A Widdle Personal Update

Finally! Finally! Finally the rain stopped! Halleluia! Praise the gods! Dance and sing in an emphatically non-rain-dancey way!

Yes, Sunday was the first time I got out to Darach practice in the last 3 weeks, because it was the first time Darach actually had practice in 3 weeks. I love love love having practice on the weekends, and I love love love having practice outdoors, but in the late winter/early spring it does make all practice plans pretty tentative--especially this year, when we've had a wetter, colder February and March than I've ever seen in Southern California. Don't get me wrong, I loves me some rain (reminds me of those foggy days in the Bay Area), but it does make fencing less likely.

I was a little tentative fencing on Sunday, because I'd spent a few hours at a pre-natal yoga class the day before (no, not for me--for a friend of mine whose husband couldn't make it). The class turned out to be about 50% individual yoga, which I'd never really done before (WiiFit aside), so I spent a lot of time with weight on both arms and/or my feet flexed. I was worried that after two days of exercise, my elbow and foot would be complaining loudly on Monday, but so far they both feel fine. I iced my foot Sunday night and took Advil before and after exercising on Sunday, and things seems to be holding up pretty well. We'll see how I feel after King's Hunt this weekend, where I'll hopefully get to fence at least a little bit two days in a row.

Drills and Such

Other than playtesting the new melee scenario (see followup post), I got to spend some one-on-one time drilling with Laertes, which was great. I really feel like I've been slowly (slooooooowly) improving over the winter, and doing the same drills I've been doing off-and-on for the last year or so is a good touchstone for me. It's nice to do a drill and think Okay, that's easier than it was three months ago, or Okay, I'm better at this part, now I need to focus on fixing this more advanced thing.

One thing Laertes observed, which I think is definitely true and led me into some more complicated musing, was that I'm much more confident when I'm fighting him. It's true--I'm more relaxed, more aggressive, and more self-assured. At the time, I said it was because we were just doing drills and I could expect him to throw one of three or four shots, so I got to turn the more watchful, anticipatory part of my brain off... but then he switched styles and it turned out that I maintained the attitude, even when we weren't drilling.

This is a behavior I've noticed with folks I'm used to fencing (folks I started fencing with in Isles, Laertes, friends from various fighting units I've practiced with, etc.) and it's sort of a good and a bad thing--I can relax enough to concentrate on fine-tuning my technique, which is cool, but it still only happens with people I'm fairly familiar and comfortable with, not all the time. I'd love to be able to bring that attitude to all of my fencing endeavors, not just practice with people I'm close to or have fenced with a lot.

I think that's one of those things that will come with time, although probably more time than I'd like. I do have a deep vein of self-consciousness that comes out when I'm fencing (most of the rest of the time, it's covered by a deluge of snark and one-liners). I guess I'm worried about being too easy a fight, about people who are watching forming bad opinions of me and my meager skillz, of looking like a doofus (more than usual). 

Oddly, that self-consciousness might contribute to my strong drive to be chivalrous and generally well-behaved on the field. I have a much higher opinion of people who are weaker fencers with unfailing courtesy than I do of people who win every tournament they enter and have every award their Kingdom has for rapier, who are unfailingly rude and dismissive--you know, the people who clearly think more highly of themselves and their "accomplishments" than they do anyone else, because they don't have to respect anyone who isn't exactly like them and doesn't meet their narrow and self-serving criteria of success. I'd rather be a shitty fencer who has a reputation for good times and good behavior on the field than the best fencer in the Society who has to have all the doorways in her house widened to get her head through, know what I mean?

Anyway, more of the same. Practice practice practice. Maybe I should just fence naked for a few months and get all the self-consciousness out of my system through over-exposure. :) 

Temper Temper

So I was at the Darach war practice on Sunday and something funny happened. Well, it wasn’t really funny in that “Ha ha, oh Enid, you card!” way that’s always soooo charming, it was funny in that “Wow, I just completely took myself aback by doing something really unexpected!” way.

I was in a line standing across from a gentleman who killed me just as I thought I tip-cut across the width of his forearm (in Caid, a tip cut across the width of a limb is enough to render it useless). His kill on me was unquestionable, but as I turned around to walk back to the resurrection point, I saw him turn and continue to fight his way down the line, both arms intact and in use.

