The Swordmaster's Grimoire

When Past is Prolonged

2012-03-11T21:28:00.000-04:00

A reader recently asked what I thought of the future of fencing.

Interesting question.

When I first learned fencing from David and Lucille Logan back in around 1970 or so,

there was no such thing as “classical fencing,” as distinguished from “Olympic fencing.”

That which we now call “classical fencing” was known simply as “good” or “correct” fencing.

That which we now call “olympic fencing” was known simply as “poor” or “incorrect” fencing.

Most all of what they do in the Olympics now, was done back then, too, but was witnessed with much dumbfounded shrugging of shoulders and disgusted shaking of heads. We all knew what fencing was supposed to be and what it was supposed to look like, and , though our efforts may have been imperfect, we were always striving toward that ideal.

The perpetrators of poor fencing were admonished and weeded out by natural selection because they were not rewarded for their antics with victory. Today, they are.

So the main difference now is that poor, incorrect fencing has become our “standard.”

Incorrect is now correct. What was a fault is now a virtue.

Someone once said that the macrocosm is reflected in every microcosm. (DNA supports this suggestion.) It struck me that the changes in the nature of fencing and the changes in the nature of the United States (and its allies, clones and sycophants) have demonstrated a parallel decline over the last 25 or 30 years.

Before, there was corruption, fraud, bribery, torture and even murder committed by our government – but we at least had a sense that such conduct was immoral and illegal, and political hacks would avoid getting caught, and feign shame and remorse when they did get caught.

We all knew what “liberty and justice for all” was supposed to be and what it was supposed to look like, and, though our efforts may have been imperfect, we were always striving toward that ideal.

The main difference now is that corruption, fraud, bribery, torture and murder have become our “standard.”

What was immoral is now moral. What was illegal is now legal.

See the pattern?

What once was called “the land of the free and the home of the brave” is now a nation of depraved cowards and greedy psychopaths who claim a “right” to engage in torture and murder, who spy-and-tell on each other like a junior high hall monitor trying to make points with Teacher, who allow themselves to be treated like cattle, abused at airports, and exploited like the ignorant slaves they have become -- and footing the bill for their own enslavement the way victims of the 3^rd Reich were made to dig their own graves before being murdered in them.

Similarly, what once was called “the sport of ladies and gentleman” by my teacher now seems to have devolved into a rude game of narcissism. And it is so far from the “frank and courteous encounter” it was intended to simulate with the highest possible degree of verisimilitude allowable by the constraints of safety, that the participants might just as well be playing Frisbee.

The future?

If past is prologue, then fencing has no future.

Not, at least the living, breathing, version of fencing with a soul and a spirit and Truth and a noble purpose. That fencing died around 1980 and what we’ve seen since is the irrational, antithetical zombie-version running amok eating people’s brains.

And similarly, the United States, as defined and described in the founding documents of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, received a fatal head wound in Dallas in 1963, and what we have now is a nation gone completely mad, with a President who sees himself as a monarch with the authority to murder (or, rather, to have murdered – for such men never do their own killing) any person any time, anywhere without charge or trial (what we used to call “due process of law”) and utterly without any oversight or accountability whatsoever. Not since the writing of the Magna Carta in the 12^th century has any ruler so brazenly asserted such godlike power. Even Hitler and Stalin, two of the greatest mass murderers in history, didn’t make such an outrageous assertion.

Can fencing be resurrected?

I doubt it.

Fencing thrives on excellence, truthfulness, loyalty and benevolence.

It cannot be cultivated – or even understood -- by lazy, stupid, amoral, narcissistic people.

So fencing has taken its current Undead form because that form is consistent with the new values of the Undead United States and Friends.

Real fencing that was a celebration of self-discipline and honor, would be too antagonistic to the 4^th Reich where no suggestion of honesty, no show of integrity, no trace of personal liberty/autonomy must remain to contradict the mind-numbing propaganda so critical to the continuation of oppressive authoritarian parasitism that is the essence of a fascist government.

So my initial thought on it is that the future of fencing is --- among the very least of our concerns.

aac

So......

2011-12-29T13:33:00.000-05:00

If you've been reading this blog awhile now, you know a little bit about what I do, how I do it and why I do it that way. I could go prattling on indefinitely, hoping that eventually I'd address your specific questions -- the same way enough monkeys at enough typewriters would eventually type up a copy of Shakespeare's "Hamlet."

OR, I could just ask you, "What do you want to know?"
So I'm asking.

We've considered making short video-clips of techniques, training drills, and/or lesson exercises -- especially for those of you who, by accident or design, have undertaken an "instructor" role without the benefit of much training on exactly how to do that.

In a perfect world, I'd have you come here and train with me every day for a year or so.
As you may have noticed, the world is not perfect.
Most people can't uproot kit & kin and trek the yellow brick road here to the and of Oz, with no means of support, while they invest 1-3 years learning the swordmasters' craft.
And I think "week-end" workshops, without any on-going follow-up, are a waste of my time and your money.
So.
What can we do?

What can I offer you that would help you become a better fencer, fighter, teacher?
Tell me.
Brainstorm.
Don't be shy.
What do you want? What do you think you need?

If I can help you with it, I will.

aac

Heart to Heart

2011-11-21T08:20:00.000-05:00

One of the things I find challenging in teaching students who are "intellectually astute," is leading them to grasp there there is more than one way to "know" something. We have such an over-emphasis on the material, on logic, rationality, and analysis that we can come to believe that's all there is.
It isn't.
I quite often advise my students that feeling is more important than thinking. While most of the time I'm referring to tactile sensations, there's more to that.
Much more.

There are countless ways that swordsmanship and horsemanship overlap or "cross over" to each other. Here's an excerpt from a lovely article by horseman Michael Bevilacqua in which he touches on one of them.

aac

From "The Human Masquerade"
by Michael Bevilacqua
November 2011
http://www.beyondthedreamhorse.ca

At workshops, in my book, on the DVDs, I mention intuition. That comes from being in the moment. That is why most children will have such magic moments with horses. Horses may do more for a child who is not trying to get anything done than for an educated adult with an agenda. Intuition is not something that is easily worked on or developed. However, it can be allowed to come forth depending on our attitude or state of mind about how we feel in our own life. It is by letting go and living the moment.

Everyone has experienced it at some time even when, on the surface, things seem to be really good or as we want them to be. Yet, there is a funny feeling in our gut, fluttering in the chest or sweaty palms or just some fleeting, hidden thought within us that we choose to ignore.

It was always believed that the heart responded to the information sent to it by the brain. Going back to Hippocrates there were those who believed that the heart served a much greater function. Certainly, that stress and different kinds of emotion affect the rest of the body in various ways. Dr. J. Andrew Armour of the University of Montreal discovered in 1991 that the heart has somewhat of a brain of its own. A network of about forty thousand neurons has been discovered within the heart muscle. It has its own memory and can act independently from the central nervous system. These send signals to the brain and can alter the state of the brain in its wave activity. It does this in four ways: neurologically (transmission of nerve impulses), biochemical (hormones and neurotransmitters), biophysically (through pressure waves) and energetically (through electromagnetic field interactions).

What is also intriguing is the continued work at the Institute of HeartMath located in Boulder Creek, California. The body has its own voltage and sends out info in a radius from the chest toward the skin and further that can be measured (EKG pads that are placed on the torso, for example) The heart can pick up information from the external environment as well and send us signals that can commonly be described as intuition. A situation may appear to our eyes and brain as normal or good, yet, for some reason, there is a funny feeling inside of us that is telling us otherwise.

There were so many times, with horses, that I made a decision or understood something regarding the horse, without being able to explain it. It is important to note that intuition is best described as a sudden, unexplainable awareness rather than a feeling. It is not an emotion that suddenly floods us. If you have a feeling of fear, for example, that is not intuition. Rising emotions in us are linked to our thoughts. If intuition signals danger, that signal, of itself, is just something that suddenly occurs to us. It is then that fear can quickly follow due to our thoughts presenting conjecture based on that danger signal. With intuition, questions come after the answer.
Picture
Electromagnetic field from the heart extending about 2-3 feet
What is interesting is that the heart and the brain can tune into each other. Furthermore, the heart creates a magnetic field five thousand times greater than that of the brain that radiates out ‘sensing’ the environment and, likewise, can affect the rhythm and signals of someone else. Alternatively, someone can learn to tune in to someone else where the perception and communication can become much clearer. In other words, the heart rate of one person can have an influence on the brainwaves of another by bringing them into sync with each other. This communication is influenced by emotion and is most prominent when a person has feelings of caring, love and appreciation.

Electroencephalograph (EEG) and Electrocardiogram (ECG) will tend to match each other in rhythm patterns either within one person or between two people if they are in close proximity but more so when they touch. This tuning of rhythm between heart and head also results in improved cognitive performance. This exchange of energy into other living tissue also produces a strong theory about the practice of healing.

Intuition is not a training method, either. However, if you can be observant without any kind of preconceived notions about what your horse may or may not be doing, it could permit you to get a clear message. Or easily allow a solution to how to get one across to the horse in a different manner. Focusing on something that may normally come naturally can sometimes get a person quite confused.
Lao-Tzu, in the Tao Te Ching:

The centipede was happy, quite,
Until a toad in fun
Said, “Pray, which leg goes after which?”
This worked his mind to such a pitch,
He lay distracted in a ditch,
Considering how to run.

Hear No Evil, Cyrano Evil...

2011-11-04T08:12:00.000-04:00

If I had to pick ONE scene to be my favorite, I think this might have to be it.
For me, Jose Ferrer is the definitive Cyrano.
The fight is brilliant.
And it has utterly NOTHING to do with the rapiers actually in use at that time. It is NOT historically correct.
Who cares?
I find it completely "believable," a requirement of fiction not shared by reality.
And it includes some exquisite fencing, indeed. Cyrano's unshakable poise is as inspirational as his unstoppable point.

Note the pauses and changes in rhythm and tempo.

Definitely one of the all-time great scenes.

aac

What's it all about, Archie...?

2011-10-31T14:41:00.001-04:00

One of the things I believe in, because it’s worth believing in, is that there is a balance, symmetry and reciprocity to the universe.

Physicists say, “For every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction."

“As ye sow, so shall ye reap,” quoth Christian clerics.
Others call it “karma.”

“What goes around, comes around,” according to Manny, the ex-boxer who sold porn-lite at his news stand on the corner of Bad Luck and Trouble in my old neighborhood.

In the Rob Roy piece, the parties have agreed to “no quarter,” which means, “no mercy,” a duel to the death.

Rob is highly motivated – Archie has raped Rob’s lady – and completely committed, though not highly confident.

Archie is not as highly motivated emotionally, but is supremely confident, convinced of his own superiority, not only technically, but culturally. Being defeated by a mere “Rob Roy,” is really unthinkable to him. For him it’s a game of cat-and-mouse, and Archie’s the one doing the purring.

Archie is in what would be the “longer/weaker position by virtue of his weapon and his speed/agility.

Rob is in the shorter/stronger position.

Archie’s best chance of victory is “defensive out-fighting.” Rob’s best chance is “offensive in-fighting,” Archie should wear down his opponent with a “death of a thousand cuts” while staying out of range as much as possible, and moving out of line when he can’t stay out of range. Rob should “cut off the ring” minimizing Archie’s mobility, and close distance to deliver a decisive blow.

It’s a classic confrontation. Ali-Frazier. Ali-Foreman. Douglas-Tyson.

And this is exactly what Hobbs (MY favorite choreographer, too) has them do.

As the fight progresses, Archie is having it all his own way.

He avoids trading blows with Rob, is continuously changing the angle, retreating immediately to his distance after each foray, and using the point to keep Rob at bay. He inflicts several wounds, each one successively more serious. When engaged, his focus is impeccable. He’s the predator.

Rob is completely frustrated. His blows are powerful, but predictable. He’s unable to close the distance, or corner the wily Archie. His assaults grow weaker and slower, and easier for Archie to deal with --- increasing Archie’s confidence each time.

Then comes the critical moment.

Rob is down.

What Archie should do now, is deliver the coup de grace and kill Rob, as they had agreed in the beginning: no quarter.

But he doesn’t do that.

His arrogance – founded in no small way in the cultural certainty of his superiority, but also alloyed with his personal vanity – allows him to assume he’s invincible and that his unsophisticated opponent is beaten.

Instead of dispatching Rob quickly and cleanly, Archie pauses to indulge in a bit of unnecessary cruelty, taunting his opponent with a “you asked for it” reminder of their deadly agreement, and also taking the opportunity to posture for his benefactor.

This is the moment when what goes around, finally comes around.

Archie has closed the distance with Rob and stands preening – and immobile – before him. He shifts his focus away from his prey, like a cat now bored with an inert and no-longer-entertaining mouse.

Rob seizes this opportunity – and Archie’s blade. For a moment Archie is bewildered, doesn’t quite comprehend what is happening or what it means. And by the time he does understand it, it’s too late.

That universal reciprocity, that balance, that symmetry that I choose to believe in, finally sends Archie’s karmic pendulum hurtling back in his direction. His rigid conviction in his own class-superiority and personal superiority had caused him to believe he had license to do whatever he willed with complete impunity, but, in the end, the forces he himself set in motion were his undoing.

You might say Archie’s karma ran over his dogma.

It’s a good lesson.

And a timely one, too.

aac

Change for a Quarter

2011-10-30T22:18:00.000-04:00

This clip is from ROB ROY.
I find it brilliantly choreographed and acted.
It is a wonderful interplay of strategic positions.

Here's a question I always ask my students about it:
What was it that cost "Archie" (Tim Roth) his life?
What's the lesson there?

Feel free to offer your ideas on it.
:)

aac

Longsword

2011-10-27T12:05:00.000-04:00

It's a cold, rainy day in Ithaca.
Good day for reflection.

I promised my longsword students I'd post something especially for them. and I never break a promise.
This clip is from the film ROBIN AND MARIAN.
I like it because it's awkward and ugly -- thus, very true to the feel of a fight with those particular weapons -- and perhaps any weapon.
We train to be balanced, precise of line, acute of focus and exact of distance.
We train to the Ideal.
Fight like you train; train like you fight.
But every principle is greater than its manifestation.
The nice thing about film is that you can portray the IDEAL.
Or not.

aac

One Size Fits...?

2011-10-23T17:44:00.000-04:00

One of the most common errors I've seen amongst martial arts teachers -- including fencing instructors" -- is teaching exactly the same thing to everybody who comes in the door.
They try to teach a monkey, an elephant, a giraffe, a snake and a lion all to fight the same way.
That's just foolish.
They don't all have the same tools.
You wouldn't take a part written for the piccolo and give it to the tuba, would you?
I hope not!
And so does the tuba player.

There are certain basics that are almost the same for most everyone. But even those things have to be adapted to the individual student, right from the beginning. For example, we say there should be approximately 1 1/2 to 2 foot-lengths between the heels in second position (the on guard stance). But when you have a student with exceptionally long legs, or small feet, you might have to change that.

What's important is understanding what you're trying to achieve in balance, line, focus and distance, and knowing that the "1 1/2 to 2" rule will help get you there most of the time.
But there's nothing sacred about it, in and of itself.
It's a means to an end.

I think part of the problem is that there are three "levels" of a fighter's education: the technical, the tactical, and the strategic. It takes a tremendous amount of patient, loving practice to excel at the technical level --and most people quit before they get there.
The tactical level is about feeling, letting go of your ego/intellect and learning to trust your intuition.
The strategic level is about the assessment of yourself, your opponent and the environment in order to decide on a course of action (we call that "finding your strategic position") and setting the stage so that your opponent will help you execute the tactics appropriate to your position.

All this pre-supposes impeccable technical precision.
Part of that comes from molding the student to the sword.
Part of it comes from molding the sword to the student.
Too many instructors scarcely do the first.
Be sure you do both.

aac

Muggsy & the Gators: Part II

2011-10-21T09:12:00.000-04:00

See any connections?
If so, what do you think they are?

aac

Follow-Up on Fred Cavens

2011-10-17T07:47:00.000-04:00

This clip features my spiritual father, Errol Flynn, in Captain Blood, his first major film role. The bad guy is Basil Rathbone, once again.
The action is beautiful. Everything they do appears to have reasonable combat-logic, and the final coup de grace is a classic.

aac

The Mark of Zorro

2011-10-16T19:04:00.000-04:00

This was a film that I loved as a kid, for a host of reasons, not the least of which is the fight between Tyrone Power and Basil Rathbone. Wish I had a dollar for every time I've watched it since then.

