Glory Days

 

“It’s a weapon, not a sword.” The first words my coach said to a bunch of nervous adolescent boys put us back a step.  He was the only one holding the ‘weapon’ we were itching to get our hands on.  But there was a long way to go before thirty inches of steel was put at our disposal. 

I guess the past does get clearer as we age.  That was decades ago.  Those practices seem vivid as I pick up my foil today.  Learning to move my hands and feet.  Learning to lunge and parry.  Learning to hold and control this tool of the sport with fingers instead of fist, see?  Clear lessons.

There’s a competitive fencing club here.  I’m going down tonight to see what’s up.  I’ll be taking my mask and glove and weapon.  I’m wondering if, in this modern day, the disciplines that were foundational to my sport are still taught.  I’m wondering if the coaches are as tough as mine were.  I’m wondering what role this rusty blade will play here and now. 

This is a different weapon.  My first lessons were with a French grip.  I moved to a Modified Belgian.  That was stolen with the rest of my equipment.  It was like losing a child.  I got this one a few years ago on a whim.  It’s new, without experiences, without scratches, without bruises and blood, not one win or loss.  I feel a bit the same way.  All that experience, all that work and pain and joy, all that losing and winning seems to belong to someone else.  I’m covered with scratches and dings, I’ve lost and won all kinds of things, but now I feel like a kid again.  All that experience, knowledge, and skill is gone. 

Days and years add things to us and at the same time take things away.  I remember an insane confidence then, and I remember a terrible insecurity.  I remember hearing my name announced for the first match in the finals of the Mid Atlantic Conference finals and being sure that they’d made a mistake.  I couldn’t have made the finals.  I guess all our life is like that, a bouillabaisse of insecurity and confidence, neither extreme taking into account the potentials or the limitations of the moment.  

But the best times are those when we look over the edge of now and step, even when it feels like a grand canyon looms.  What’s to lose except an opportunity to experience a moment of life?  Another memory to consider as we remember the Glory Days.