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. 

Week Nine Diary Entry

"It's okay, I make the sound effects too."

This week was another great class (I think that goes without saying at this point) - we worked on 'Actions from Parry 1st' as well as the usual covering of the fundamentals. 

1. We did a version of structured bouting that I really liked, which focused on the first couple of passes only. This seemed like a much better learning experience than simply thrashing at someone in a mindless panic, which is what I had been doing up until now. This time we were given a game plan to work from (Molinello to the head, Parry 1st, riposte as you like), which gave me something to focus on that wasn't just "OhgodohgodohgodwhatdoIdofuuuuuck". 

I'm still making very questionable choices in the heat of the moment - for some reason whenever I try and get a hit in I raise a leg up like a Cocker Spaniel about to pee on a fire hydrant. Perhaps I was a Master Yogi in a previous life (or, indeed, a Cocker Spaniel), but for sparring sabre, it's no good and will only get me laughed at - or worse, disqualified.

(Recent pic of me)

2. I now have my first HEMA bruise! It is, regrettably, in an area I can't show off (well, not without being ejected from class immediately after) - still, it feels a little bit like an initiation. In the interest of transparency, I didn't even get it from sparring, so that, uh, maybe sullies the coolness somewhat. Of course we should be trying to avoid bumps and bruises as much as possible - but I also think it's okay to let yourself feel a tiny bit bad-ass when you get marked up. I, however, bruise like some kind of soft fruit so I have a feeling I'll be over the novelty quite quickly - especially when the inescapable Looks of Concern start coming my way. 

I think I may have also given bruises to a couple of people by virtue of terrible aim and undisciplined striking force, which I regret but also am trying recognize as an inevitability. Feeling intense guilt every time I hit someone is simply not going to be feasible in HEMA. I am still punctuating every stray hit with a loud "SORRY" and a nervous giggle. While it's good manners to apologize if you hit someone where you shouldn't, especially with minimal gear, I think I may be goin' a little overboard. We could talk about the psychology behind my intense need to constantly apologize - but maybe that could be its own post!

3. Our instructor goes overseas in a couple of weeks (cue sad violins) and in his stead we have an instructor from another school coming in to teach the basics of Jiu Jitsu, as an introduction to Bartitsu. I have a friend who does Brazilian JJ who enjoys testing out his new skills on me - whether I like it or not - so I'm not altogether unfamiliar with grappling. I do worry about my size being an obstacle, considering most of the students are at least a head taller than me and I have trouble imagining how I'm going to get any of them to the floor. I am looking forward to learning something new and different, but I also hope that we get a chance to revise what we've done in the ten weeks previous. In any case, a martial art that involves handkerchief throwing will probably be pretty interesting.

4. A couple of weeks ago I made the divisive decision to get a piercing in my chest (look up 'dermal anchor' for those playing at home) - which, while totally and utterly wicked, has gotten in the way a little bit. I had to ask my drill partner to alter his target a couple of times to avoid it, which may have affected his learning. It's interesting to think about the ways in which my decisions outside of class might affect what goes on in class - and this is something I will have to remain cognizant of. For now, investing in a chest protector might be an idea.

5. FACE SWEAT. I now know ye. I'm not sure if you've truly known discomfort unless you have been swimming in a pool of your own cheek sweat inside an awkwardly-fitting fencing mask. I have this knowledge now. I don't think there's any going back. 

In summation: Swords continue to be good. Would highly recommend. 

10 Signs You Might Be Getting Sucked Into HEMA

HEMA newbie? Not sure if you're hip to the jive yet? Here are some sure-fire signs that you're catching the bug.

1. You are making sure to practise your lunges as much as possible, including in the break room at work. You pray no one walks in to heat up last night's Osso Bucco while you're standing there like a confused starfish, grunting, trying to discern if your knee is over your toe or not.

2. You begin to hear "Advance! Retreat! Lunge!" looping in the back of your mind for hours and days after your last class like some kind of maddening mantra.

3. You find yourself judging the distance between you and your unwitting mates outside of class. Is Damo in advanced lunge distance, or just lunge distance? You realize you have been eyeing Damo analytically too long. He backs away (and, you think, is now out of distance).

4. You start to look forward to the sore arm you inevitably wake up with the day after class. You flex in the mirror, wondering if today is the day when your Massive Swordfighting Bicep decides to show up. It does not, but you remain hopeful.

5. You spend your free time looking up and comparing all the different types of gear - imagining yourself clad head to toe in it and giggling gleefully at the mental image.