This piece was under-cranked to speed up the action, in keeping with the common misconception that faster is better. When I was in film school in the way back when, I got a print of this and ran it on the moviola at about half speed -- a speed that would be realistic for weapons with a little bit of weight to them, instead of the silly fencing "sabres" they're using.

What I find interesting is that the actions hold up very well at a slower speed. The choreographer of this piece knew his swordsmanship very well. Try watching it in slowmo sometime.

Though his character gets the worst of it, Rathbone steals the show for me. He's crisp, precise, balanced -- a study in impeccable form.

I love the footwork of both actors (and their doubles, of course!) Perfectly centered, what I call "collected," every part of the body an element in a coherent whole, nothing flapping, dangling, loose or out of control, and no wasted movement.

That's the way to train.
And that's the way to fight.

aac

Favorite Quote du Jour

2011-10-16T11:42:00.000-04:00

"The exercising of weapons putteth away aches, griefs, and diseases, it increaseth strength and sharpeneth the wits, it giveth a perfect judgment, it expelleth melancholy, choleric, and evil conceits, it keepeth a man in breath, in perfect healthe, and long life."

– George Silver (1599)

Of Cabbages and Kings...

2011-09-26T17:55:00.003-04:00

Just started up a new semester at Cornell University and we’re off to a great start. I’ve got about 50 new students, mostly freshmen.
Bright.
Energetic.
Good kids.

At the first class meeting, I try to “set the stage” for them so that they’ll be able to get the most out of the class. What are we going to do, how are we going to do it, and why are we going to do it that way. A little about history, a LOT about safety.

We also chat about why apparently normally, intelligent human beings would be interested in studying something so archaic and impractical as swordsmanship. Mostly, I get answers like “it’s different,” “looks like fun” and “it’s really cool.”

Hey, what do you want? They’re just kids.

Part of my task is to disabuse them of their false assumptions. I inform them that practically everything they’ve ever seen or heard about sword-fighting – in movies, TV or in the Olympics – is wrong.

They don’t really believe me.

So I ask them to recall their favorite swashbuckling film wherein a couple of guys with rapiers (or even longswords!) go tic-tic-tic-ing at each other at warp speed.
Then I let them heft a rapier.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Tic-tic-tic, if you can.”
Of course, they can’t.
And they learn that I’m not going to lie to them.

They also learn – I hope – something else. Perhaps they will ask, “If everything THEY ever told me about sword-fighting was wrong, is it possible that some of the other things THEY told me were also wrong?”
Confucius said that learning begins when you acknowledge that you don’t know shit.
I’m paraphrasing.

Somebody once said that fencing is a “thinking man’s” game.
I’d like to meet the person who said that so I could give him a good smack.
Fighting is not a prissy, distant, intellectual pursuit.
It is ugly, intimate and visceral.
There’s no thinking in fencing – or any other kind of fighting.
There’s no time to think.
You scarcely have time to breathe.
Think before? Certainly.
Think after? Sure.
But during?
No way. While you’re fighting, you’re busy fighting.
The only “thinking” going on is in your nerves and muscles. That ego-aware, self-conscious, analytical, reflective part of your brain is on coffee break.

In my presentation, I always mention something about why, in the age of nuclear over-kill, anyone should study the sword. Typically, I include the notion that fencing beautifully illustrates the principles of combat, and that one may apply these principles to many conflict situations outside the salle d’armes.
But this year, it dawned on me what it really is that I find so compelling about fencing, what I find unique, challenging, satisfying and profound.

Here’s roughly what I told my new students:

You’ve all made it to Cornell – and a couple of you have made it through or almost through Cornell. I would therefore conclude that somewhere along the way, you’ve learned how to bullshit.**
Maybe you convinced a teacher that the dog really did eat your homework.
Maybe you professed a hardship to get an extension on a deadline.
Maybe you convinced a teacher that he/she was your best teacher EVER, or that his/her subject was the most interesting.
Maybe you’ve passed exams without studying by playing the elimination game with multiple choice questions.
Maybe you filled papers with weasel words or just wrote what you knew your teacher wanted to hear, rather than what you actually thought. You dropped a few names, hit all the required buzzwords, threw in some choice quotes, whether you understood them or not. You included in the bibliography books you’d never actually read.
Maybe you faked whole classes by just skimming the textbook or reading someone else’s notes.
Maybe you learned how to kick that extra point by being “liked.”
Maybe you cut class to spend time with a lover and conned your teacher into believing you had to take care of a sick granny.
If you yourself didn’t do any of these things, you most certainly saw someone who did.
What you learned by it is that rules aren’t really rules, they're just "guidelines" or suggestions. They're only rules for SOME people. Not for the cute or the clever.
You learned that most rules you can bend way out of shape with little in the way of repercussions, and some you can break and get away with it. Some of that is because the rules are stupid and ought to be broken.
But some of it is because nobody says what they mean, means what they say or does what they say they’re going to do.
In short, you’ve learned that a substantial amount of the world is bullshit and if you excel at bullshit management yourself, you’ll do just fine.

But not here.
Not in the salle d’armes.
Not when you cross blades.
Maybe you can play that scene from “The Princess Bride,” to a T, reciting a litany of The Great Masters by heart: Marrozo, Viggiani, Agrippa, Capo Ferro and so on from Day One to Just Now. Maybe you can quote all their theories and ideas. Maybe you’ve even learned the appropriate Italian (or French) term for This ‘n’ That, assuming an accent reminiscent of Inspector Clouseau.
But when you take sword in hand, none of that academic puffery matters.
Not one bit.
You won’t be chatting.
Your opponent won’t be giving you a multiple-choice quiz.
But can you stand on guard, maintain your balance, line focus and distance?
Can you extend your sword arm swiftly, accurately and at the right moment?
Can you lunge – and can you recover in good order after you do?
And, above all, can you parry, small, tight and at the last possible instant?

When you cross blades with someone it will be obvious who you are, what you’re made of, and how well and how hard you’ve trained.
And you If you can do the thing, that will be clear, if you can’t do the thing, that will be clear, too and all the Kings horses and all the kings lawyers with all their impressive bullshit won’t be able to save you.

The real beauty of the fencing is that there’s just absolutely no room for bullshit.
It’s honest.
One of the most honest things you can do.
For many people, the most honest thing they will ever do.

And, of course, there’s no crying, either.

**bull·shit
n.
1. Foolish, deceitful, or boastful language.
2. Something worthless, deceptive, or insincere.
3. Insolent talk or behavior.
v. bull·shit also bull·shat (-sht) or bull·shit·ted (-shtd), bull·shit·ting, bull·shits
v.intr.
1. To speak foolishly or insolently.
2. To engage in idle conversation.
v.tr.
To attempt to mislead or deceive by talking nonsense.

What's Your Excuse?

2011-08-09T08:01:00.000-04:00

People who get good at making excuses rarely get good at anything else.
The inferior person finds excuses for failure; the superior person finds reasons to succeed.

adam

The Devil You Know and the Devil You Don't

2011-08-07T20:22:00.000-04:00

Ya Gotta Have Heart

2011-08-02T10:24:00.000-04:00

"Heart" is the thing that heroic legends are made of.
It's the thing that won't let you give in, give up or give out.
It's the thing that you grab on to when you're all used up, the thing that enable you to keep on going long after it's impossible.
It's the thing that says "To hell with the odds; no retreat,no surrender."

I wish I knew how to teach "heart."
Oh, I can tell you, theoretically, how to expose a student to a series of progressively more difficult challenges, encourage them, recognize them, and so on.
And sometimes tat seems to work.
But sometimes it doesn't.

That suggests to me that "heart" is something you bring to the table, yourself.
I think you either have it, or you don't, and I don't know why some do and some don't, or how to change it.

But I can tell you this: give me a student with heart, and I can teach them everything else.
Without it, no matter what mechanics I teach them, it won't matter.

adam

Midsummer Knight's Dream

2011-07-29T14:00:00.000-04:00

Hello to All!

We've been away this summer, locking horns in a struggle of good against evil, of truth against lies, freedom versus tyranny, justice against oppression. As a chivalric test, it has been, at once, frustrating, exhilarating, depressing, energizing and exhausting. And it has been costly in many ways.
At this moment, we have done all that we can do, and must await the decision of the gods.

If we prevail, then some things may change for the better; if we do not, we will have to determine what we must do to continue the fight. Defeat is unacceptable.

Meanwhile, we have a brief respite.
So I thought it good to post this word just to let you know that, as the sage once said, the reports of our demise have been exaggerated.

We hope to have more articles of interest for you very soon.

In Ferro Veritas,

Adam Adrian Crown, M.d'A.

Becoming Engaged

2011-06-10T19:00:00.003-04:00

If I had to choose a favorite exercise, one of the top contenders would be working on engagements.

I love engagements. They are so simple, and yet, so subtle, and so important.

Also, the nature of the engagement, and how to manage it, has obvious parallels to daily life that most students can easily understand and find useful.

This exercise assumes that the student already knows how to make and change an engagement. It is for perfecting the engagement, not introducing it.

There are several elements.

1. Timing, control, and the coordination of the hand and foot.

Begin the exercise by making an engagement on the presentation of the blade, without footwork. Depending on the focus of the exercise, this may be an engagement on either side of the blade, and it may begin on the same side, or on the opposite side. Most often, we'll start with an engagement in 6te, made on the presentation of the blade to the student's inside line, necessitating an engagement going underneath the blade.

When the student is able to do this fluently and smoothly, we'll add footwork, and require the engagement to be made on the front foot on an advance. This is where timing is important. In order for the blade to make contact at the same time as the front foot, it must begin to move BEFORE the foot moves. The student must learn to coordinate beginning the movement of the point, and then the movement of the foot, so that both end at the same time. For this part of the exercise, I'll present the blade for each rep, so that each engagement will be made in the same way.

Further variations include making the engagement on the front foot of a retreat, or on the back foot, either advancing or retreating. The purpose is to foster control of the timing of the movement of the point, independent from, but coordinated with, the feet.

Once the student is able to make an engagement in 6te, on either foot, in either direction, we begin doing the same exercises, but with an engagement in 4te, with the blade presented to the inside.

Eventually, we work on engagements in all guards, made from any other guard, on any footwork, in any direction. Having a very solid foundation making an engagement in 6te makes all the other engagements much easier, since the ability to control the blade is the important part. Once the student has the ability to control the point, it is a fairly simple matter to translate that to any direction of movement. Likewise, once they can coordinate hand and foot movements at all, it is relatively easy to expand that ability to include a wide variety of combinations of handwork and footwork.

2. The coordination and movement of the hand. This includes how we hold the foil, and how we use the fingers.

The development of the hand begins the moment the student first holds a foil, and continues as long as they fence. It begins with larger movements and becomes more refined as the smaller muscles in the hand strengthen and the student improves his coordination. We have a variety of exercises for the student to develop his hand; working on engagements is one of them. I often refer to these as "finding your point muscles." You must be able to manipulate the point as a part of your hand, and in order to do that, you must develop the ability to use the muscles that do that- which starts with figuring out what muscles those are.

It starts with hand position. In the guard of sixte, the hand must be supinated and relaxed, with a straight, relaxed, supple wrist. The foil is cradled in the hand, making contact with the thumb (on the side of the grip, NOT the top) and first phalanx of the forefinger (on the side across from the thumb), and with the fleshy part of the hand at the base of the thumb, with the other three fingers making light contact on the upper edge of the grip. In this position, the blade will be held so that if it had edges, they would be to the sides, making the widest part of the blade parallel to the ground. While making a touch from this position, the blade will bend upwards, not to the side or at any other angle.

I am well aware that this is different from how many people hold the foil, but am not addressing all the reasons for that now, instead, focusing on the engagement exercise. We will post further description and reasoning of this hand position separately, but this brief description is necessary in order for this section of the exercise to make sense.

Engagements and change of engagement are made using the fingers, not the wrist. The wrist remains relaxed, but does not contribute greatly to the blade movement. Using the wrist to raise and lower the point is one of the most common errors, so focusing on correct finger movement is important.

Another early error a student often makes is to allow the point to be moved by gravity, rather than by intent. For the change of engagement, the point must move nearly straight down to begin with, and beginners often simply release the grip and allow gravity to drop the point. This method of movement does not allow sufficient control of the point, either in space or time. Instead, you must use the last two or three fingers to "lift" the grip and lower the point, and then again, to bring the grip back into your hand. This lifting requires significant practice and development of the hand, so a beginner may not be able to do it at first. They should be shown correct movement and encouraged to emulate it, while paying careful attention to not allowing the wrist to move, as they develop the ability to have that level of control of their hand. They need to be able to use their fingers to both lower and raise the point.

Developing sufficient control of the point will also develop the ability to feel with the blade, which will be vital for making and controlling the engagement itself.

3. The movement of the blade from the guard position to the engagement.

Each engagement, and each change of engagement, has a particular, specific pattern in space. The student must know these patterns, and be able to control the blade during the entire path of the movement, not just describe it. They should be demonstrated frequently, and it may also help some students to draw them. Another thing that may help is to use your hand over the student's hand to move the blade through the path. The entire pattern of movement is important, not just where the blade ends up.

This is why each pattern must be practiced- making an engagement in each guard, and making changes of engagement from every guard to every other guard.

An added benefit of this practice is that the more time spent sword in hand, with careful, focused practice of movement, the better the hand will develop. Sentiment du fer is critical, and there is little you could do that would be of greater benefit than to etch these patterns more and more deeply, to incorporate them more fully and completely.

4. The direction and nature of the contact with the blade.

This is another area that deserves more attention than it often gets.

It is also the part that is the most obviously analogous to other parts of a student's life, to any relationship and specifically to any attempt to communicate with another person.

The engagement is what gives you the ability to read your opponent's hand, to feel where they are and where they are going. It allows you to feel the level of tension in your opponent's body, to note any change in that tension, and to feel any change of pressure or direction. This is all critical information to have.

The nature of the engagement also allows you to give information to your opponent- information that you want him to have. This is how you suggest to your opponent what you might be about to do, intentionally giving him misinformation, and how you encourage your opponent to do what you want him to do.

In order to gain or provide this information, your opponent must allow you to engage, and to maintain the engagement. You must be able to do so without superimposing your own tension, while controlling the movement and pressure so that it communicates what you WANT to communicate, rather than giving away information you would prefer that your opponent not have. Communication through the blade is the heart and soul of fencing. It is what separates those who have a connection with the sword from those who are simply playing at swords.

To begin with, in order for your opponent to allow an engagement, you must do so in a way that does not alarm him. You must offer contact in a way in which it will be accepted, just as you would start a verbal conversation. To start a conversation, you might ask a question or offer information. You would not likely begin by yelling or screaming, or slapping the other person.

This means that the engagement should be a small, controlled, soft movement. Contact with the blade should come up along the blade, to enable a gentle contact, rather than a perpendicular, bouncing contact, which rattles your opponent's hand. Your opponent should feel enough presence on the blade to know where you are, and to believe they are gathering information from you- as well they are, since you are providing information to them. If there is too little presence, they are likely to do something else, just as in a verbal conversation, too long a silence will cause the other person to say SOMETHING. You want to control this conversation, so keep it comfortable, with no awkward "silences." If there is too MUCH pressure, there may be alarm and discomfort, and your opponent may again feel like they need to do something, to change something. In fencing, and in conversation, if you press (or pressure) someone, they will disengage. You want them to allow the engagement for as long as you want to stay engaged, so keep them focused and involved in the engagement by controlling the tone of the "conversation."

Learning to control that moment of contact takes a lot of practice. It requires the ability to control the transition from "hard" to "soft," from tense to relaxed. You must be able to control both the movement of, and the cessation of movement of, the blade, with both precision and sensitivity. Plus, you must be able to do so from any guard to any other guard, while moving in any direction, remember? And, as always, while maintaining perfect balance.

5. The nature of the engagement once contact is made.

This, again, is about controlling the conversation. The nature of the engagement once contact is made will depend on what you want to do.

You may want to gain control of your opponent's blade, gradually increasing the pressure while changing the physical relationship of the blades, the angle between them, so that you have a stronger part of your blade on a weaker part of your opponent's blade, in such a way that by the time they realize this is what you are doing, it has already been done. This may be in order to emphasize your domination of the situation, or it may be to immediately facilitate an attack with opposition. Again, you want the optimal amount of pressure, that which facilitates your aims, without eliciting an unwanted reaction from your opponent. Like Goldilocks, not too little, or too much.

