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