I’m not going to definitively say I did or I didn’t hit his arm, because really, mistakes happen on both sides, and the point of this post is not to cast aspersion on a member of my community or to paint myself as some kind of tolerant, saintly wronged party, but rather to confess something a bit shameful about myself:

As I was walking back to the res point, I heard myself say “Hey, don’t take that arm or anything!”

Now, in the grand scheme of things, this is not a big deal. It’s not like I shouted it at him across the line, or went screaming to the marshals frothing at the mouth, or ran back from the res point looking for revenge, or jumped across the line and kicked him in the kneecap, or waited patiently for the first opportunity to slash his tires and put sugar in his gas tank. No one even heard me say it, as far as I know, because I was surrounded by ten feet of empty grass in every direction. But it struck me. What was I saying? Why did I have an issue with this guy? What possessed me to actually speak my frustrations out loud and uncensored, rather than doing something productive about them? I’m not the kind of person who says stuff like that just to vent, right?

But bottom line is, I did say it, it was rude, and it was petty and passive-aggressive. It wasn’t even prompted by a serious issue, because if I’d had a serious problem with him, I would have asked him about it, right then and there. That’s probably what I should have done anyway, just to clear the air.

The point is, my temper was up, I got annoyed, and I let it come out without even thinking about it. I was just blowing off steam. I remember hearing myself say something and stopping, really surprised at such a display of bad behavior. Actually, my annoyance at him completely vanished because the behavior struck me as so out of character.

See, one of my biggest pet peeves on the field is people who can’t control their temper. It’s a close second to unchivalrous jerks who can only have a good time if they’re winning. To me, losing your temper on the field is indicative of only one thing: that it’s time for you to be somewhere else. I see someone march off the field, swearing holes in the ozone layer, or throwing their gear around on the sidelines, or yelling and crying about the terrible time they’re having (unless they’re actually injured, of course), and I wonder why they’re there in the first place. Clearly they’re not having a good time, and now they’re making a big deal about it, probably impacting other folks’ good time, and generally acting childish. Temper tantrums don’t get three year olds what they want, why should adults expect anything different?

I realize I’m not necessarily demonstrating the most magnanimous perspective here, but it’s something I feel pretty strongly about. The rapier field is not the place for temper tantrums, just like it’s not the place for backbiting, hurt feelings, or any manner of unchivalrous behavior. If you have a problem with someone, you find them, and a marshal if you really think it’s necessary, and you discuss it rationally, like grown-ups. Everyone gets pissed off, everyone gets upset, and everyone has a right to their feelings—but, as much as is possible, it should not affect your game. As one of my favorite YouTube videos tells us:

“Feelings? Look, mate, you know what has a lot of feelings? Blokes what bludgeon their wife to death wif a golf trophy. Professionals have standards. Be polite. Be efficient. Have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”

I’m not much of a one for mottos, but the last few sentences above seem pretty apropos to me, fencing-wise. That and “If you’re not having fun, you’re doing it wrong.”

I appreciate that it's not always easy to see the big picture or keep from getting frustrated, and Lord knows I don't always practice what I preach, but that's the mindset with which I try to approach life on the rapier field. In fact, I have a higher standard of behavior for myself on the rapier field than I do off. It's a combative environment, one full of physical force, yelling, and emotional highs. Tempers can flare, feelings can be hurt, and resentments can brew. In my own little way, I try to pay it forward by staying upbeat, keeping myself smiling and trying to get others to smile too, and trying to cultivate an attitude of generosity.

Usually, I’m pretty good at keeping my cool, and at fixing bad behavior when I notice it or hear about it (for example, I used to swear a lot on the field, but I don’t at all anymore). I’m often snarky, occasionally sarcastic, frequently profane, and generally as imperfect as everyone else, but I very rarely let myself get angry on the rapier field. I have an extraordinarily long fuse, and am more likely to laugh at someone who’s pissing me off than I am to yell at them. Screaming, crying, and passive-aggressive BS are not usually my thing, which is why the random exclamation on Sunday surprised me so much.

Is that really so far a cry from marching off the field, whipping off my mask, bursting into tears, and yelling at everyone in earshot about whose fault it is that I’m not having fun anymore? Because (SPOILER ALERT) the person who’s responsible for me having or not having fun is me. I’m in control of my behavior, or so I thought, and I can choose to ignore bad stuff, behave chivalrously, and try to increase my own and other folks’ fun. I don’t want to start exhibiting behavior I find shameful, disappointing, or immature, even if the only person who knows about it is me.