You may want to immediately leave the engagement, in order to attack in a different line. In this case, the more accepting of the engagement your opponent is, the greater the contrast will be, and that contrast can be used to your advantage.

You may want to control your opponent's blade while you change distance, keeping the engagement as you get inside, if you are in the shorter/weaker strategic position.

There is a wide variety of different things you may want to accomplish with the nature of the engagement, and each of those different types of contact needs to be practiced. The key is to be able to choose the nature of the contact to suit your needs in the moment. The more confidently and smoothly you can do this, the better. Any hesitation will defeat your purpose- unless, of course, you are using that hesitation itself intentionally.

6. Maintenance of the engagement while moving.

If you make the perfect engagement, with exactly the right blade contact, in the right way, at the right time, with the right amount of pressure, but then, when you move, it all goes to hell in a handbasket, then it isn't going to help you much. You must be able to maintain that engagement through whatever footwork you need to do, and eventually, you must be able to leave the engagement, in whichever way you choose, at the right moment.

This starts with simply engaging, and holding your blade steady as you advance and retreat, with minimal movement of the blades against each other. Once that is mastered, move on to changing the engagement, and then maintaining that contact, both the location and the pressure.

Putting it all together: the Engagement

My favorite exercise, of working on engagements, includes all of the above elements. The student must be able to recognize when to engage, must be able to make blade contact with the appropriate pressure, in the correct direction, on the right part of the blade, on the correct foot, in any guard, in a controlled and balanced way, and must be able to control that engagement while moving, and change the engagement or leave the engagement at will.

This is a lot.

It is not possible for a beginner to work on all of the elements at the same time, so we'll temporarily artificially separate them to focus on each one, and then put them back together, as soon as the student is able to do so.

I like to come back to this exercise often, and to revisit it each time my student makes a conceptual leap. It combines basic footwork with some very subtle fingerplay and is infinitely variable. Once a student is able to perform all of the various combinations of movements with ease, it then becomes an excellent centering exercise, or a good focused warm-up. I often use some variation of this to begin my training when working with a fencing dummy. It is a very effective way to start out and make sure everything is working together, much like tuning a musical instrument.

The Structure of the Individual Lesson, Part 5: Beginner, Intermediate and Advanced

2011-05-30T23:32:00.001-04:00

I've been tossing around the terms beginner, intermediate and advanced quite freely, without really defining the criteria distinguishing one from the other. Perhaps now is a good time to do that.

What makes a beginner a beginner?

In the beginner stage, the student must learn many new movement patterns. He will try to draw upon previously learned patterns that can be used to help learn the new ones. This presents a challenge in fencing because most of the fundamental movements are dissimilar- antithetical, in fact- to most of those previously learned patterns.

Swinging a bat, or throwing a ball, javelin, shot-put, discus or a punch are all very similar movements They are movements for generating power by "cracking the whip." For example, throwing a straight right punch begins with the left toe digging in, the rotation through the hips, transmitting power to the final thrust of the right fist.

The thrust and lunge, on the other hand, is an exact opposite type of movement, a "railroad train" type of movement, i.e., the engine (point) is followed by the first car (arm) followed by the second car (foot) followed by the third car (body).

I have found that "non-athletes" who have not spent a lot of time honing the skills of basketball, baseball or football, often learn fencing skills more quickly and easily than "athletes" since they do not experience interference from old, inappropriate movement patterns.

In the beginner stage, the student's attentional focus is narrow and internal as he tries to recall and integrate a seemingly endless list of seemingly unrelated details. Eventually, the student memorizes the list and gradually links together the numerous details into a single coherent pattern, and a shift in attentional focus to broad internal occurs. "On guard," for example, ceases to be "heels in line, space between the feet, front knee & toe forward, knees bent, body erect, etc., etc..." and becomes instead simply on guard, a whole comprising many parts assembled in a coherent way, and not merely a collection of individual elements.

Learning new movement patterns requires frequent, repetitive practice and that takes time. The process cannot be rushed. Students must be allowed to progress at their own individual pace.

With the shift to broad internal focus the student begins to be capable of self-correcting. I consider the capacity for self-correction to be the distinguishing feature of an intermediate student.

The Intermediate Level

In the intermediate phase, students begin to get a real "feel" for the moves and are able to evaluate progressively finer elements of their own performance and correct errors by comparing what they just did to the memory of the feeling of doing it “right.”

It is during the early intermediate stage that the student’s rising expectations can leave them vulnerable to what I call "the frustration gap," the distance between intellectually knowing what to do and your body's ability to do it. Those with the quickest wits are more vulnerable than others since they may well comprehend the theory of a movement long before their body has had time to memorize the pattern of it. The Master must be prepared to counsel patience and to provide extra support and encouragement when this happens.

Gradually, their actions become more accurate and more consistent. The moves become "easier" as the body becomes more efficient, using less energy in executing the new pattern. They will be able to perform at increasingly greater speed, pace and intensity, without sacrificing anything in precision. Sometimes they will find themselves performing "automatically," without thinking about it, almost as if the movement happened all by itself. They will also begin to focus more externally as they learn to recognize and respond to diverse and sundry cues.

Advanced Students

The distinguishing characteristic of the advanced student is the ability to maintain the integrity of his/her own movement – balance, line, focus and distance – while externally focused. At the advanced level, the student becomes more active and less re-active. He is increasingly able to anticipate or "read" the opponent and predict the flow of the action. Performance becomes highly instinctive, requiring no conscious thought – in fact, “thinking” only gets in the way. The student has high levels of technical competence, confidence, control and commitment. Advanced fencers spend more and more time in external broad attentional focus, performing by feeling the flow and flowing with the feel of the fight. At the same time, they begin to strive for an even greater degree of perfection, measuring their performance against an abstract ideal and not by whether they won or lost. The advanced phase is not the end at all. Rather, it's a whole new beginning.

Each time the student learns a new skill, the student will go through these three stages of development with regard to that skill. The process make take a month. Or it may take a minute. The more experience the student has had with making the transition from beginner to advanced, the faster and easier it will be. The student hasn’t just learned. The student has learned how to learn.

A Comparison of Lesson Types

2011-05-22T19:29:00.001-04:00

Element Technical Lesson Tactical Lesson Strategy Lesson

Goal mechanical precision recognition & response problem solving

Cues single, simple & specific 2 or more as specified random & unspecified

Speed slow slow to fast combat speed

Pace slow moderate to fast fast

Rest long, frequent short, frequent short, infrequent

Complexity low moderate high

Intensity low moderate high

Duration moderate-long moderate moderate-short

Attentional Mode narrow internal narrow external broad external

Beginner 98% 1% 1%

Intermediate 25% 50% 25%

Advanced 5% 25% 70%

The Structure of the Individual Lesson, part 4: Lesson Profiles

2011-05-16T17:22:00.000-04:00

In this installment, I submit for your consideration, profiles of the three principle lesson types. Keep in mind that there is no "purely" technical, tactical or strategy lesson, but that all three elements exist to varying degrees in every lesson. For example, in the simplest exercise, "On my opening, straight thrust," the student must recognize the cue (distinguish between cue and not-cue) and respond with the correct action for that cue. That's tactics. Within the the lesson it's quite common to introduce a technique, then place it in a tactical context, and then explore how it may be utilized in various strategic positions.

The Technical Lesson Profile

THE TECHNICAL LESSON is characterized by simple cues requiring simple responses, the cue being stated as a command "On my X, you will X1." For example: "On my opening, thrust in 6te," or "On my pressure, disengage." The cue is specifically defined, and there is only ONE acceptable response.

The SPEED of the lesson is low and the PACE is slow. This is necessary to ensure that the student and the master can both pay careful attention to each rep. The goal of the lesson is to create a neuro-muscular pattern, or "muscle memory" of the action so that it will always be the preferred response to the cue, requiring no cognitive "thinking" to perform.

The student's attentional mode is predominantly narrow internal, flicking briefly to narrow external for the cue.

The master must allow the student ample rest intervals to avoid fatigue until the mechanics have been adequately absorbed and the technique can be performed correctly at least 90% of the time on command. Fatigue will produce gross, imprecise movements when razor sharp acuity is desired, and must be avoided.

BEGINNERS will require 99% technical lessons- and I say that only because of the 1% inherent tactical element. But any time a new technique is introduced, even to an advanced student, employ the Technical Lesson format.

The Tactical Lesson Profile

THE TACTICAL LESSON is characterized by two or more conditional commands, i.e., IF-THEN statements. For example: "If I open the line, thrust in 6te; if I close the line, disengage and thrust in 4te."

The goal of this type of lesson is to teach the student to distinguish between differing cues requiring differing responses. This lesson cultivates both physical and mental agility. There must be AT LEAST two options, with no upper limit for advanced students. However, cues are still specifically defined, and each has its "correct" response.

SPEED and PACE are generally moderate, but may vary considerably depending on the ability of the student. NEVER accelerate either one beyond precision. Neither proceed at a rate the student will not find challenging.

COMPLEXITY can reach appreciable proportions, but as complexity increases, speed and pace generally must decrease.

The attentional mode is predominantly narrow external, shifting to narrow internal on the response.

The tactical lesson is for the intermediate fencer, from 50% technique and 50% tactics to 90% tactics.

The Strategy Lesson Profile

In the strategy or "combat" lesson, the master simulates a hypothetical opponent against whom the student must devise an appropriate PLAN or STRATEGY and then choose tactics and execute techniques in order to carry out that battle plan. The master may present a tactical problem, for example, an opponent who systematically counter-attacks, or closes distance, or opens distance, or uses fine point control, or is left-handed, etc. Or the master may merely assume one of the STRATEGIC POSITIONS (longer/stronger, longer/weaker, shorter/stronger, shorter/weaker) and play it out with tactical variety.

The emphasis of the combat lesson is PROBLEM-SOLVING. The student must immediately apply what he has learned, analyze the situations (from the actions of the opponent), determine the strategy most likely to succeed and then employ appropriate tactics.

The master facilitates this process by asking questions, obliging the student to find the answers with as little assistance as possible from the teacher.

The combat lesson may assume all the speed, pace and complexity of an actual bout, and resemble it in all possible ways. No specific cues or responses are stated (that has been done in preceding technical and tactical lessons).

The combat lesson is for advanced students whose predominant attentional mode is broad external, shifting to narrow external.

The Structure of the Individual Lesson, part 3: Elements of the Lesson

2011-05-09T21:09:00.000-04:00

In this installment of The Structure of the Individual Lesson, I want to provide you with some definitions as a starting place for discussing the specific profiles of each type of lesson, which will come in Part IV.

Elements of the Lesson

The lesson is made up of a number of elements used in infinitely variable ways.

LESSON COMPOSITION

Each lesson will have a particular THEME or focus, comprising a series of exercises with a common purpose or objective. For example, a lesson might focus on the beat, on the counter-time, on the coupe, on distance, point control, etc.

Each lesson will also comprise three specific phases: the warm-up, the body of the lesson and the cool-down.

The warm-up phase includes simple actions that the student knows well to stimulate the fingers, hand, eye and legs, preparing the student mentally and physically for more demanding effort.

The body of the lesson includes the focus of the lesson, interspersing periods of work and rest, alternating attack and defense, with peaks and valleys, gradually building in intensity.

The cool-down is a brief anti-climax comprising a very simple action that the student can do well, the purpose being to relax the student and leave him in a positive frame of mind, ie., with an enhanced self-concept and a feeling of competence, confidence, control and committment that leaves him looking forward enthusiastically to the next lesson.

Variable Components of the Lesson

THE CUE

The specific signal used by the master to elicit a specific response from the student is a CUE. Every cue should have ONE SPECIFIC PREFERRED RESPONSE and simulate the context of combat as closely as possible. This recognition/respose is the very foundation of the lesson.

THE REP (REPETITION)

An execution of a given action, ie., a cue and a response done one time.

THE SET

A given number of reps completed without a rest interval between them.

REST

A brief recovery period which may be inactive (the student relaxes, stretches, takes a couple of deep breaths) or active (the student does a low-intensity set of parry-riposte while recovering from a high-intensity set of balestra-lunges).

DURATION

The total time of the lessons. On the average, a lesson should be of 20-30 minutes' duration. Remember that there is an inverse relationship between duration and intensity. You can work hard or you can work long, but you cannot work hard AND long. (If you wish, you may test this for yourself by determining your best speed in the 100 yard dash, and then running at that pace for 30 minutes. Good luck.)

SPEED

The real time required or allowed for the student to perform one repetition of the action.

PACE

The rate at which successive reps and sets follow the previous one, relative to the intervening rest.

COMPLEXITY

The level of difficulty created by the number of different cues that the student must recognize and the number and nature of movements involved in the execution of the response.

INTENSITY

The relationship between the energy demand and the period of time in which it is expended. The same work done in less time indicates a higher intensity, likewise, more work done in the same period of time. Simply, how "hard" the student is working. Intensity is the sum total of complexity, speed, pace and duration.

FEEDBACK

Feedback refers to the nature an amount of reinforcement the master provides to the student. Although most people in general respond similarly to similar kinds of feedback, specific individuals may respond well or poorly to specific kinds of feedback. To know what specific words, phrases, images etc to use, you must know your student very well.

One form of feedback is tactile: the touch. When the student performs correctly, he is rewarded by making a touch. Poor performance must result in failure to make the touch, or in receiving a touch from the master.

Reinforcement must also be provided verbally, with either affirmation, correction or both. I believe in using 99.99% positive feedback- rarely, if ever, negative feedback, and then only for a bloody good reason. No one likes to be scolded and few respond to it well. I don't. Use humor, if you like, but never ridicule. You must support, encourage and nurture your student as you would an infant learing to walk. Demand a high level of precision, but demand it gently. You must remember the power you have as a teacher and never abuse it.

About the only time I use negative feedback is when I find a student suffering "brain-lock. Something sharp and sudden will frequently be successful in helping the student "re-set" and return to the flow of the lesson.

It's important to remember that 90% of communication is NON-VERBAL and includes such para-verbal elements as volume, pitch, tone and inflection as well as body language and expression. All these communication elements must be employed judiciously for effective feedback.

Further, you must determine that the student has understood the message you sent as you intended it.

Sometimes what a student thought he heard is not what you thought you said.

Likewise, use positive corrections. They get better results than negative ones. For example, it is better to say "Good; now, more opposition," than to say "No, you didn't give enough opposition," or "extend your arm," rather than "don't bend your arm."

Basically, don't say "don't" - correct with advice on what to DO, rather than what NOT to do.

Horsemen sometimes talk about "rewarding the try." This is the practice of providing positive reinforcement for even the slightest change of behavior in the right direction.

It's very effective in "shaping" behavior and I strongly recommend it.

Structure of the Individual Lesson, part 2

2011-04-30T23:15:00.000-04:00

I distinguish five types of lessons, three of them fundamental, the other two supplementary.

The Technical Lesson

The Tactical Lesson

The Strategy or Combat Lesson

The Warm-up Lesson

The Maintenance Lesson

I shall address the last two variations first.

THE WARM-UP LESSON

The warm-up or pre-event lesson is more of a warm-up than a lesson. The purpose of this type of lesson is to stimulate the nerves and muscles that will be involved in performance, and to bolster the confidence and to arouse the student to the optimum state of relaxed alertness. For most fencers this will probably more often be to ease arousal than to heighten it. Nothing new takes place in a warm-up; just old, familiar "bread and butter" actions the fencer enjoys and does well.

THE MAINTENANCE LESSON

The maintenance lesson is intended to preserve fencing skills during a lay-off or the "off-season," which, for most fencers, would be the summertime. But there are many reasons why a person might benefit from an occasional lay-off. Sometimes "life" gets hectic and makes demands on your fencing time. Sometimes you just need to take a break, clear your mind, & refresh your body by doing something ELSE.

My own inclination is to advise "active rest" in the off-season, preferably utilizing some complementary activity such as aikido, kendo, boxing or karate along with conditioning.

What little skill is "lost" during a rest period can be quickly re-honed when the student comes back "hungry" after not fencing for a while. Over-training is a more serious error than under-training, since it usually requires a long period of recuperation.

TECHNIQUE, TACTICS & STRATEGY

Each of the three main types of lessons has a different emphasis and therefore, a slightly different structure. But you should always remember that technique, tactics and strategy are so closely related as to be inseparable, and all of these elements are always evident in some form, to some degree, in every lesson, even if only on a very rudimentary level. The isolation of one element or another is a purely artificial pedagogical device, and I believe after focusing on some particular point, it is a good idea to integrate it into a more "holistic" context as soon as the student is capable of doing so. Nevertheless, let there be no question that I consider technical precision to be the sine qua non of fencing excellence. Strategy and tactics are important, of course. But it is not possible to employ any strategy if you are not capable of selecting the right tactics at the right time, and you cannot possibly choose a tactic that you do not have the technical ability to execute.

