It starts, as most things in my life do, with an offhand comment.
One of my coworkers, with whom I share a cube, mentioned that she had taken fencing in college and wanted to get her kids into it, but none of them seemed interested (the youngest wanted to be a WWE wrestler when he grew up; the middle was more interested in guns than swords; and the eldest was mostly interested in his girlfriend). I mentioned that I used to fence as well, and we had a pleasant conversation about fencing and I realized, as I often do during these sorts of conversations, two things:
1. My level of interest in fencing is much higher than the average person who took a fencing class in college; and
2. I really, really miss it.
When I was the age that most people are in middle school, I was being home schooled by my mother and an organization that provides an umbrella school for parents doing what mine were doing so the state wouldn't think that your parents were some sort of hippies and try to get involved. Home schooling affords a lot of opportunities for academic growth when done properly, but typically, it lacks two major things: socialization and physical education.
At a loss as to what to do, my mother concurrently enrolled me in Aikido and fencing lessons. The Aikido was cool, but my paralyzing fear of high falls made it a poor long term choice for physical education. Fencing, however, was awesome. Having grown up on Errol Flynn films, and later, The Princess Bride, nothing could possibly be cooler than fencing.
My stepfather was the one who took me to my first fencing lessons. We met the man who was to be my first coach just as the local fencing club was schisming (later, I would learn just how acrimonious this schism was), and he told us how he was starting a new club, a saber club, and he was really interested in teaching girls (who were traditionally kept away from the "brutal" slashing weapon). At the ripe old age of twelve, I didn't know what that meant, exactly, but I was flattered to be in high demand, and the word "saber" just sounded so cool, that we followed him to his new club.
Sport fencing is different than swashbuckling and stage fighting. It's definitely a sport: arbitrary rules exist for no apparent reason and are often combined with some muttering about safety. Athletes compete against one another for rankings rather than blood, but the ability to actually hit someone with a piece of metal in sport-sanctioned ways, all the while retaining a veneer of civilized dignity is nothing short of amazing. I was hooked.
Fast forward a few years, and I began competing in earnest: first, locally, then regionally, and later nationally. By 1997, I was a C ranked fencer (this means that I was pretty good at what I was doing on a national scale), and by 2000 I had come within a hair's breadth of earning my B (meaning I was really good) several times.
In 2000, I graduated from high school and started college, pursuing a degree in theater. By 2001, I learned that fencing (a sport which is traditionally trained in the afternoons and evenings) are incompatible with pursuing a degree in theater (a profession which is traditionally practiced in the evenings and at night). With a heavy heart, I made a decision: I would hang up my mask and weapons and keep plugging away at my degree.
It is now 2010. I'm working in a profession that has absolutely nothing to do with theater, and for the most part happens entirely during the day, sitting in a cube, which has done nothing for my figure, stamina, or ability to go up multiple flights of stairs (admittedly, even in fighting trim, stairs have always been problematic, but it's the principle of the thing). And while I exercise some in the form of ballroom dancing, when I think about the ways I've exercised in the past, the things I've done of which I'm proudest, I keep coming back to fencing.
And now we're here. Tomorrow, I will go check out a fencing club that looks very promising, and all because a coworker mentioned that she had taken fencing in college and reminded me of how very much I miss it.