6. You're reviewing your personal budget and adding in allowances for all this rad new gear you now have to buy. Who needs a car service? You've got a gambeson to save for. Your mother's birthday is coming up? Sorry ma, these vambraces are calling your name. She'll understand.

7. You willingly spend time listening to people debating over conflicting historical military treatises. And you are actually interested. Try telling You From Six Months Ago that this is where you were headed. They'd probably call you a nerd and sock you in the jaw.

8. You're finding it harder to explain to people. In the beginning it was easy to say "Oh, y'know. I'm doing fencing" and immediately receive nods of understanding and (possibly) interest. Now? You're still trying to figure out how best to express "Well it's fencing but it differs to the popular sports fencing and is actually more historically accurate, my discipline in particular is 19th century Italian military sabre..." before the other person literally dies of boredom in front of you.

9. You realize quickly why it is a bad idea to practice your circle cuts underneath low-hanging lighting fixtures. You're still picking glass out of things.

10. You join up to all the local and international HEMA social media groups. You now have a steady flow of gear updates, technical debates, and of course - sweet sweet sword memes. It's only a matter of time before you're jumping head first into the discourse, taking your rightful place among the Sword Dorks. They welcome you warmly. You settle in for the long haul.

Week 7 Diary Entry

An Assortment of Thoughts

"Don't do that, that's how you get dead."

I've just come home from class, week 7. Mostly revision of the different guards, parries and the various Molinelli. A couple of new faces and some returning ones, which were all nice to see.

This entry isn't going to be particularly well structured or cleverly written, so apologies in advance - I just want to try and organize my general thoughts about my progress and my feelings towards the class so far. I expect this blog will be a mixture of diary entry-type posts, as well as some considered commentary on the broader context of my experiences within HEMA. Hopefully you will find both approaches worthwhile and enjoyable.

In no particular order, here are some thoughts:

1. During our warm up exercises and stretches I have been forced to pay much more attention than I usually would to my body and its limitations. My knees in particular don't always seem to want to do the things I ask of them (which is concerning for a twenty year old), and I guess I am going to try and be really aware of not putting too much strain on them. I don't want old lady knees this early on in life!

2. A tendency to 'over-lunge' is something I am struggling with, which might explain why my legs and butt are always so sore the day after class - not that a little soreness is necessarily a bad thing. I generally take it as a sign that I've worked hard, but it's still important to pay attention to any possible warning signs. Injury in martial arts seems to mean that you'll be on the bench for weeks, which is something I'd like to avoid.

3. I am going to have to start thinking much more about my fitness regime outside of class - I have just started sparring and have found that it leaves me out of breath much sooner than I would like to admit. Cardio and strength training would both be of great benefit to my sword training so I will endeavour to get that happening much more regularly - not to mention for my general health and well-being!

4. Silly as it sounds, I worry a little about developing uneven musculature as a result of only using one arm in sabre - though I realize as a woman any muscle I gain at all will be sadly pretty minimal (real talk: I've always wanted massive guns). Should I be concerned about becoming weirdly lopsided? I have recurring mental images of some caveman type guy with one massive arm dragging along the ground and one limp, weak one. For your benefit, I have illustrated this below.

(I am a woman of many talents, I know)

A little extreme, maybe, but eventually I may have to think about tailoring some training to strengthen my non-dominant side as well.

5. Speaking of sparring (we were, a little further up) I had my second go at it this evening. I was quite hesitant to try it out last week, for reasons that I may end up expanding on in a future post - but I spent all of this past week psyching myself up to spar and - happily - I was keen to try it out again. I had more or less the same amount of success as last week (see: none) but it was still an exciting challenge. I have a lot of trouble putting all the technical skills we have been drilling for the past seven weeks into such fast-paced practice, it feels very much like I just end up flailing around a lot, hoping I get a hit in somehow (I do not).

My main goal for the moment is to try and get to a point where I can find a calm and measured head space during sparring, because at the moment my internal monologue sounds mostly like:

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Which really makes trying to remember all my parries and strikes quite difficult. However already I feel as though I've come a huge way from how panicky I was about it last week, but I know it'll be a while still until I'm completely comfortable.

6. On the more social side - we seem to be developing a nice class rapport. I think we have struck a good balance in that there's a lot of joking and piss-taking of one another, but I think we also know how to give the training and the instructor the gravitas and respect they deserve. Others may feel differently, and I can think of a couple of times where I could have stood to rein it in a little (Lord knows I can get carried away) - but overall I think we're all getting along famously and I look forward to seeing all these new relationships grow.