I have met any number of fencers whose "coaches" pushed them into tactics and strategy, or simpy into bouting- if it could be called that- long before they were ready for it and as a result created such a technical cripple that I had an almost irrepressible urge to seek that "teacher" out and introduce them to the sting of a horsewhip. (Such "coaches" are evidence, I suppose, that prostitution is not the only trade that has been ruined by amateurs.) A person who can overcome "bad habits" developed in the beginning is as remarkable as he or she is rare. A Master who patiently cultivates technical precision in the student from the very beginning, makes his own later labor- and the student's- both easier and more fruitful ever after.

Attentional mode, or attentional focus, are terms to describe the direction and scope of the student's concentration and awareness. The direction may be internal (focused on the self) or external (focused on other-than-self). Scope may be either narrow (specifically focused) or broad (generally focused). (SEE: Nideffer. The Inner Athlete. 1979)

The introduction of each new skill requires a progression from narrow internal, to broad internal, to narrow external and finally to broad external focus as it is integrated into the fencer's repertoire of actions. This integration takes a variable amount of time depending on the skill and the level of the student. An advanced fencer may be able to do a new action after only a few tries, but a beginner needs a fair amount of time- weeks or months- before the transition is made. And herein lies the folly of the aforementioned "coaches" on my hit list. They fail to understand this process and interrupt its natural progression by demanding external focus (bouting) before the internal focus has been adequately broadened. This is why we see beginning fencers who can parry well enough under controlled circumstances, flail around wildly in a bout. They have not had sufficient time to incorporate (in the truest sense of the word) their skills.

THE TECHNICAL LESSON

The principle purpose of the technical lesson is to develop the student's mechanical precision in a given action, almost as if that action were occurring in a vacuum, and without any particular consideration of when to apply the tchnique in question. This admittedly artificial approach assumes that there is one "right" way to do the action and the student's goal is to replicate this "ideal" as closely as possible.

Again, some may claim that the technique lesson is a poor exercise with limited utility, because all fencing technique must be executed within a tactical framework.

I emphatically disagree.

As I have noted, the question of tactical choice can never be wholly absent. If nothing else, the student must be able to determine when, during the lesson, to perform the technique and when not to do so. This decision requires the recognition of a prescribed CUE from the master, and an appropriate response. Thus it provides a foundation for tactical thinking. But the main purpose of the technical lesson is to emphasize mechanical precision.

Aside from mechanical perfection, the technical lesson develops a process-oriented disposition, instead of a product-oriented one, an attitude that is invaluable when facing an opponent. "Fence one touch at a time," is a facile bit of coaching cliche- but just when does the student learn to do this? In the technical lesson.

Technical exercises need not be a drudgery. It is the master's job to make them challenging, enjoyable and satisfying. They are to the swordsman what scales are to the concert pianist. Even "just" playing scales is still making music, and "just" practicing the disengage is still swordsmanship. The best musicians I have ever known enjoyed playing scales, and the best fencers I have ever known also enjoyed playing their scales. Teach your students to enjoy their scales, too.

Always remember that one man's "scales" is another man's "concert" and so, of course, technical exercises must be suited to the expertise of the student. What might be an entire lesson for a beginner would be just a warm-up for an advanced fencer.

THE TACTICAL LESSON

The tactical lesson emphasizes decision-making on a simple recognition-response level in which the student must disintinguish between various cues and execute the appropriate response. While this kind of eye-hand thinking begins in the technical lesson, it is fully cultivated in the tactical lesson. If the technical lesson answers the question of "how," the tactical lesson deals with the question of "when."

Although I have referred to tactical "thinking," the soul of the tactical lesson is actually teaching your student NOT to think, at least not the kind of reflective, cognitive, intellectual thinking "about" something that we're used to. Tactics is about bodythinking, ie psychomotor "thinking." The eye sees, the hand feels and the blade dances, all with as little conscious thought as you use in blinking or breathing.

THE STRATEGY LESSON

The strategy, or combat lesson, emphasizes problem-solving on a broad scale. In the combat lesson, the master simulates a hypothetical opponent for the student and the student must determine what strategy to employ and which tactics to use to carry it off, and, of course, execute the techniques to do so flawlessly. It is the most like actually bouting with your student.

I subscribe to the positional theory of combat strategy, and teach the four strategies: longer/stronger, longer/weaker, shorter/stronger, shorter/weaker. In the case of a fifth possibility- being exactly equal in reach and strength- the fight becomes a tactical one. You must teach your student how to fight effectively from each of these different strategic positions.

Muggsy & the Gators

2011-04-28T16:51:00.000-04:00

There's a huge lesson here.
Do you know what it is?

Posted in honor of Boo.

adam

Structure of the Individual Lesson, part 1

2011-04-24T21:33:00.000-04:00

We'll be putting up a "Structure of the Individual Lesson" in several parts.

I wrote it originally for the half-dozen apprentices I had at that time. If you're teaching fencing, or want to teach fencing, something in it may prove useful.

Note the use of the masculine pronoun. I don't mean to imply that the field is exclusively the domain of males, and if any should accuse me of "sexism" I'll stand on my record of having taught sabre to women long before it was officially permitted.

Yes, language structures thought, and perhaps we can devise something better. Yet, on a scale of 1-10, I think we have much more serious problems to address -- at least I'm not aware of any mechanism whereby the use of the masculine pronoun will destroy the environment, cause millions of deaths of innocent women and children, or create a global corporate-slave state. Good to see things in perspective.

The direct passing on of knowledge and skill from teacher to student is a strong link in the chain of tradition that has kept fencing alive and vital for so long. The swordmaster's apprentice, it is to be hoped, will learn not only the master's technical skills, but will also absorb the master’s manner, composure, integrity, dignity, courage, and joi de vivre. The student will then, one day, pay the teacher the highest possible compliment- by exceeding the master's stature.

The individual lesson is a large part of the fencing master's stock in trade, and it has been so for many generations. The intimacy and intensity of the individual lesson far surpass that of the group lesson. The master can give the student his undivided attention concentrating on perfecting even the most minute imperfection, not allowing even the slightest error to slip by unnoted. This makes the individual lesson as potentially demanding -- and satisfying -- for the master as for the student, mentally and emotionally, as well as physically.

Group training is no substitute for individual lessons. Progress requires continual evaluation and adjustment and there simply isn't enough individual attention possible in a group, even if of no more than 3-7 students -- and even then, it's inferior to the attention possible in an individual lesson. Group training is most useful for absolute beginners who all need to get an introduction to the basic, very broadest strokes and general concepts. If the master wishes to introduce as many people as possible to the sword, then he can do so far more efficiently with classes than with individual lessons. There's no point in telling one person at a time to "turn out, bend your knees, close your sixte..." for half an hour when you can deliver the same essential directions to 25 people at the same time -- and at a lower cost to each of them.

Group training can also be useful for a homogenous group of very skillful fencers who are capable of self-evaluating and self-correcting.

But everyone can benefit from individual lessons and greater progress can be made in a much shorter period of time than with group training. Ideally, there should be a balance between individual lessons and group practice, but the balance should be heavily weighted toward individual instruction

The demanding nature of giving good lessons (and why give any other kind?) limits the number one can give per day or per week. Given that limitation, I generally give priority for individual lessons to "serious" students who have made a commitment to excellence and have earned them by dedication and hard work. Sometimes I will work individually with a student who has a special, extraordinary need for it. But I don't simply market my sword to anyone who has enough money; I may be available for rent, but I'm not for sale. A lesson is an investment of my time. I'm happy to invest it, but I’m very disinclined to waste it.

It is not at all uncommon that a "champion" fencer may be an abysmal teacher, while someone whose own fencing is merely competent might become a brilliant teacher. This is because giving a lesson requires absolute command of a repertoire of technical skills, closely related to, but distinct from fencing itself.

Fencing, and the teaching of fencing each comprise specific skill-sets that are quite different from each other.

To be a good fencing teacher requires at least as much skill practice as it does to be a good fencer- and probably a good deal more. In addition to knowing how to use your tools- posture, voice, blade, gestures, etc. - you must possess a thorough understanding of the theory of combat, the principles of tactics and strategy, and the psychology and physiology involved in training for and participating in the fight.

Since it is part of the master's task to simulate for his student every possible opponent as well as to encourage and inspire, the master must be comfortable giving lessons with either hand.

Aristotle once noted, "Men acquire a particular trait by constantly acting in a particular way." Some other anonymous philosopher observed "Practice is the art of learning, improving or refining while fidgeting, sweating or swearing."

Any way you put it, there is only one way to acquire skill: regular, repetitive, focused practice.

(Remember: mastery requires at least 10,000 hours.)

REGULAR means more than once a week, to be sure.

Daily practice is best.

REPETITIVE means doing the same technique over and over again

until it is as perfect as possible.

FOCUSED means mental acuity and attention to detail.

Practice does not make perfect- PERFECT PRACTICE makes perfect.

Skill cannot really be TAUGHT, it must be LEARNED. There is nothing the master can do that will compensate for what the student does NOT do. Just as this applies to the fencing student, so it also applies to the fencing master's apprentice. If you wish to excel at giving lessons, you must give many of them, every day, and continuously reflect, evaluate and strive to improve.

That Was Zen, This is Now

2011-04-08T21:24:00.002-04:00

In Zen, a koan is a kind of riddle. It’s a question so nonsensical or paradoxical that it can’t really be answered. But the process of grappling with it jars the student into enlightenment. Or at least that’s what it said on the fortune cookie.

Here’s my version of a koan.

There’s an extremely good fencing lesson in it --- maybe more than one.

See if you can figure out what it is:

A fellow gets in line at the grocery store right behind another guy who’s just buying a couple of sixpacks – even though he’s already obviously three sheets to the wind.

The drunk watches studiously as the fellow places the following items on the conveyer belt for check-out: a quart of milk, a dozen eggs, 2 cans of dog food and 3 TV dinners.

The drunk nods sagely and says to the gent, “You’re not married, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” the gent replies, amazed. “How did you know?”

The drunk shrugs. “’Cause you’re freakin’ ugly.”

Meditate on it, Grasshopper.

If you reach enlightenment, let me know.

No charge.

War and Peace

2011-04-03T21:34:00.000-04:00

In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility;

But when the blast of war blows in our ears

Then imitate the action of the tiger;

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage;

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let it pry through the portage of the head

Like the brass cannon; Let the brow o’erwhelm

As fearfully as doth a galled rock

O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,

Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide;

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit

To his full height!

-William Shakespeare (1564-1616),

"King Henry V", Act 3 scene 1

Sometimes a student or prospective student expresses a desire to “just fence" with me.

I decline the pleasure.

I never “fence” with my students.

Never.

No good can come of it.

Here’s why.

When I take you on as a student, I’m making a commitment to do the very best for you that I’m capable of doing – in order to bring out the best that you’re capable of doing.

The better I know you, the better I’m able to do my job.

I’ll know what moves you, what motivates you.

I’ll know what you love.

I’ll know what you fear.

I have to know, so I can help you find a way to deal with it.

You’ll reveal – whether you intend to or not -- everything about yourself, your every strength, your every flaw.

And I will reveal to you aspects of myself that I do not reveal to anyone else.

It’s an intimate relationship.

It requires trust.

I would not recommend you reveal your secret soul to just anyone, and you shouldn’t reveal it to me, either -- not unless you can completely trust me never to use it against you. Over time, I’ll earn your trust, I’ll prove to you that I always have your best interest uppermost at all times – even at times when it doesn’t seem like it to you.

(Like Mick says, I may not always give you what you want, but I’ll stop at nothing to give you what you need.)

It takes long time to build trust, and only one thoughtless second to completely destroy it.

I don’t take on many students because, if I do a good job, it’s both physically and emotionally exhausting.

During the course of training a student, I may sometimes give a “combat lesson.” This may have the appearance of “fencing,” but it isn’t. In a combat lesson, I feed my student various tactical opportunities, without prior warning, and their job is to recognize and respond appropriately. I increase the pressure both physically and psychologically. As always, when they act correctly, I reward them by allow them to touch.

The relationship I have with a student is the diametrical opposite of the relationship I have with an “opponent,” and the two are mutually exclusive.

I don’t fight for “recreation” or “fun.”

For me, it isn’t “play,’ unless you consider a cat’s antics with a doomed mouse to be “play.”

And when I fight; I do not posture.

When I fight, I fight.

Fighting requires a different mindset than teaching.

Teaching is about giving.

Fighting is about taking.

Teaching, I’m there for you.

Fighting, I’m there for me.

Teaching, my purpose is to build you up in every way: mentally, physically, emotionally, even spiritually.

Fighting, my purpose is to utterly and completely destroy you.

The more I know about you, the easier it is for me to do that.

And if you’re my student, I know you very well.

Can you see what a conflict of interests this would create for me?

If I were to fence with a student, I would undo everything I’ve tried to accomplish for that student.

If I tried to drive with my foot on the brake to avoid destroying the student, then I’m not really fighting, am I?

And if I’m not really fighting, why pretend?

Better to be honest about it and stick with giving a “combat lesson.”

If my opponent should defeat me, I don't want his/her victory to be blemished by any doubts about whether I had fought my best fight.

As the Bard noted, a war requires an altogether different state of being than does peace.

I think it’s a good idea to know which one is which and conduct yourself accordingly.

Dr. Frankenstein, I Presume?

2011-03-27T18:42:00.001-04:00

Suppose you wanted a new Cadillac.

You find out that you could save a lot of money by purchasing the individual parts off the assembly line, rather than buying a whole car completely assembled.

So you rent a dumptruck, back it up to the Cadillac plant and they load all the parts of your new DTS into the dumpbox for you.

You drive home and dump all the parts out in your driveway.

Now you sort through the debris until you find the ignition.

You stick the key in and turn it over.

Can you drive away in your new Caddy?

Why NOT?

You HAVE all the pieces, don’t you?

Right.

It’s not just having all the pieces that matters; it’s how they’re put together that counts.

This is very much like studying a martial art, including fencing.

It isn’t enough to learn a bunch of different techniques.

You have to understand how each piece is connected to all the other pieces to form a coherent whole. Each technique has to make sense, not just in and of itself, but also in relation to everything else, technically, tactically and strategically.

Let’s take it a step further.

Instead of a getting a new Cadillac, let’s suppose you’ve really done your research, and you’ve determined what the “best” parts are of various cars, which is to say the things you “like” about each one. You’re no fool. So you go get the chassis from a Lincoln, doors from a Cadillac, the engine from a Ferrari, wheels from a Volvo, drive train from a Buick, and so on.

Now you try to cob your car together.

Good luck, Dr. Frankenstein.

These are all great pieces individually, made of superb materials, well-crafted.

But they weren’t designed to work together.

I’ve actually had a beginning student who wanted to study different weapons with different teachers all at the same time in order to select out what he liked for his “personal style.” And this was not a child; this was a “mature” adult.

Now, understand, it’s certainly true that each person is a unique individual and expresses things uniquely. You WILL eventually have a “personal style.” Can’t help it. You can only fight like the person you really are. “Personal style” isn’t something you have to work to create.

I suggested that maybe before he worry about creating his own unique personal style, he might want to learn how to fence first. Otherwise your “personal style” will just be a collection of limitations -- habits, faults, errors and weaknesses – that any opponent with a brain bigger than a fruit fly’s will exploit.

Hello, Mr. Concrete Wall, how are you today?

It’s tough trying to explain to someone who has utterly no comprehension of combat or training for combat, why the Frankenstein approach isn’t a very good one, at least not if you want to achieve an appreciable level of skill in any of those weapons.

Now, there ARE some things that you CAN transplant from one place to another.

Foundational principles apply across the board.

The fighters’ mindset is the same, no matter what weapon you’re using.

And some individual pieces may even be switchable.

Lots of cars have the same size tires, for example.

That tire iron might fit the lug nuts on a variety of vehicles.

And the lucky dice you’ve got hanging from the rearview mirror, right above your glow-in-the-dark plastic Jesus? Sure. That’ll work.

But to know what you CAN transfer and what you CAN’T, you have to know how everything in the first car is connected AND how everything in the second car is connected, too. Only then can you determine if you can take a carburator, or distributor or engine from one and swap it into the other.

You have to know BOTH cars very well.

What I’m suggesting is, pick something and learn it.

