule is such that sword class is off the back of an already ten hour day - which is not at all ideal. Sword night is easily one of the highlights of my week, and I want to have the capacity to enjoy it and commit to it as much as I can. It's important to me that I have all cylinders firing in class -  so when I feel like I'm not achieving that, it can be very defeating. 

I was spacing out during demos, I was letting myself get distracted by other students and distracting them in turn. I felt embarrassed and angry at myself when I had to ask the instructor to show me the drill he had just demonstrated to the class thirty seconds ago - because apparently listening comprehension was not on the cards at that particular moment. I worry that my inattention may have been perceived as disinterest or rudeness. I worry that mental and emotional fatigue causes me to portray myself in a way that is contrary to how I might be otherwise. 

Most importantly, my training was being compromised by something that I felt I had limited control over.

(Image credit: ten.co.uk)

Of course, we are our own worst critics.  I think I still managed to keep up with everyone else, but it wasn't without great effort. It's entirely probable that nobody noticed me swearing at myself under my breath in frustration. It's entirely possible that they, too, were cursing themselves for their own perceived shortcomings with their training - but such are the workings of the human ego that this did not occur to me at the time.

What may have been helpful, I realize now - could have been to just be honest with my peers and instructor. Instead of hiding behind inane chatter and unintelligible grunting/swearing when I got a drill wrong, opening up to the people around me with a simple "Hey, I'm pretty burnt out tonight. Can we take it slow?" could have resulted in my being able to relax and, as a result, focus better.

My fellow fighters and my instructor are there to support me if I need it.  What I have realised since last class is that I would do well to try harder to make use of that support instead of worrying about becoming burdensome. I know that if my drill partner were to share that they were feeling 'out of it', I wouldn't hesitate to accommodate them. That I don't seem to extend that same kindness towards myself is perplexing and hypocritical, and something to work on. 

In martial arts, one might assume that displays of vulnerability would be frowned upon. In practical terms, being vulnerable means you are about to be struck. In point of fact, we are taught this every lesson when we learn to guard ourselves from each others' weapons. When it comes to a bout, vulnerability is weakness. 

You could then be forgiven, I think, for allowing this attitude to bleed into your feelings and experiences as The Human Being - not just The Fighter. 

A training space is naturally going to be an emotionally volatile area. People will be injured, they will make mistakes, they may act out, they may turn inwards on themselves. Whether we realize it consciously or not, when we train and spar together we are connecting in ways that people do not typically connect. While it is ultimately a controlled environment - there is, to me, an element of animalism - a shared experience that I have not come across anywhere else. 

I have heard HEMA enthusiasts proclaim that "You don't really know somebody until you've fought them", and although I only have experience with basic sparring, I am already beginning to see truth in this. I think there is something intensely personal and intimate about sharing controlled, consensual violence with another person. It is not something you typically get to experience until you do a martial art. You are placing all of your trust in this person to not take advantage and cause you harm, and they are doing the same for you. 

When I spar with someone, I gain insight about them that I couldn't obtain otherwise. This is a privilege that I do not take lightly.

(Photo credit: Shutterstock)

It is paramount that we as fighters demonstrate complete acceptance and support for shows of vulnerability. We cannot waste this trust that we are instilling in one another. This is especially true when we consider that the majority of martial artists are men - and men tend to be socialized against outward displays of 'non-masculine' emotion or weakness. These toxic ideals have the potential to manifest in ugly ways when violence is brought into the picture - even if it is structured. This 'macho' mentality must be done away with in favour of a culture of understanding and encouragement. It is in this way that we become better fighters; more able to deal with the mental and emotional demands of learning a martial art. 

Our class is still new. Our bonds are still forming. I haven't even sparred every student in the class yet. However, I think I have already formed bonds of trust and support with a few of my peers, as well as my instructor. The next time fatigue (or any other issue) gets in the way of my ability to drill or spar, I will be forthcoming about it. 

And perhaps by speaking up, I can help to demonstrate that it is okay to do so.