There were talks of post-class drinks and other such social outings, which seem like a really nice addition to what we've already got going. As I reflected on this on the drive home I realized just how little I actually know about my fellow students - so I'd like an excuse to sit down and actually chat to everyone instead of doing all our conversing with wooden sticks (not that you can't learn a lot about a person in that context, too!)

All in all, I feel good. The things I was getting wrong in the first few weeks I seem to be doing better at - but of course I'm discovering new things to work on all the time. Most importantly, I find myself really wanting to improve. As someone who, in all honesty, can be prone to apathy about most things, it's nice to have something to be earnestly dedicating a part of myself to - out of a real and honest desire to better myself and my abilities.

I consider this blog, in some respects, to be a way of encouraging myself to keep going. I am holding myself accountable here - for all to see. That's a scary thought, but it's also empowering. As a self-professed Serial Quitter of Things, it's going to be a totally new challenge to try and stick to something like this long-term.

But, for now, I don't see any reason why I wouldn't want to.

Fighting Like A Girl

Entry Two: Navigating Male Martial Arts

"Rule Two: Hit the other guy."

If there was one thing that was immediately clear to me upon taking up swordfighting - it was that I was going to be significantly outnumbered by dudes. I understood and accepted this, but it didn't stop me from also immediately noticing the ways in which this gender disparity manifested itself. My very first class saw me followed around by a fellow student, roughly ten years my senior, who seemed to be more interested in 'playfully' hitting me with the hand-guard of his singlestick than paying attention to the instructor. From what I could tell, this seemed to be his way of demonstrating that he was taking an interest in me. This took me back to my kindergarten days, as I remembered (not particularly fondly) being told that a boy hitting and pushing me was simply his way of "showing he likes you!". I have always despised that we teach our little girls to be flattered by male demonstrations of aggression - like we should be taking it as a compliment. It sets a terribly dangerous precedent that will stay with the girl for a very long time. 

I can attest to this, because what did I do about this annoying man who continuously tapped me with his stick? Not a damn thing. Call it nervousness about it being the first class, call it not wanting to make a fuss so early on, the point was that already I was being made to feel uncomfortable, not even an hour into my nice new hobby. Fortunately for me, this particular student didn't return after the first week. That didn't stop me from imagining all the ways I would force myself to hypothetically confront him about his behaviour if he were to return. This was emotional labor I didn't need to be doing. This dude probably didn't think twice about me after leaving that night - but I still subconsciously scan the room when I walk into class to make entirely sure he hasn't decided to suddenly return. It's not as if I fear having to deal with him, I just shouldn't even have to concern myself over the possibility of having to have that uncomfortable exchange. 

If you're reading this, Aforementioned Dude: 

C'mon. 

Here is where I feel a disclaimer coming on. I do not enjoy playing the victim. I realize that in speaking about my experiences there may be some sense of 'woe is me' arising and I'd like to avoid this blog being read in that way. I am continuing with HEMA out of a desire to improve myself - and I feel that unpacking my experiences, both positive and negative, can only be helpful. If anything I write comes across as agenda-driven, attention seeking, what have you... Well, I suppose there isn't a lot I can do about that. I plan to be honest about my perspective and I imagine it will be interpreted in many different ways, which suits me just fine.

Overkeen Guy has not been my only uncomfortable experience in my short six weeks of sabre training, sadly. You begin to think of these things as unavoidable when you're so outnumbered. The tiny offhand remarks don't amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but they do serve to remind me that I am The Other. As if I am here because You have been kind enough to allow me a little bit of space, provided I don't try to take up too much more. 

But I don't want this to become self-pitying or melodramatic. Our instructor is wonderfully inclusive, perceptive and sensitive - and I am very grateful to have, mostly by chance, picked a school with such a fantastic teacher. And it isn't as if I am the only woman, there are several other formidable ladies who I am always happy to drill alongside each week. Maybe they have experienced none of the things I have during their time in the HEMA world. Perhaps I am simply cherry-picking the bad and ignoring all of the good. There are a lot of wonderful guys in the class who I always look forward to chatting and training with - however, in the end, it is my estimation that they and I are going to experience our swordfighting careers quite differently. None of them are coming to class with a subtle but ever-present anxiety about being hassled by fellow students (or so I presume). 

I don't believe any of these boys are going to struggle with taking up and owning the space required to properly spar because they were never taught to shrink themselves. For most of them, learning a martial art seems like a given - a natural extension of behaviour that has been normalized and encouraged for them throughout their lives. For a girl to take up a martial art, she is actively fighting against what she has been taught, whether overtly or more insidiously: to be passive, to be soft, to be quiet. While I don't yet know if I believe that being a woman in HEMA is necessarily ultimately harder than being a man, I do know that it comes with a different set of considerations that, honestly, may have never even occurred to most men.