Really learn it well.

Then pick something else and learn it well.

What’s the same? What’s different?

In the long run, over time, the things they have in common will, indeed, integrate into a coherent meta-whole.

But it takes time.

Be patient.

And it will come.

Gorilla Tactics

2011-03-20T21:15:00.000-04:00

You have five gorillas in a cage.

Now, the one thing gorillas love more than anything else is a nice fresh banana.

You hang a banana in the middle of the cage.

Naturally, the gorillas go for the banana.

But when they do, you hit them all with a firehose.

Every time a gorilla makes a try for the banana, WHAM! – they all get hit with that cold, hard charge of water.

Pretty soon, they stop going after that banana.

As soon as that happens, you take one of those gorillas out and put in a new gorilla.

Naturally, the new gorilla makes a move for the banana.

But when he does, the other gorillas beat the snot out of him. They don’t want to get hit with that damned firehose again.

Pretty soon, the new gorilla stops going for the banana.

As soon as that happens, you take out another old gorilla and put in another new one.

Naturally, the new gorilla makes a move for the banana.

But when he does, the other gorillas beat the snot out of him -- including three original gorillas who don’t want to get hit with the firehose AND the first new gorilla who had never, himself, been hit by the firehose. He joins right in. “When in Rome..,” you know. Pretty soon, the new gorilla stops going for the banana.

As soon as that happens, you take out a third original gorilla, and put in a third new one and repeat the whole process.

Then again.

And again.

So now you have 5 second-generation gorillas.

You take one out and put in one new third- generation gorilla.

Naturally, the new gorilla makes a move for the banana.

And the four second-generation gorillas beat the snot out of him to prevent him from going for it—

BUT THEY DON’T KNOW WHY.

None of the second-generation gorillas has ever been hit with a firehose.

They don’t have any idea why they’re doing what they’re doing.

They’re just doing it because “That’s the way we’ve ALWAYS done it.”

Remember this story whenever you ask a question about why something is done a certain way and the answer you get is “ Because that’s the way we’ve always done it.”

You know right then and there you’re talking to a poor brain-washed gorilla.

I question everything I do.

I want to know WHY we do it that way.

Why not some OTHER way?

I want to know the rationale behind it.

And if there isn’t one, why keep doing it that way?

Well, I don’t.

When the answer is “That’s the way we’ve ALWAYS done it,” I start looking for alternatives.

Once in a while, I discover that we’ve always done it that way because, indeed, that’s the best way to do it.

Other times, not so much.

When I discover that the way we‘ve always done it is the best way, then I keep doing it that way, no matter what.

But when I find something that doesn’t have any rationale other than “That’s the way we’ve always done it,” I don’t hesitate to change – sometimes radically – what I’m doing or what I’m teaching.

You can probably guess how the other gorillas behave when I do that.

Compared to What?

2011-03-16T08:45:00.000-04:00

As I was working on the heavybag this morning, I had a moment of gratitude for the gentleman who taught me my modest boxing skills. I was practicing a particular combination, and was in the groove of it, captivated by the rhythm of it, lost in it, carried along like a leaf swirling down a gurgling mountain stream. Between punches I felt my gloves come up and brush my cheekbones.

“Keep ya hands up, keep ya hands up!” my mentor, JD, had admonished me. “Ya drop ya hands in practice, ya drop your hands in the ring! And yull wish ya hadn’t.” Actually, he said that much more colorfully, in fluent Chicago-ese. I’m translating charitably.

He was, like all good teachers of fighters, a stickler for “tryin’ to make it real.”

You see a lot of guys work the heavy bag with their hands low, concentrating on punching power and forgetting about defense. It’s an easy trap to fall into.

The bag doesn’t punch back.

Another of JD’s pet peeves was the speed bag. Most guys stand up in front of it and wail away using the side of the fist, the back of the knuckles, dog-paddling away at hummingbird pace.

JD would have none of it.

“Ya not gonna punch like that are ya? What’s the point? Don’t practice anything ya don’t wanna do.” So he bade me approach the bag in a good stance – hands up --- work it with proper jabs, straight rights, double jabs, slip side-to-side…

A typical workout would go like this:

At the beginning of training, JD would start the clock which would then automatically signal a three-minute round and a 1-minute break, continuously for the rest of the session.

We would also put on his favorite album which would also play continuously for the rest of the session. It may have been the only album he owned. It had been played so much, you could hear both sides at the same time.

You come in, gear up, grab a corner, do a couple rounds on the rope to warm-up.

Then maybe go to the mirror (or use your reflection in the window if the room was crowded) and do some shadow boxing.

Then some bag work.

There was a light bag that swung a lot, so you could practice punches moving in and out. There were heavier bags, including one super-heavy bag that I don’t believe ever moved an inch when I hit it. There was an uppercut bag. Double-end bags.

There was “Rocky,” which was a sort of a turnstile with two arms – one arm had a coaching mitt affixed to it, the other a boxing glove. The idea was to punch the mitt and then duck before the glove swung around and hit you in the head. The harder you could punch, the faster you’d have to duck.

Between rounds, quick, hit the floor for some sit-ups or push-ups.

After 8 or 10 or 12 rounds, if you were working the way you should, JD might call on you to step into the ring with him to work on the mitts. He presents targets, you nail them with the appropriate punches. And, yes, keep your hands up or you’ll certainly get clocked by one of those mitts. It’s an experience from which you can personally attest to the truth of Einstein’s theory of the relativity of time.

Or JD might pair you up with another guy and have you work on a particular drill together. One drill. ALL night.

Sparring?

Not much. A round or two sometimes. Not every time. Just when JD thought you were ready for it. You were invited; you didn’t ask.

If you NEEDED to spar because you were training to peak for a fight, that was different. Then you’d progressively increase your sparring rounds. Maybe 2 or 3 or 4 rounds for every round of the fight you'd have to fight.

But whether you were sparring or just working on the bag, you ALWAYS trained as if you were in against an opponent who wanted to take your head off.

Because you weren’t training to punch a bag.

You were just using the bag to train for punching an opponent – who wanted to take your head off.

Boxers keep it real because there’s a serious price to pay if you don’t.

A price you pay in blood. In sprained ribs. In sprung jaws. In black eyes, and broken noses and brain trauma.

Even with a foul protector, a mouthpiece, headgear and gloves, you know you could get seriously hurt.

Or even worse.

And you'll probably get routinely hurt in minor degrees.

So boxers respect what they’re doing.

They respect the opponent’s ability to do them damage.

I wish fencers trained the way boxers train.

If they did, we wouldn’t need to distinguish “classical” fencing from “sport” fencing.

If I could rig a cattle-prod or a taser to the point of the weapon, I could bitch-slap “sport” fencers back to reality overnight.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

(with apologies to Les McCann/Eddie Harris)

Graduated School

2011-03-11T21:40:00.000-05:00

Here’s the foundational principle of all fencing lessons.

Training generally incorporates one or both of two simple objectives:

1) to diminish sensitivity/awareness/responsiveness, or “de-sensitize;” or

2) to heighten sensitivity/awareness/responsiveness, or to “sensitize.”

For example, we want to “desensitize” the student to meaningless actions, no matter how suddenly, quickly or forcefully they are made, and we want to “sensitize” the student to the subtle cues that reveal the opponent’s true intentions.

A cat who once lived with me, Niger the Great, by name, was the master of “cool” and a perfect example of the kind of desensitization I’m talking about – though I certainly didn’t train him. One day my black lab puppy was making a goofy fool of himself, cavorting all around Niger in mock aggression. Niger sat as immobile and calm as the sphinx while the silly hound did his capering – out of distance. Unfortunately for the pup, his distance perception and control was not as precise as the cat’s. As the dog ventured just a tad too close, Niger shot out one paw in a stiff jab reminiscent of Larry Holmes in his prime. One jab. Just one. Nailed that pup right in the eye and sent him whimpering to a neutral corner, shaken but not too badly injured.

Gave that cat some respect after that, I can tell you.

And it was an excellent fencing lesson for me.

There is no finer example of sensitization than a good horse.

My partner doesn’t need spur or leg or even rein. Sometimes all I have to do is turn my head and look where I want to go – and he goes there. At the same time he can distinguish that from any random turns of the head, just looking at the scenery as we ride along.

Whether we want to sensitize or de-sensitize, we employ graduated exposure, ie, progressively greater or lesser “cues.”

To sensitize, you begin with the greatest possible stimulus or “cue,” one that is easily perceived and recognized by the subject, then gradually diminish the cue until it is as subtle as possible.

To de-sensitize, you start at the opposite end of the scale with the smallest cue your subject can perceive, then gradually increase the stimulus until it is the maximal cue that you can give.

Here’s how the process works.

Suppose you’re not comfortable with heights but for some reason have joined a volunteer fire company. Ladders are in your future.

You might set up a 24-foot extension ladder and step up onto the first rung, and then step back down. You do this as many times as it takes for you to be completely comfortable on the first rung. You might go up and stay there a while, sing a song, have a coffee.

Then you go up TWO rungs and repeat the process. When you’re completely comfortable with TWO rungs, go up to THREE. Then four and five and so on.

You might, if you’re clever, use positive reinforcement for each success – maybe a bite of carrot cake, or some other treat.

This is progressive de-sensitization by graduated exposure.

We do this with horses all the time.

I do this with my students all the time, too.

The main difference is that horses are a lot smarter, learn a lot faster, and seem to never forget once they’ve learned.

Suppose your goal is to “sensitize” your student.

Let’s say you want your student to learn to slip under a left hook.

You start by exaggerating the set-up for the punch in slow motion so that your student perceives it easily and has all the time in the world to deal with it.

Little by little you increase the speed and decrease the amplitude of the preparation, until you’re throwing a serious punch.

Two quick fencing-specific examples:

Sensitization:

Suppose my objective is to sensitize my student's hand to make a thrust as early as possible as the line of engagement "opens."

From an engagement in sixte, I might give the cue (opening the line) so big that I'm practically parrying quarte with my hand on the floor. It's an opening the student is highly unlikely to miss. Over time, I make the cue smaller and smaller. Eventually, the student correctly perceives the opening when my weapon just slightly lessens the pressure of the engagement.

Desensitization:

I want my student to have sang-froid that a reptile would envy, remaining calm and composed enough to make the smallest possible parry. I need to disconnect his/her startle reflex.

I begin in slow motion, with very little aggressive energy, fixing my student's hand in the right position until it is reliably correct. I then gradually increase the amplitude, speed, force and energy of my attack (even shouting or stomping my foot on the attack) until my student's parry cooly remains EXACTLY where it should be and not one bit bigger. This is the "auto-pilot" level of skill.

The most important parts of the process are:

Start Easy. Select the proper “size” cue. If you don’t, you and your student will both get frustrated.

Go slow. Progress by the smallest increment possible. Take whatever time it takes.

Review. Each training session, start at the beginning. As your student adapts, you can progress to the “real thing” sooner and sooner. But the early reps are still excellent practice and a warm-up, and good confidence-builder.

I should mention that feedback or "reinforcement" is vital -- on EVERY repetition.

It should be both tactile (the action is successful) AND verbal.

When making corrections, do it in a positive, confidence-enhancing manner.

Praise your student for ANY degree of progress in the right direction.

Good horsemen call that "rewarding the try."

Try it.

Fencing: It's For the Birds

2011-03-08T18:02:00.002-05:00

There is a park near here, at the end of the lake. It's a lovely park, very popular with children. I went there as a child. Took my children there when they were young. And now, I have students who go there.

One of the most popular activities at the park is feeding the birds. There are Canadian geese all winter and a variety of ducks and smaller birds all summer. A pair of swans, last I knew. But by far, the most popular have to be the gulls. Everyone calls them "seagulls," but of course, they aren't. We're nowhere near an ocean.

There are hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. They love being fed bread, or popcorn, or, if you aren't careful, your lunch. We saw one steal a meatball once. Poor bird got it stuck in its throat. You know the birds in "Nemo" who say "Mine! Mine! Mine!"? Yeah. No kidding.

I was watching the birds one day when I noticed something. When they aren't swarming around some poor kid, trying to steal his sandwich, they are often sitting on the tops of the pavilions. And when they are still, they seem to prefer to keep a certain distance from the other birds, so they are all pretty much evenly spaced.

Once I noticed that, I also saw that the birds liked to maintain a certain distance from each other, and from people, when they were on the ground. I played with one bird for quite a while. When I walked towards him, he would back away from me. Just enough to keep his distance. Huh. I even got him to walk to the side, and to walk towards me as I backed up. Always keeping his preferred distance. Interesting. I couldn't help but turn it into a game. I'm sure people thought I was nuts.

I stood on guard. Advanced. He retreated. Retreated, and he advanced. Cool! We could fence!

but wait...

When I tell this story to my students, I always ask if they have seen the birds at the park, and they always have. I ask if they have ever tried to catch one- a favorite game at the park. Most of them raise their hands. Then I ask if any of them have ever CAUGHT one.

No hands go up.

Why not? Why hasn't anyone ever caught one of the birds?

The first answer offered is always that the birds can fly, which is true. They can.

But interestingly, that isn't usually why they don't get caught. They DON'T usually fly. They COULD, but they don't have to.

So how do they get away? How do they keep their distance?

The thing is, my legs, although not long by human standards, are MUCH longer than the tiny little bird legs.

If I take a bird-sized step towards the bird, he takes a bird-sized step away from me. No problem.

But what if I take a human sized step, or even a giant human sized step towards the bird?

He can't take a human sized step away from me. His legs are too tiny.

So what does he do?

The kids all know. They've seen it hundreds of times.

The bird takes several bird-sized steps, in rapid succession.

If I try to go to the side, to flank the bird, he can easily change direction and keep away from me.

If I stop, he can stop, without losing his balance.

He doesn't even have to think about it. Which is good. His brain is not even as big as his legs are long.

I use this story when I teach advances and retreats, to help the students understand why it works better to take several steps of a manageable size than to try to take huge steps. Even though I can take MUCH bigger steps than the bird, he can always easily outmaneuver me, taking smaller steps. His smaller steps are quicker and more balanced, with less time spent with one foot in mid-air. He can change directions, stop, start, stop and start again, as he needs to, always keeping me away from him.

Don't believe me?

I can give you directions to the park, if you don't have your own local bird hangout. Try it. See if you can get a bird to play with you. It's enlightening.

Attack of the Killer Butterflies

2011-03-04T00:00:00.001-05:00

I’ve taken a lot of martial arts classes from people who’ve never actually been in a fight, themselves. That’s a lot like learning to ride from someone who’s never seen a horse.

Back in the bad old days, I found myself in a tight spot a time or two. The experience made me think I was losing my mind.

I wasn’t.

I just wasn’t prepared to deal with the reality of the encounter because there was a whole dimension to it that I didn’t know anything about --- because those martial arts teachers I’d studied with didn’t know about it, either. Fortunately for me, I was acquainted with a gentleman who had seen substantial combat in Europe in WWII. He convinced me that my responses were more or less normal by relating his own experiences.

Now, I make it a special point to share this knowledge with my students, too, so that they will understand what happens physiologically and psychologically in combat, even, to a small degree, in the mock “combat" of a fencing bout.

Threat-responses.

When faced with a threat are four possible threat responses: flee, yield, posture or fight.

That is, you can run away from it; you can surrender to it; you can try to scare it away; or you can destroy it. But in every case, you’ll get an immediate “adrenaline flood," the old “fight or flight hormone,” and what you do depends a lot on how you handle that.

Your body responds to emotional stress like fear much differently from the way it responds to physical stress, even though it seems to have a key component in common: heart-rate. When I run hill sprints, I can push my heart-rate to the 90% zone. But a minute or two minutes later, I’m ready to go again, with no ill effects from the first sprint. After a dozen, I’m fatigued. But throughout, my mind is clear, and my coordination is good.

Fear is different.

At a heart-rate of around 60-80 beats per minute (BPM) --with allowances for individual variation-- you’re “at ease.” Relaxed. Maybe asleep. And vulnerable. Let’s call that the “white zone.” *

Between 80-115 BPM, you’re “on guard,” alert and ready. Let’s call that the “yellow zone.”

Somewhere around 115-145 BPM you’re “engaged” and functioning at your peak combat/survival performance level. Call this one the “red zone.” Your complex motor skills, visual reaction time and cognitive reaction time are all in high gear – BUT your fine motor skills deteriorate.

Entering this zone is where you might find you have “butterlies in your stomach.”Experienced fighters learn to routinely evacuate bladder and bowels before a match.

