Memory of a Powertrip
Or why I love fencing
At the end of a two months, once a week introductory class to longsword, we were at least allowed to spar. I was an exchange student, and the only one with previous fencing experience, having done the year prior I.33 sword 'n' buckler. The martialist approach to the stuff back home had seriously burned me down and I was done with fencing. Was I, as I packed my gloves, my only piece of kit at the time, to bring them in a new country? As I traveled to the end of the tram line in a foreing city, then take a bus to join that beginner class every Sunday afternoon?
I was chosen to spar against the big guy, a brawny dude with longish blond hair and a well looked after beard. Reminded me of a norse warrior, but make it urban. During the classes he was always focused and collected, didn't have to try to keep up with the strain that swinging a sword did put on the body of the rest of us nerds. It's always nerds that get pulled in by "free longsword classes".
He did not know that no amount of basic legwork and drilling the same couple of play could ever prepare him for a girl easily 30kg lighter than him raising the sword up and proud above her head. In a fraction of a second he parsed all the fencing knowledge he had and concluded that he did NOT know how to deal with the impending doom. Panic in his eyes, he tensed up and twitched. The instructors giggled with understanding. I knew they knew, it is very consistent, how beginners get overwhelmed by the high ward the first time they spar.
I still chase that high. When I went home to the student dorm that night I could not stop thinking about the power I had over the guy, how I crushed his psyche for a blink of an eye. I'm not in for the history, for the tradition, for how cool swords look in fiction and in real life. I love fencing as the art of fencing oneself, I cheerish the skill it takes not to die, how difficult is to kill. It's a battle of wits with everything to lose, and I had won. The martialist approach that had caused me so much pain the year before had somewhat rewired my brain. Rolling in my bed I understood that I could not stop fencing and I did not ever stop.


















