Friday, July 15, 2016

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




1 comment:

  1. As one of the demonstrators that night (I was the dude in red getting tossed around like a rag doll) I'm glad you decided to join up even if you don't know why. Welcome to the community!

    Maybe we can spar some day once you get all that black gear.

    Good luck!

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