When you hit 145-175 BPM your performance begins to deteriorate – EXCEPT FOR AUTOPILOT SKILLS (about which, more in a moment). Cognitive processing deteriorates. You experience vaso-constriction (to reduce bleeding from wounds), tunnel vision, loss of depth perception, loss of near vision, auditory exclusion, tachypsychia. Let’s call this the “gray zone.”

Above around 175 BPM, you are “lost” in the “black zone.” This is the level of irrational fight or flight, freezing (paralyzed with fear), submissive behavior, voiding bladder and bowels, gross motor skills at highest level (running/charging), catastrophic vaso-constriction. Without going into too much personal history, I can tell you that, as a child, I had substantial experience with fear, and visited the black zone more than once.

I remember what it’s like to be “paralyzed with fear,” to exhibit cringing submissive behavior, and to experience blind panic flight. Take my word for it: you don’t want to go there, any more than I want to go there ever again.

Post-Adrenaline Crash.

You can sail for quite a while in that adrenaline flood. But when it’s all over, it isn’t over. Depending on the nature of the event, and your own individual make-up you may find yourself ravenously hungry, hyper-sexual and/or sleeping like a rock for 18 hours.

You may feel a little “queasy” or you may vomit your guts out. You might get the “shakes” so bad you can’t light a cigarette. You make feel cold and shiver.

Some effects may linger a long time – known as Post-Traumatic Stress. Nightmares. Hyper-vigilance. “Flashback” over-reactions to distorted perceptions of non-threatening stimuli. But that gets into different territory beyond the scope of this particular discussion.

If there’s one thing you can derive from all of this, it’s the importance of psycho-motor training. Because in a fight, you don’t “rise to meet the challenge,” YOU SINK TO THE LEVEL OF YOUR TRAINING. That is, the only skills you will retain and be able to execute reliably are those skills that you have rehearsed so many times, that you can do them AUTOMATICALLY, without thinking, no matter what else is going on.

That’s “autopilot.”

There’s ONLY ONE way to acquire that level of skill: REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION….

I once watched a boxing match in which one of the fighters suffered a devastatingly perfect hook to the jaw. He was literally “out on his feet,” before his back hit the canvas. But even in that state, on the deck, he instinctively, AUTOMATICALLY covered up and rolled, even throwing a counter or two.

I was tremendously impressed.

THAT is where I want my skills to be. Where the body still performs even when the mind is gone.

There’s a way to help control your anxiety-driven heart-rate: breathe.

Some call it “tactical breathing,” or “focused breathing,” or “mindful breathing,” but I’ve heard it called a lot of other things too in various martial arts. Sometimes we call it “re-set.” Doesn’t matter if you call it “Uncle Charlie,” as long as you do it.

It goes like this:

Inhale through your nose, filling your belly fully, to a slow 4-count.
Hold for a 4-count
Exhale through your mouth for the same slow 4-count
Hold for a 4-count

Repeat for 2-3 cycles, as needed.

Make no mistake: however much we strive for verisimilitude in fencing, a fencing bout is to a real fight as a child’s cuddly stuffed lion is to a real lion prowling the Serengeti.

The butterflies you experience before a tournament, are itsy-bitsy, teensie-weensie little butterflies, even though they may feel to you like B-52’s.

But by using “focused breathing,” you can tame those killer butterflies and “re-set” to remain at the level of optimum arousal: relaxed, alert, aware and responsive.

* adapted from ON COMBAT by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman, Warrior Science Publications, 2004.

E.P.R.

2011-02-28T00:02:00.002-05:00

(not to be confused with CPR, PMS or RIP)

What horses are really good at is knowing what happens before what happens, happens. In fact, they’re masters at it. Sometimes, it’s amazing.

Here’s an example. To “direct rein” means to pull on the rein on the side toward which you would like the horse to turn. To “neck rein” means you move the rein on the opposite side so it just touches the horse’s neck. Everyone uses "direct rein" first because it’s an “obvious” continuation of leading a horse on the ground: where the lead rope pulls, the horse follows.

To make the transition to “neck reining,” you start by laying the opposite rein on the horse’s neck a fraction of a second before applying the direct rein.

What the horse quickly figures out is that the neck rein is what happens before the direct rein that happens, happens. Anticipating the direct rein, the horse responds to the indirect rein. Once he does that, you can discard the direct rein and just neck rein. Voila!

Knowing what happens before what happens, happens, we like to call “early pattern-recognition" (or E.P.R., when we want to sound arcane and very scientific).

Here’s another example of what we mean. Those of you who are students of other martial arts may have heard this story in another incarnation. It goes like this:

Once there was a young man who wanted to become a great swordsman. To this end he went about challenging various fencing masters to contests of skill. When he found one he could not beat, he stayed with that master and studied with him until he could beat him. Then, he’d move on to another. And another…

Finally, he challenged the elderly “master of all masters” to a contest.

They met at the appointed hour and ground.

No sooner had they come “en guard,” than the old Maitre d’Armes stepped back and said, “If you attack by cut to my head, I’ll counter with a side step and thrust to your heart.”

This stunned the younger man, and struck him as a very odd coincidence indeed, because attacking by a cut to the head was exactly what he’d been thinking of doing.

Again they stood to their guards.

Immediately, the old man stepped back and said, “If you thrust at my wrist, I’ll prise du fer and counter with a thrust to your face.”

Once again, this stunned the younger man, and struck him as a very odd coincidence indeed, because attacking with a thrust to the swordmaster’s wrist was exactly what he’d been thinking of doing.

And so it went.

Each time they came on guard, the Maitre would step back and politely say, “If you do A, I’ll counter with B…”

After a short time, the younger man was so completely unnerved, that he lay down his sword and begged the Master to accept him as a student.

There’s quite a bit to this story. Part of it has to do with how your subconscious mind immediately and indiscriminently acts to obey the conscious mind (SEE: Psycho-cybernetics by Maxwell Maltz, the godfather of sport psychology).

Another part has to do with ways of knowing, in particular the cognitive vis a vis the intuitive.

But for the moment, the important element of the story is that the master knew what happened before what happened, happened. He knew what his opponent was going to do before his opponent did it – perhaps even before his opponent knew it, himself.

That is, the Master was able to recognize in his opponent’s subtle body language and expression, his opponent’s intent. The wiley old gent was reading “cues” (or, as poker-players call them, “tells” ). Boxers call it “telegraphing” a punch.

These combat cues are, to a greater or lesser degree, subtle but unavoidable and largely invisible to the person making them. Indeed, we spend a fair amount of time making them visible to ourselves so that we can either eliminate them, insofar as can be done, or to USE them for misdirection. (“All combat is based on deception”. –Sun-tze)

The best cues are those that are integral to the intended action, ie, the intended action cannot be executed without first doing the “cue” action.

Cutting blows are a good example.

All cuts, to be effective, must first gather up energy and then release energy. One prepares or “winds up” the cut, and then delivers or executes the blow. It cannot be done in any other way. Therefore, the wind-up is what happens before what happens (the cut) happens.

However, the wind-up itself can be broken down into small segments and the sooner you recognize the characteristic sine qua non of that preparatory action, the earlier you can respond.

That’s what we mean by early pattern recognition.

Another example:

A guy goes for the gun under his coat at his right hip. This action has a universally recognized crouch. It isn’t anything else. Nobody reaches into a pocket that way. Nobody goes for a wallet that way. Nobody scratches a mosquito bite that way. So when you see that action start, you respond in whatever way you’re going to respond: duck, dodge, run, or try to beat him to the draw. You don’t have to wait until the fellow draws his gun and aims it at your nose and pulls the trigger before you say, “Hmm. He wants to shoot me.” Better to recognize the pattern earlier than later.

Perhaps more than anything else, early pattern recognition – sometimes incredibly early --is the mark of a master. It’s the fighter’s best stock in trade. If your training doesn’t cultivate this capacity, I recommend you change your training so that it does.

Hold it Like a Little Bird...

2011-02-26T16:27:00.002-05:00

A picture from this past week. First day holding the foil.

Setting the Stage

2011-02-24T11:16:00.002-05:00

The first time I ever observed Maitre Crown teach a foil class, he did something that I found amazing, at the time.

It was one of an introductory series of classes, held in a gymnasium at the local recreation center.

There were somewhere between 20-30 children in the class. A large group.

The age range appeared to be from about 7 to maybe 12 or 13, as I recall.

At the beginning of the class, as they arrived, the children all went and sat in a line, and waited for the Fencing Master.

There may have been a little quiet conversation, but when the Master arrived, all conversation immediately stopped, and each child turned his or her focus to the beginning of the class.

Throughout the class, there was no side conversation. There was no fidgeting, fiddling or wiggling. Every person in the room stayed engaged and focused on the task at hand.

A gymnasium. Full of children. Quiet children. Focused. Not running around.

How does he DO that?!?

I had only three kids myself, and I couldn't get them to behave like that!!

I was amazed. Intrigued.

Little did I know, at the time, that the "secret" to this incredible situation was very, very simple.

Set the stage.

Most people, children especially, want to do what is expected of them, most of the time.

In order to do that, they need to know what it is.

In order to know what that is, what you say, what you do, and what happens in class all need to reinforce each other.

Say what you mean.

Mean what you say.

And make sure they know that you do.

The world is full of people who don't really mean what they say. The dominant culture in many places, and certainly in the United States, strongly encourages "little white lies" as a matter of course. Right from the ubiquitous "How are you?" being followed by "fine, thanks" no matter what the reality is. And on top of that, adults, or people in positions of authority, often seem to believe that they have no obligation to be honest with those in their charge, or under their care.

That is, I believe, to put it mildly: bullshit.

But it is, unfortunately, what most people have come to expect, much of the time.

So the biggest task I have, starting a new class, is to demonstrate that in this place, in our classes, the world is different. The standard of behavior is much higher than it might be elsewhere.

It starts with my preparation for the class. I make sure to have everything with me that I need, in an organized fashion. I arrive early and make sure the space is prepared. I meet the new students at the door, introduce myself, and ask for their name. I tell them exactly what I want them to do, where I want them to sit, and that they may converse quietly until class begins. I start the class precisely on time.

In the first class of a new series of classes, we take care to explain our rules. We also explain that we never make a rule we don't need, and never make a rule we don't enforce.

Our primary rules are simple:

1. Never aim a weapon at anyone who is not wearing a mask.

2. No talking during class, unless you are asking the instructor a question, or are answering one. There will be plenty of opportunities for questions.

3. Do what we ask you to do, when we ask you to do it, how we ask you to do it, and DON'T DO ANYTHING ELSE. We will be sure to be clear and specific about what, when and how we want you to do things.

After explaining these rules, we ask the students if they understand and agree to them. Often, we will ask each individual student to personally, verbally, agree to the rules, with a handshake.

We also specifically tell the students that they are expected to behave courteously at all times. I would hope that this would be unnecessary, but unfortunately, it seems not to be. Often, we have to explain what "courteously" means, with examples.

For the rest of that first class, we are especially observant for ANY infraction of the rules. There can't be any infraction of that first rule, as there won't be any weapons in students' hands, so we are looking for the first time someone talks to their neighbor, or the first time someone starts fidgeting or pretending to swordfight, or whatever extraneous movement there happens to be. There is always something. My job (or my assistant's job) is to catch it.

This is CRITICALLY important:

The FIRST time anyone breaks a rule, no matter how slight the infraction, they are corrected. Immediately. Sharply- although not harshly. They are reminded of the rule that they specifically agreed to. They may be asked to sit out to collect themselves, if the cause of the infraction is that they are unable to maintain their focus for some reason.

Then the class continues.

There is no continued sharpness towards the student- the expectation is that once corrected, they will understand that we weren't kidding, and they will strive to behave accordingly. If they have been asked to sit out, once they have a chance to refocus, they are invited back into the exercise. Usually, this will be after one set of repetitions of whatever we're working on.

In order to be most effective, it must be the FIRST infraction, no matter how small, with no "second chances." This may feel harsh, until you are accustomed to it, but it isn't. It's CLEAR.

Both halves of the correction are equally important: that it be immediate and sharp, and that there be NO continued sharpness from the instructor, no grudges. It isn't about punishment, it's about changing the behavior. Once a student's behavior is appropriate, they are in as good graces as they were before the infraction. It's not personal, at all. It's about safety, not about ego.

With most classes, that first correction is enough to get their attention, to convey that the environment in this class is different from elsewhere in their lives, and they have no trouble adjusting, since they understand and agree to the rules upfront. If the class has a high proportion of younger students, it may take another reminder or two- and that is what it is, a reminder. By the end of the first class the students understand what we expect of them. By the end of the second class, at the latest, they understand that we really mean it, and there are no more infractions.

At the close of every class, we always thank the students for being there, and for the hard work they have put into the class. If necessary, if a student who was corrected seems to have trouble, or feel embarrassed or otherwise traumatized, I might sometimes speak to him or her individually after the class, to tell them they did a great job in class. I want to reinforce that there are no hard feelings, that as soon as the incident is over, it's over.

We don't have "behavior problems" in our classes.

We simply don't allow it.

Before we can put weapons into the hands of a gymnasium full of students, often children, we must KNOW that they will behave appropriately and safely.

We have very rarely had to take the step of asking someone to leave.

We cannot allow a student in the class who will behave in unsafe ways and endanger themselves or the other students.

After the introductory series of classes, when students elect to continue studying with us, we are all able to be more relaxed, and less formal, since everyone already understands and follows the rules. I prefer to be less formal with my students, when possible. I occasionally need to remind them- and myself- not to get TOO relaxed when we're working, but for the most part, it's really not an issue after that first series of classes.

All of this, in my opinion, is very simple, and very obvious- now that I know it.

It is also very effective.

It is especially so once I learned to manage the hard/soft correction, of immediate and sharp, followed by no hard feelings, and when I learned how to be strong, clear and to the point WITHOUT being harsh, mean, or a drill sargeant. Too many people equate "discipline" with "punishment," and they are not only not the same, but not even related. On the flipside, people equate "permissiveness" with "friendly and likeable," and those are not related, either.

Perhaps you also find it obvious. So obvious that you are wondering why I bothered to write about it.

The thing is, I have taken many classes, in different subjects, in different places, taught by many different teachers.

Most classes I have been a student in have had frequent side conversations, or other instances of a lack of attention, and/or a lack of respect for the teacher. I hear stories all the time of classes where students have to be told not to use their cellphones, or where half the class is frustrated because the other half is being disruptive. I've observed classes full of children who run wild, where little learning takes place, and where students have been injured.

As obvious as it is that setting the stage from the first moment (by modeling the expected behavior, and by explaining the rules upfront) creates an environment where learning can take place safely and enjoyably, I have rarely had a teacher who actually does that effectively.

Education of a Swordsman

2011-02-21T00:07:00.002-05:00

The word “educate” comes from the Latin “duco, ducere,” meaning “to lead.”

(Not “to push.”)

“E” plus “ducere,” means “to lead forth.”

To be an educator doesn’t mean pounding information IN to your students, but rather to lead forth from them what they really already know. They just don’t know that they know it.

The qualities that make a good leader also make a good teacher:

Competence – you have to know what you’re talking about. You can’t fake it.

Confidence – you have to know that you know what you’re talking about. You must have confidence in yourself AND confidence in your student’s ability to achieve excellence.

Communication – this is certainly the core skill of the teacher. It’s the ability to use verbal, para-verbal and non-verbal elements to effectively send your message. “Effectively” means that the receiver understood the message the way you intended it. If the receiver doesn’t “get it” then you didn’t communicate it.

Humility – acknowledging that you don’t know all the answers, and you sometimes make mistakes, like anyone else-- but you immediately own up to it when you do.

Patience – things take the time they take. You plant your garden in the Spring; you harvest in the Fall. If you plant your garden in August, you’re not going to harvest much in October, no matter how much time you spend weeding, watering or swearing.
It takes the time it takes and there’s nothing you can do to force it.
(Incidentally, I recommend you plant a garden just to stay connected to this natural law.)

Each student is a unique individual who enters into unique relationships with the world as he/she perceives it. Each has a unique spirit, a unique heart, and a unique way of learning. No matter how “alike” two people may be, they will still be different. And yet, no matter how different two people are, there will still be similarities. (One of those “paradoxes” I love). As a teacher, you have to figure out what’s the same and what’s different.