And that's a dialogue that we should all be having. 

Photo credit: HBO

An Introduction

Tales From a Sabre Baby

Entry One: Swordfighting? You mean like Game of Thrones?

"Rule One: Don't get hit."

I have never done team sports. Or any sports. As a somewhat rotund child and teenager I had always made a point to sit out of P.E. more often than not - especially when balls were being hurtled at inhuman speeds by impossibly fast boys in shiny basketball shorts. I have always been clumsy and never particularly aware of the ways in which my body moved in space, and - somewhat embarrassingly - people came to know me for this. I tried dancing and quit within two months. When I was five or six my parents tried to get me into soccer, with limited results. I still have memories of long blue socks that went way up past my knee, and crying on the car ride home because I could never seem to come close to kicking the ball. 

You may then be forgiven for wondering why, at the ripe old age of twenty, I have decided to take up swordfighting. Perhaps I could have continued my anti-athletic custom and been perfectly content. When I saw "Come and Learn Swordfighting!" show up on my Facebook newsfeed it would have been all too easy to continue scrolling with the slack-jawed apathy so ingrained in people of my age bracket. But, for some reason still unknown to me, that night I decided to drag my ass thirty minutes up the freeway to check out this entirely foreign thing on the sole basis of... "Well, what else was I going to do tonight?" 

Upon entering the familiarly sterile-lit school hall I was met with a cacophony of shouting and clanging. It was immense, I felt my eyes widen and dart every which way. There were teenage boys in what appeared to be medieval replica type garb, as well as some intimidating figures in all black, as if in some kind of menacing uniform. There was a table full of glinting objects - some I easily recognized, others were entirely alien. Tall, mustachioed men in kilts gave speeches about the historical accuracy of the hand-guards on the swords they were brandishing, while I found my attention drifting to the barefoot girl swinging a wooden stick around a few metres behind me. 

She had an intense focus about her, dancing around with a fascinating mixture of caution and purpose. Immediately I pictured myself in her place. I was surprised at how easily I fit into this imagined picture. Then, beside her came one of those black figures, now clad in a metal face mask, obscured in total mystery. This figure was wielding steel in place of wood, and was slashing it through the air with a loud 'whoosh'. As I watched the figure step and swing, step and swing, I recognized a grace that could only be female. At this realization, I became transfixed. She was strong and sure, casting a fearsome figure even with her slight frame. Eventually, I became acutely aware that what I felt as I watched her was envy. I wanted to be her. I wanted to look as incredible swinging a sword as she did. 

Before this moment I had not spared a single thought to swords outside of the fantasy contexts they are most often seen in - and even then, though I am a great fan of medieval fantasy, swordplay had never particularly claimed my interest. My immediate association upon the thought of 'swordfighting' was Olympic style fencing, a pastime I had subconsciously relegated to the privileged and prissy, dressed immaculately in all white. But as I watched the instructors from the various schools give their talks on the merits of their chosen fighting styles, I began to see just how much more there was to it. Some spoke softly and allowed their technical demonstrations to speak for them, others bounded up to the stage with their booming voices, almost commanding the audience to join up with them. 

I smirked at the various affectations, the salutes, the formal addresses. I could see and feel the passion in the room and found, strangely, that it made me want to care. I wanted to pick up a sword and learn how to use it -  if not for me, then to impress the black-clad men and women who made it look so beautifully effortless. Not the most noble of reasons to pick up a martial art, but pick it up I did. In the end I went with 19th century Italian sabre - for those playing at home. Not that the specific discipline mattered in the least to me, I just wanted to get a sword in my hand and start learning how to swing it. In all honesty I chose the school closest to home, however it was a pleasant coincidence that I also seemed to get along well with its head instructor.

In my (admittedly limited) experience, it seems as though most HEMA enthusiasts take up the art out of historical interest, an interest in self defense, a passion for swords, or because they fancy themselves fantasy fans. Me? I'm still not entirely sure why I decided to do it. All I know is that six weeks on, I'm still showing up - which is pretty good if you consider my track record when it comes to athletic pursuits. As for this blog, I'm interested in documenting my progress in a way that is amusing and informative. As I am about as much of a 'HEMA newbie' as you could get, I figured it might be fun to see where I end up, say, this time next year. 

Maybe I'll be the one clad in all black, swinging some steel with that grin-inducing whoosh.

Photo Credit: Justin Masters