At the end of the day, the net impact of my actions on the field was probably nothing, but the net impact of my actions on myself was worth noticing. I surprised myself. I expected better from myself. If nothing else, it’s a valuable reminder that, as easygoing as I try to be, I do have a temper in there somewhere, and sometimes it acts without consulting the upper management. That’s not an excuse—it’s just something I have to keep an eye on, and apparently should have been before now.

Great Western War, 2010

Whoo, mama! It's been awhile since I posted. This summer's been crazy. However, I hope to be back and a bit more regular now that the autumn is getting underway. My job's a bit more stable (which is both yaaaaay and aaaaaaargh), my boyfriend's finally got one, and we're adjusting to the joy of suddenly being a two-income apartmenthold... clearly we need to have some kids, because Lord knows them dishes ain't doin' themselves.

Moving right along.

What better way to ring ZARM back in than with a post about my very favorite war, Great Western War! Every year I have an absolute blast at Great Western (thanks in large part to the great site, camping with the boyfriend's household, and the fact that it always falls on or around my birthday weekend), and this year was no exception.

I have to say, I was looking forward to this particular war with some trepidation--it was our first time leaving our cat alone overnight since the Great Vet Trips of 2010, I'd had a couple of bad days due to some difficult work news, we could only manage to head up to the war on Saturday and Sunday because of work and a total absence of PTO in my full-time job (Ever. Any. At all.), and we had enough to do before we left that we wouldn't be able to leave for the site until after dark. I was not looking forward to the war by 4 PM on Friday afternoon.

And yet.

War. Oh war. Something about war just perks me right up. Maybe it's because of the people. Or the turning off of cell phones and disconnecting from the internet for a couple of days. Maybe it's because I love blood and violence. Who can say?

War kicked ass pretty much continuously from Friday night to Sunday night, and a big part of that was the fencing. So let's get to it:

Saturday

Saturday was the White Scarf tourney in the morning and melees in the castle in the afternoon. In the White Scarf tourney, which was held last year as well, a White Scarf sponsors two unscarved fighters and they tag team in and out between rounds throughout the tournament--sort of like Pokemon, but more fun to watch.

Warmups were a little something different--Laertes shoved me over to Don Alex Baird and rather than a static drill warmup, he just had us throw blows back and forth without stopping at about 75% speed, very gentle and easygoing. For a minute or two I felt like my brain was lagging behind my body, but I got one good touch in on his arm and suddenly everything clicked into place. It got me into the fencing headspace really quickly, and whether that's a testament to the warmup or my own increased ability decreasing my mental lag, I can't say. Whichever the case (or if both is the case), it worked great.

The WS tourney was lots of fun. I lost both my fights, but I had some really nice and fun opponents. I can't recall the second one right now (beyond getting one-shotted just as I started thinking--well done, sir!), but the first fight was with a very nice gentleman who seemed pretty evenly matched with me. We had a couple of nice passes and he ended up taking me out, but I felt really good about the fight--very grounded and confident, like I, as the good book says, owned my space on the pavement.

I also got to hang out with some peeps I sort-of know and would like to know better, Shannon (whose SCA name is something like a very feminine sounding Christian... probably has an E on the end or some damn thing) and her husband Thomas, and Gerrick's (more spelling issues) ladyfriend Maureen, who's just a huge sweetheart and lots of fun. I also got to schmooze a bit with some of the Westies I see annually at GWW or know through Facebook, which was great. Staffan and I stole back to his pavilion (scandal!) to discuss some manuals we'd talked about online and I've now ordered a copy of an out-of-print book on basic foil and epee fencing that apparently has a lot of period-oid crossover. When life calms down a bit more, I'm excited to get into it.

In the afternoon, there were melees in the heavies' haybale castle, which were just a total blast. We busted the spears out and for the first time I really thought they affected play on the field--previously I'd only been in line-battle type melees where the spears were used, and, while I thought they were fun, the only effect they had on me were that I had to watch three people down on my left and right on the lines, rather than one or two. Being able to shoot over the haybale walls with the spears and get up on the second tier of bales to parry them really added a layer of intensity and thought to the melees which can often get lost in doorway battles. There was no standing in the third or fourth rank, waiting for enough people in front of you to die for you to get your turn--you had to actively check the air over your head (well, I did anyway) and around the edges of the door for a spear. Lots of fun, especially when I perched up on a haybale on the edge of a door and sniped across the line for incoming hands.