Flexibility – One of my favorite maxims is: When the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to treat everything as if it were a nail. If the only tool you have is a hammer, you can hammer in the morning, in the evening and hammer all over this land, but you’re still not going to be much of a carpenter.
Imagine a carpenter coming to build your house and the only tool he brings is a hammer. There are some boards that need shortening and he proceeds to start whacking them with his hammer. You ask if a saw might not be a better tool for that job.
“I’m a hammer man,” he replies. “My dad was a hammer man, and his dad before him. I come from a long line of hammer men. Further, I’ve dedicated my life to hammer. I’ve studied with all the greatest hammer men alive. I’ve studied all the hammer books left to us by the great masters of the hammer. The hammer is the best tool there is. It’s the only tool I need. Um, better step back, splinters are going to be flying…”
As a fighter, my job is to defeat my opponent, utterly and completely. I’m not emotionally involved in what tool I use to do that. If it means a punch, a kick, a club, a knife or a gun, it’s all the same to me. I’ll use whatever tool I need to get the job done. As a teacher, my job is to provide opportunities for my students to cultivate excellence and I’ll use whatever tool I need to get that job done. It’s all the same to me. I’m not emotionally involved with any particular tool.

What do I mean by “cultivate excellence?”

What does that have to do with teaching fencing?

Good question.

Well, I’m not really teaching “fencing.”

I don’t care if any of my students ever “win” a fencing trophy.

If I were about that, then I would just be a “coach.”

What I’m concerned with is what kind of people my students will become, and what kind of world they will make.

The sword is the vehicle I use to illustrate some fundamental truths that, because they ARE fundamental, are also evident in a broad range of other areas, from psychology to politics to interpersonal and business relationships.

I endeavor to set the stage so that my students will have certain experiences. In struggling to understand those experiences and to ascribe them meaning and value, they will wrestle with making choices. The choices they make will determine who they will become.

I can’t make them choose anything in particular.

All I can do is advise. Counsel. Encourage.

Sometimes they make choices that make my heart soar.

Sometime they make choices that make my heart sore.

Goes with the job.

First Blood?

2011-02-19T10:17:00.003-05:00

Another quick bonus post.

Picture from Friday's class.

First time, sword in hand.

Guest Post: Why Do I Teach?

2011-02-18T00:19:00.002-05:00

It's my privilege and pleasure to offer you a little something from a long-time and much beloved brother-in-arms.
He's an actor, screenwriter, film-maker (you may have seen his superb documentary AMERICAN JOUSTER), musician, swordsman and for many years a jouster at the various and ever-popular "renaissance faires" around the country.
He's trained other "knights" for the shows and even trained some of the real stars --- the horses!

aac

Why do I teach?

by Richard P. Alvarez

It is certainly not for the money.

I’ve recently started teaching again. A small group of my son’s friends – eight to be exact – requested I teach them classical foil and saber. The token fees they pay go to cover the use of the gym facility – I don’t make a dime.

So why do I do it? Probably for the same reasons that any teacher faces a student.

“We teach best, that which we most need to learn” – Richard Bach, from “Illusions.” Does this mean that I need to learn the basics of classical fencing? Well yes and no. Certainly I’ve acquired the knowledge of how to perform the basic movements years ago – and I have a shelf of dusty old volumes that outline various approaches to teaching them.

But the actual experience of imparting that knowledge to someone who has never experienced it – allows me to experience it anew. It forces me to see it fresh from their perspective - A perspective that I might not share or even be capable of imagining. And the struggle that they exhibit, along with the delight in their eyes when they ‘get it’ is a simple delight that I never tire of. So call it a ‘contact high’ if you will.

Teaching is not a recitation of known paradigms; it is an exploration into preconceived notions, and an illumination of hidden reservoirs of strengths. No area is off limits. The effort to find a metaphor that the student can relate to – pushes my own concept and understanding of a principle into areas I hadn’t even considered. I can find metaphors in music, dance, most other martial arts and even driving a car.

“Do you drive a car?” The usual answer is yes.

“How long is it? How wide?” - I’ve never met someone who actually knows in inches the exact wheelbase of the car they drive.

“And yet, you know when you eyeball a parking space, if it will fit. You know where the tires are, underneath you. You know where the back bumper is, because hours and hours of sitting in that car has made it an EXTENSION of your body. When you get behind the wheel of a strange vehicle – you have difficulty making those judgments. It takes many hours to make the car an extension of your body. It’s going to take many, MANY hours to make the blade an extension of your arm.”

“AH” the light goes on in their eyes. And so they have come to an understanding of ‘sentiment du fer’ Sure, they get it. It’s not going to come easy. They won’t master this move in a few lessons. But if they work at it they will get better.

All of the Maitre’ des Arms I have had the privilege of studying with have been very creative souls. They were musicians, artists, mimes and quite often highly trained military men with combat experience as well. I loved learning what they had to share, because they loved SHARING it.

Knowing that I’m imparting knowledge to someone else, along with at least a little of the love I have for the art – gives me a sense of accomplishment. Planting seeds is a way to create. Planting the seed of knowledge is a form of creativity.

I teach because it’s one more outlet for my creativity. And we are closest to our highest, our truest natures when we are creating.

Keeping the Distance

2011-02-16T13:43:00.005-05:00

A little bonus post today. Pictures from this morning's class. Brand new students, working on learning to keep the distance. This is their first time working with a partner.

They are holding 1/2" diameter dowels that are four feet long. The dowels serve to give them a reference for the distance they are trying to keep, and also give them immediate tactile feedback, rather than having only visual feedback to know if they are successful.

Epee du Salle vs Epee du Combat

2011-02-15T09:52:00.002-05:00

As long as there have been swords there have been mock-swords used in training.
They may be made of steel or wood or rubber or some other material.
They may resemble the “real thing” very closely, only generally, or hardly at all.

Why do we use such tools?

Well, first, these various training tools are at least marginally less dangerous than the real thing, and we’d like our charges to survive the training process. Make no mistake, it’s not exactly a stroll in the park to catch a blow on the skull from a wooden weapon – and stout lads have been killed with wooden swords (look into the exploits of legendary Japanese swordsman Myamoto Musashi). Still, as a rule, wood is a little more survivable than steel.
Thrusting weapons, such as all derivations of the rapier, are tempered to bend rather than break. Practice thrusting weapons are tempered to bend rather than penetrate. I consider that an important difference.

Secondly, swords were expensive then and are still expensive now. Good ones, anyway.
A bona fide rapier made by a real swordcutler like Dennis Graves, for example, could easily run $400-$500, with no upper limit.
On the other hand, a “foil” from any of the fencing equipment houses will probably cost $50-$60. And a 40” long ½” diameter dowel will run you just a buck or two.
Imagine you’re a fencing master, either today or back in the waybackwhen. You’re going to outfit a class of 10 with practice tools. Which do you purchase? Just do the math.
Besides that, you don’t need a fine weapon to learn to fence any more than you need a top-of-the-line Maserati to learn how to drive.

There’s one more thing.
Fencing is 100% skill-based.
Skill means practice.
Practice means repetition.
LOTS of repetition.
The smart money says it takes at least 10,000 hours of practice to achieve mastery.
The smart money also says that fatigue will inhibit the acquisition of skill.
So the question is, how many repetitions can you do before fatigue sets in, cuts into your practice hours and interferes with learning?
I would suggest that you can do more repetitions with a 1 lb sword than you can with a 3 lb sword.
More reps before fatigue sets in means you can accumulate your 10,000 hours sooner.

What we today call a “foil” was at first designed to be a practice weapon for the rapier, or dueling sword, some like to call it. Some people are a bit baffled by the “conventions” of foil (the limitation of target and the phenomenon of “priority”). Some claim that these things are arbitrary and that the “epee” is more “realistic.”
As to the first proposition, they’re wrong. As to the second, it depends.

In a real fight with swords it’s utterly true that you might be wounded on the hand, arm, leg or head. It’s also true that the most immediately incapacitating wound is not necessarily fatal – and that the most fatal wound is not necessarily the most immediately incapacitating.
For example, a thrust through the forearm might sever tendons and make holding on to your weapon physically impossible.
Game over.
But it’s a wound you’ll probably recover from (assuming it’s not managed by an HMO) and you will probably live to be foolish another day.

A thrust through the body, however, may puncture lungs – even the heart – wounds that will very likely prove that you and Socrates are both mortal. Yet, death may saunter along rather than sprint and you may have several minutes before you bleed out.

If I’m teaching you to fight with a sword, my first goal is that you will come home alive.
Therefore, the first thing I’ll do is to teach you to defend your centerline, particularly from eyes to pubic bone. Now that’s not a perfect approach. It still leaves your femoral artery waving in the breeze, but I have a back-up plan to deal with that. First things first: protect the vital organs. Walking erect has proved to be a mixed blessing.

The brain, of course, is a vital organ, too – more vital to some than to others, no doubt.
But it’s encased in armor – thicker on some than on others. If the surest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, then certainly the easy way to a man’s brain is through an open mouth or an eye socket. Relatively small targets, requiring relatively greater accuracy than a thrust at “center body mass.”

Not all duels were fought “to the death.”
In fact, quite a few were fought to “first blood.”
That means you don’t have to kill your opponent. Just pink him in the arm or wrist or knee and go home.
In a bout with “epees” or, let’s say with epee’s lack of conventions, all hits anywhere on the body are counted. This is very much a “first blood” situation.
But in a bout with “foils” or, let’s say, using foil conventions, we have two combatants who are prepared to disregard all wounds except the gravest ones.
Therefore, I would submit that the “epee” bout represents one in which the opponents are not necessarily determined to kill each other.
A “foil” bout, however, is a fight to the death.

The notion of “priority” in foil causes a great deal of head-scratching in some quarters, but it’s really very simple: an extant threat has priority over a potential threat. This is based on the assumption that neither party is keen on dying. Therefore, they will act to avoid it, insofar as they are able to do so.
So the best question to ask yourself when pondering the mysteries of priority is this:
If these babies were sharp, would my action X keep my opponent from killing me?
Or would it merely be a “tie” with both of us being wounded.
The purpose of the priority convention is to teach you to fight intelligently, that is, to protect yourself while assisting your opponent with shuffling off his mortal coil.
If you don’t care whether you live or die, might as well fence “epee.”
Yet, it’s amazing how many macho young men who claim they are “willing” to die, nevertheless go to great pains to avoid it.

As far as conventions go, the “epee” has one, as well. And quite a silly one.
In “epee” fencing all hits are counted, but all hits are counted EQUALLY. That means if you scratch my forearm and at the same time, I drive my point through your heart, both touches are of equal value. If you scratch my forearm a second time, you might even “win.”
Posthumously.

The most important difference to keep in mind is the difference between fighting with a sword and fencing with one.
In a swordfight, I’m not interested in going whackety-whack with my opponent for three minutes, just to show how big my panache is. I’d prefer to make one or two moves and have that be the end of the encounter and be long gone before the cops show up.

In a fencing match, I’m putting my skill on display, my virtuosity with the blade. It’s a lively game of “anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better.” If my opponent is skillful, it will allow me to indulge in luxurious phrases, subtle and delicate exchanges, a cold-steel sonnet, a grim ballet, beautiful if not for its actual purpose.

Fencing and fighting each have their place.
But in my experience, it is a simple matter for a fighter to fence, just as it’s a simple matter for a good sprinter to slow down to a jog.
But the fencer would be as hard-pressed to hold his own in a fight, as the typical jogger would be to pace that seasoned sprinter for some 100-yard intervals.

It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re fencing or fighting.
But YOU should know which one you’re doing.
And why.

The Stance-o-Matic

2011-02-12T20:37:00.003-05:00

We use a wide variety of teaching aids with our students. Some are things we've made; some are ordinary items that we make use of in unusual ways. I plan to post them here on the blog, as I have time to write up descriptions of both the tool, and how we use it.

First up: The Stance-o-Matic.

This one is simple, both in design and in use.

Beginning students, in particular, and most students, at times, may have trouble keeping enough space between their feet while moving. As the footwork increases in complexity or tempo, and/or as the student fatigues, there is a tendency to bring the heels closer and closer together.

This is most commonly caused by the student moving the back foot a different distance than the front foot has moved, or will move.

We created a simple tool to help remind the student of the need to maintain a wide base, and to give them immediate feedback on whether or not they have done so, without the student needing to break their position in order to look at their feet.

The Stance-o-Matic is used by putting one of the elastic loops around each ankle, and positioning it so that the wooden bead is on the inside of the ankle. While on guard, this puts the plastic tube in a position to keep the heels at the appropriate distance apart. When the student moves, the elastic stretches to allow the movement, and then returns to position at the end of the move.
If the student's feet are no longer the same distance apart, either
a) the Stance-o-Matic will bump up against their ankles and let them know they have moved their feet closer together, or
b) there will still be tension in the elastic, letting them know they have moved their feet further apart.

(Elastic placed on outside of pants leg in order for placement to be more visible for this picture.)

To receive the greatest benefit, the length of the Stance-o-Matic should be matched to the size of the student, so that it is one and one-half to two times the length of the student's foot.

To make the Stance-o-Matic:
Read through the instructions and the notes at the end.

Parts list:
(1) length of pvc tubing, 1/2" in diameter
(1) length of elastic, 1/4" to 1/2" wide, approximately twice the length of the tube
(2) wooden beads, large enough not to go through the tubing, with a hole large enough to put elastic through

Step one:
If not already done, cut the tube to the length desired. It should be one and one half to two times the length of the student's foot.

Step two:
Thread one end of the elastic through one of the wooden beads.
Make a loop, and tie a knot large enough that the loop will not go through the wooden bead.

Step three:
Thread the free end of the elastic through the tube.
Then, once it comes out of the tube, thread it through the other wooden bead.

Step four:
Repeat step two: make a loop, and tie it so that it won't go back through the bead.

Notes:
You should end up with a pattern of loop-bead-tube-bead-loop. (see first image, above)
The elastic should be relaxed, and not stretched.

You might want to start with a longer length of elastic, and cut it after making the second loop, until you get a feel for how long it needs to be. Some of that depends on the size of the hole in the bead, and therefore, the size of the knot you need to make.

You also may need to experiment with the size of the loop.
Both loops should be approximately the same size, and a little smaller than the average ankle. You want them to need to stretch the loop to get it on, so that it won't slip off during use. If necessary, you can tie an extra overhand knot in the loop to make it smaller for someone with smaller ankles, then untie it for the next student.

The simplest use of this tool is during advances and retreats, but it stretches to allow a variety of movements. With other movements, it may not lie straight between the ankles, but that's okay. As long as the student knows where it is supposed to be, it will accomplish the goal of immediate feedback.

Important:
As with all teaching aids, the student should always attempt to do the move correctly, and allow the aid to give feedback, and NOT simply try to get the tool to end up in a certain place.

Q & A

2011-02-10T08:59:00.003-05:00

Charles writes to ask:

Regarding feints, does their technical execution differ at all depending on their number -- would the first out of three feints be different from a single feint?
Concerning intentions in fencing…..(do you) acknowledge or teach "false attacks"?
Then how far would you go into counter-ripostes, and counter-counter-ripostes, etc? (Perhaps this is an idle question missing the point of the exercises, but I'm curious because some people set certain limits on how deep the actions get...)
Awfully broad question, but does footwork differ much between weapons in your school? How about bladework, besides the obvious differences between thrust and cut, and the changes necessitated by longer or shorter blades?

These are good questions.

First, let me say that, as a general principle, form follows function.

That is, “technique” is infinitely malleable in order to meet the specific needs of a particular tactical situation. While technical exercises establish a “baseline” of “standard” execution, that pattern must not be rigid. It must be flexible enough to be applicable in a wide range of circumstances. It doesn’t do you any good to execute a technique “right,” if it results in you being touched.

So, the only really true answer to any tactical question is, “It depends.”

At this point, it will be good to define “tactics.” Here’s my definition. Tactics comprises all those choices made “in the moment” during the course of the combat.

All tactical choices are based on an If/then model. If my opponent does A, I’ll do A1; if my opponent does B, I’ll do B1.

Some tactical choices are more likely in certain circumstances than are others.

You can guess what your opponent is going to do.

Or you can set the stage so that your opponent makes the choice that you want him/her to make.

I prefer not to guess.

Further, tactical choices follow five principles:

Put the point on the target
Feel the blades
Take your time
Keep your distance
Continue the phrase

I’ll go into these in more detail sometime if you like.

For now, understand that technique, tactics and strategy are all interdependent and based on definite principles.

We don’t do ANYTHING, unless we know what the combat rationale for it is.

With that proviso, I’ll address these particular elements.

In RE: Feints.

