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.