Another really nice touch about Saturday was that the White Scarf Tourney last year was really one of the first tournies at which Laertes' and I had worked together, so we had lots of check ins during the day comparing how I'm fighting this year (okay!) to how I fought last year (friggin' awful). He and Gerrick (whose name I should know how to spell by now, but I don't) were both very positive and reassuring and specific about where and how I'd improved, and kept reminding me to take note of myself now versus last year. I really appreciate the encouragement and support they've both provided, and genuinely consider the good environment to be a huge part of why I've improved as much as I have over this past year. The learning environment really is ideal for me (lots of talking, lots of snark, lots of support, and high expectations with no pressure to win or be the best! or make the other kids cry! or any of that Cobra Kai bullshit), and has done a lot to boost my confidence. Thanks, guys!

Sunday

First thing on Sunday morning was the Valkyrie Rose Tourney, hosted by the Ladies of the Rose in honor of the late Duchess Sir Kolfinna. There's been a Rose tourney the last couple of years at war (methinks), but the last two have been a bit fraught with emotion for everyone--the one last year took place around the same time as the memorial service, which was hard for a lot of people, and the one this year was in her honor.

In my first fight, I drew Don Eogan (more on tourney format below), who caught my rhythm and one-shotted me very quickly. A bit frustrated, I retreated to the loser's pool and was perked up by a couple of good passes with a Western White Scarf whose name I failed to catch. He tried to take a blow I landed on the side of his neck, basically parking my edge on the bottom of his gorget with no pressure or pull whatsoever, but I said it wasn't any good and we should redo it. He was an utter gentleman and tried really hard to take the shot, but finally said it was up to me to determine whether it was good or not and I insisted we refight it. We had a couple exchanges at full speed (for me, probably rather slow for him!) and I ended up taking him out with a lucky shot on the mask. I was really pleased with that, and glad I'd gotten such a chivalrous and fun opponent. My next fight was with a young lady from the West who was equally polite and cheerful, and who took me out in fairly short order... she made it to quarterfinals, though, so I didn't feel too bad about it. :)

The fighting was great, but the tourney itself was a bit of an ordeal--not for any emotional reasons on my part, but because it was a speed tourney (two groups of fighters pair off and fight, then sort into two lists, the winners and losers lists, which continue to fight until there's a winner of each, pretty much non-stop) and it was out in the gorram sun near a small haybale room. It had been getting warmer all war, and I imagine the high on Sunday was somewhere in the 90s. There were a lot of fighters and a speed tourney was absolutely the best way to get through the list in less than an hour, but we were sweltering out there and the waterbearing table was totally understaffed, so there was no water within five hundred feet of the tourney field.

(Actually, I think the one water table in sight was intended for the heavies who were doing scenarios in the castle... right next door to the rapier field... with their crossbows a-firing, and may I just say, LEARN TO AIM, KIDS, because dodging crossbow bolts while trying to fight or marshal in the heat after a few rounds of speed tourney? Not a lot of fun. Suggestions to the marshals that scenarios involving projectiles be rescheduled for a few minutes or fought without archery didn't seem to be accepted, which hopefully had a good reason, because from where I was standing it was a bit annoying. Moving right along.)

I ended up going over to the heavies' water table and asking to steal six or eight bottles from them for the tourney. They were really nice and said it was no problem as long as they got all the bottles back, so I took a double armful and parked them all on one haybale. People were really good about returning them, and half an hour later I had all the empties to return to the waterbearers. Hopefully that helped everyone--I could tell the water crew felt bad about not being able to provide for everyone, but I think they were technically promised to the heavies field and there were only two of them. They appreciated us returning the bottles, and the fighters appreciated the extra hydration, so I think it worked out well for everyone.

Anyway, not much else to say about fencing at GWW. I didn't do Blood of Heroes or melees that afternoon (and a good thing, because we had to break down later that night and I ended up throwing my back out, so it would have been a pain to have to deal with that on top of being all exhaustified), but I heard everyone had lots of fun. I sure did. :)