The purpose of a feint is to elicit a particular response from the opponent by providing him/her with false information. This means “communication” must take place. Your action sends a message; your opponent receives the message, deciphers its meaning and responds appropriately (all people act in accordance with what they believe to be true). The burden is on you to ensure that your opponent receives the message and ascribes to it that meaning which you intend for it to be given.

Malcolm X once said, “If somebody asks you a question in English, you don’t answer in Chinese.” There’s a corollary to that: if you want someone to understand you, you have to speak their language.

Consequently, while any feint must have a sufficient degree of verisimilitude, the actual amplitude and character of any particular feint must be such that the opponent will receive the message and give it the meaning you want him/her to give it, and then respond “appropriately,” which is to say, predictably and to your advantage.

Think of a feint like opening a door.

How wide do you open it? How long do you hold it open?

Wide enough for long enough so you can get in.

But here’s an important question: when is a feint not a feint?

And here’s an example Ms. Wyatt suggested:

You aim a thrust at your opponent’s chest.

Your opponent does nothing.

What do you do then?

Personally, I’d lunge and hit him.

It’s only a feint if my opponent responds – remember our IF/Then model.

So EVERY feint must be a real and true action with lethal intent.

Until it isn’t.

Back in the 1600’s a fellow named Capo Ferro wrote something that suggests to me that he was my kind of fighter. He said that your opponent can only make a feint either within distance or without. If without distance, ignore it. If within distance, as your opponent feints, kill him.

In RE: “intentions” in fencing.

I teach only one intention: to touch without being touched.

That may seem like a flippant answer. It is and it isn’t.

I mean that your focus must be on touching your opponent, not on playing around.

The longer a fight lasts, the worse your chances of coming out of it unscathed.

I’m reminded here of the famous scene in the film “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” in which Harrison Ford, as Indiana Jones, is confronted by a sword-flourishing opponent. Jones’ response is simply to shoot the man where he stands. (Shades of Capo Ferro)

You may not think that very gallant. But tactically, the most direct, most immediate response possible, is usually best.

In Re: False attacks

In addition to the foregoing on feints, the false attack – like everything else you do – must accomplish a specific purpose, and not devolve into a mindless fishing expedition. A false attack can be used to assess your opponent’s preferred defensive responses. It can be used as the “set-up” for a counter-time. It can be used to give your opponent an inaccurate estimate of your attacking distance. It should never be done just to do something, like nervous conversation in an elevator.

On the flip, (but not flippant) side, you, yourself, must be able to recognize false actions for what they are and NOT respond to them as your opponent wishes --- unless, of course, your response is ALSO a false action being used to lure your opponent into what will be a discommodious position for him/her to be in. You might, for example, “parry” the false attack in order to invite your opponent to direct an offensive action at another target – where you are ready to parry-riposte like lightning. In other words, you use the opponent’s own false attack against him/her to set up an ambush.

RE: The number of counter-ripostes.

Our fifth tactical principle is “continue the phrase.” If you can continue the phrase longer than your opponent can, your opponent is done for.

Technically, if you can do one counter-riposte, you can probably do more than one.

We train to be able to carry on the phrase indefinitely. The phrase never ends.

That may mean one counter-riposte; it may mean a hundred. It’s all the same to us.

We often work counter-ripostes for as long as the student can sustain the phrase, physically and psychologically --- which means we’re working on both physical endurance and psychological endurance (the ability to sustain mental focus).

BUT when you do that kind of an exercise, every thrust must have lethal intentions; the exercise must never be allowed to become a game of half-hearted patty-cake.

RE: footwork

There are a finite number of ways to move the feet and body.

Therefore, it should be no surprise that footwork from one weapon to another --- and often from one martial art to another --- is hauntingly familiar. While there are certain movements particularly well-suited to particular actions with particular weapons, I find no reason why any specific footwork could not be employed with any weapon, given the appropriate tactical circumstances.

Remember: all linear actions (thrusts) are basically the same and are delivered and dealt with in a very similar manner, and all circular actions (cuts) are basically the same and are delivered and dealt with in the same manner.

As far as bladework goes, remember form follows function.

The length, weight, shape and balance of any tool is determined by the job it has to do. A tool is handled in a certain way because that’s the most efficient way to do the job for which it was designed.

Likewise, the length, weight, shape and balance of a sword will determine the manner in which it is used.

I hope these comments are helpful.

Quick Guide to Becoming a Fencing Master's Apprentice

2011-02-07T09:18:00.002-05:00

I wrote this piece several years ago, and find it still apropos, so I want to share it with you all. It was originally published on my personal blog, but probably very few of you have read it there.

Quick Guide to Becoming a Fencing Master's Apprentice:

Things I think anyone considering such a thing should know.

1. It's a process, not an event.

2. If you think it's only about fencing, forget it.

3. It requires both commitment and change. Real change. It is not just the gaining of new skills, but the replacement of old unproductive thought patterns and habits. Changing how you see and relate to most everything and everyone. These changes will not necessarily be easy. And that's not only for you, but for other people in your life- they may find the changes difficult.

4. People are going to think you're nuts. As a rule, even those who most want to be supportive will only support you to a point- the limit of their understanding of what you're doing. To most people, fencing is a sport, an insignificant one at best, a game, and what you are doing is learning to be a coach. A coach, mind you, for a sport no one watches, participates in, or understands. At best, a marginalized activity, a part time thing, benefitting very few. So why do you care so much? And if you make any attempt to explain why, to get at the level of personal growth and where that leads you, they'll think you've gone right over the edge entirely, because the concept is not in their worldview, it's a bunch of hooey. (Are you sure this isn't a cult?)

5. It's about teaching, about learning. If you aren't enthusiastically interested in both of those things, this is not the opportunity for you.

6. The level of detail will astound you. Repeatedly. The sheer number of hours this is going to take is huge. We're talking years, not months. A long term commitment.

7. This has the potential to rearrange your entire life. In ways you may not expect. It will change your priorities, change how you relate to people, change what you think and do, change how you make decisions. It may well change your very values- or at least, accentuate them if yours are already compatible.

ps. This scares people. A lot. Do not underestimate this.

8. If you think you understand all this, and you still "agree" and you're rarin' to go, you've got a handle on it, this is the path for me, made my decision, yessir...

you're wrong. :-)

No matter how much you understand of it, no matter how much awareness you have of what is involved, no matter how ready you are for that, no matter how committed you are, you will still have moments of nearly-overwhelming mind-boggling eye-opening "what the fuck?" discovery of yet another level of possibility. It may delight you. It may astound you. It may temporarily (or permanently) overwhelm you with the feeling that you will never, ever, be able to do this. But you cannot possibly, right now, really understand what you are getting into because you simply do not have the ability to understand things that you can't yet imagine exist. You can't see around corners, or into the future.

Did I mention that this is not a smooth featureless landscape?

Perhaps the reason the process takes so long is that it takes years (what is the theoretical number, seven?) for your body to replace every cell- and that, in a nutshell, is the level of change you're attempting. Every cell. Every nerve. Every pre-existing pattern. Every instinct. Every "natural reaction." That level of growth and change. Becoming, literally, a different person.

It's not that it can't be done.

But it can't be done by someone attached to what they've known before, or know now. By someone resistant or reluctant to change. By someone who enters into this with any intention of withholding or being in any way- even the tiniest way- dishonest.

It is about exposing your own weaknesses, not hiding them. Admitting to difficulties, not avoiding them. Embracing responsibility. About understanding, not pretending.

Perhaps the simplest way of explaining is to use something my fencing master has said to me. Simple as it is, I only began to understand it in layers, as I met them, and I'm sure I have not reached the deepest one yet.

You must be willing to do whatever must be done to achieve your goal.

Further, you must be willing to sacrifice whatever must be sacrificed

to achieve your goal.

These are not lofty statements, intended to inspire. They are the literal truth, each word specifically chosen, and equally important. "Willing" is as important as "must." And you can't possibly predict what things these will be, in either direction. They are different for each person, bound into your very self, your life, your beliefs, your experiences. Some will seem small things. Easy enough to let go of. Some, your ego will fight you tooth and nail over.

There. That about sums it up. Ought to scare off any sensible person.

Mary Had A Little Lamb

2011-02-06T10:19:00.000-05:00

When I was 13 or 14 and a budding rock star in my first garage band, I fancied myself a guitar player, having fumbled my way to beating half a dozen chords into submission.

What a coincidence that everything I wrote back then comprised exclusively those chords, played more or less in the same order. But I easily won the adoration of a number of teenage girls, and thereby the envy of a lot of teenage boys, and I became convinced I was quite good.

Then, by chance, I happened to be the recipient of a pair of tickets to a concert.

A guitar concert.

Some guy named Andy Segovia.

I learned two things at that concert.

First, I learned that the gentleman’s name was "Andre," not "Andy."

And I learned what it sounded like when someone played the guitar who could really play it.

Last time I mentioned that there are different levels or stages of learning.

One good model for these stages is:

1. Unconscious Incompetence

At this stage, a person doesn’t understand or know how to do the thing, and doesn’t know that he/she doesn’t know how to do it, so has no motivation to remedy that lack of knowledge.

2. Conscious Incompetence

Now, although the person still doesn’t understand or know how to do the thing, he/she recognizes that he/she doesn’t know how to do it. Most beginners start here. They want to use a sword. They don’t know how. They know they don’t know how. They try to find a way to learn.

3. Conscious Competence

The person understands or knows how to do the thing. Demonstrating the skill or knowledge requires a great deal of consciousness or concentration. Most “fencers” appear never to get beyond this stage, largely because, in my opinion, they do not build an adequate foundation of excellence on which to construct further progress.

4. Unconscious Competence

At this stage, the person has so completely incorporated the skill that it becomes "second nature" and can be performed effortlessly, "automatically," without concentration, without conscious thought, even under adverse circumstances. This is the "mastery" level for which we strive. It’s the fighters’ stock in trade.

I think that’s a pretty good starting point for discussion. Some folks have suggested adding to this model. A fifth stage about teaching, for example. But I think that’s mixing apples and oranges and I’ll explain why in future.

For now, I’d like to suggest that there are four particular levels in swordsmanship. I’ll call them the technical level, the tactical level, the strategic level and the mastery level.

As I go through this, you may detect a suspicious similarity to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, and Kohlberg's 6 stages of moral development – and if you don’t, you should.

The technical level is where the absolute beginner lives. It’s about the “right” way to do something, the correct way to execute a given action with maximum safety and effectiveness. This is the equivalent of a musician learning how to produce the various notes of the scale on his instrument. On the guitar, there are a lot of ways to play B flat.

In addition to legato, staccato and pizzicato, you can slur up or down, hammer on or off, bend the note if you’ve got the blues, or give it varying amounts of vibrato.

But you can’t do ANY of that if you have no idea where B flat is on the fretboard.

First things first.

At the technical level, your attentional focus is almost entirely “internal,” as demonstrated by the fact that you have to look at the fingerboard and see where and how you’re placing your fingers. It’s a “narrow” focus when you have to place each finger of a chord one at a time; it’s a “broad focus” when you can hit that chord with all fingers all at once. You shift quickly to external narrow focus to look at the music and see what notes you have to play next.

Rinse and repeat.

The tactical level is about making choices in the moment.

In combat, it’s 99% by feel, for reasons which I’ll explain another time.

For our hypothetical guitarist, let’s suppose the music calls for you to play that darned B flat.

Well, do you play it legato, staccato and pizzicato, slur up or down, hammer on or off, bend the note, or give it some vibrato?

How do you know?

You know from the feel of the piece, from the context of what came before and what follows.

That’s tactics.

Tactical facility is predicated upon technical perfection. You can’t choose a tactic that you don’t have the technical skill to execute.

Strategy is based upon the pre-existing relationship of the combatants. It’s a general, long-range plan. For our guitarist, it’s a matter of how to “interpret” the piece, in terms of what tactical choices will dominate and how and when they will be employed. You might delve into the composer’s life history. What was he feeling when he wrote this piece? Light, happy, joyful? Dark, brooding, angry? What clues can you discover that will help you express not only the emotional motivation of the composer, but the universality of that truth for you and everyone who hears you play?

The strategy level assumes tactical facility, which in turn presumes technical perfection. You must control both time and space.

At the level of mastery, one no longer does the thing.

The thing does itself.

In this dance, the sword leads, the swordsman follows.

It’s the place where there’s no longer any distinction between the actor and the action.

It’s the place where it is the way it is because it can be no other way.

It’s the place where all things exist according to their own nature, regardless of how we perceive them – and we can know that nature, not cognitively, but intuitively.

It’s the place where all petty contradiction dissolves and paradox becomes high truth.

It’s a place where no human being I know of lives.

But when the wind is right, you can sail by there and catch a glimpse.

To use our musical motif for illustration, suppose you have a band called Sister Edna and the BTS String Quartet. You have some pieces -- Mozart. Bach. Beethoven. Playing them well is “technique.”

Tactics is deciding what order to play the pieces in. You might make up a tentative “set list,” but if that last Mozart piece got the crowd too rowdy and you don’t want them throwing champagne glasses against the chickenwire cage that protects the bandstand, something soothing to the savage breast might be in order, even it it wasn’t next on the tentative list.

That’s tactics.

Where you gig is strategy. You probably won’t audition your string quartet at Billy Bob Joe’s Bar-B-Q and Blues. You need the right technique and the right tactics for your strategy.

At the mastery level, it doesn’t matter what you play or where you play it. The truth of it is compelling. Anybody with ears will dig it.

I once attended a master class given by a terrific jazz pianist.

As part of the class he played “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

Now, that’s a tune that most beginners play and learn to hate. If you ask some people to play it, they might be highly insulted, considering it beneath them, a song for beginners, and they are more advance than that, you see.

Well, no words can describe how, at this master class, this jazz trio brought down the house with Mary Had a Little Lamb! It cooked. It smoked. It swung. It rocked. It was red-hot. It was ice cool.

It was Mary Had a Little Lamb.

The First Inch

2011-02-05T09:01:00.001-05:00

Years ago, when my children were young, we visited a museum while we were on vacation. One of the exhibits has stayed in my mind ever since.

It was a large white column. It was round, maybe 4 feet across, and went from floor to ceiling.

About an inch above the floor, there was a line that went around the column.

There was a small sign explaining the significance.

It said "If all of mathematics was represented by this column, all of the math taught in schools would be in the first inch."

When I first started learning to fence, I was excited about every little detail. New footwork, new blade work, or new warm up stretch, it didn't matter. I eagerly soaked it all in, like a sponge. Each class, I was thrilled to learn something new. This continued through the entire series of classes.

When the class was over, I asked about taking further classes.

I was told that a new series would begin soon, and I could sign up for that and take the class over again.

So I did.

Since the first time, I was, putting it charitably, not highly skilled, I was fine with taking the "same" class over.

This time, it was like watching a movie I had seen before.

The first time watching a movie, you have to pay attention to the plot, the storyline, to who the characters are, or it's easy to get confused, and get to the end of the movie and not know what happened. Concentrating on the story, it's not possible to catch everything.

But if you watch it again, you can relax, let the story flow, and pay attention to the details.

For example, take the movie "The Sixth Sense."

Did you figure it out the first time through? I don't know anyone who did. But watching it a second time, so much was obvious and clear that I entirely missed before.

The second time through the class, although it was not exactly like the first time, it was similar.

The footwork we learned was the same.

The bladework was the same.

But this time, I could begin to do it without tripping on myself.

I was still enthusiastic. Delighted by each class, by the things I was beginning to be able to do.

Although I "knew" intellectually how to do the moves, being able to actually do them made it all feel fresh and new.

At the end of the class, I asked about taking more classes.

I was told that another series of classes would begin soon, and I could sign up for those.

Hmm.

This would be the third time taking the "same" class.

But it was the only available option, and I loved what we were doing, loved how it felt, so I signed up again.

I was hooked by this point. No question.

But the third time through the class, what could there be that would keep me interested? Wouldn't I get bored? Shouldn't I be able to do more advanced things by now?

We worked on the same footwork.

At least it was supposed to be the same.

It had the same names, the same explanations, the same demonstrations as in the previous classes.

And watching the fencing master, it sure looked the same.

The thing is, what I was doing wasn't the same at all.

Moreover, what I wasn't doing, wasn't the same, either.

This time through, I began to feel more comfortable with the movements. My feet were more coordinated with each other, and with my hands. I could maintain the stances for far longer. I could hold the weapon for far longer. I could maintain my focus for longer.

And although the master had said something about "move from your center" from the very first day of the first class, it wasn't until now that I had some understanding of what that felt like.

It was much later that I began to understand why it was important, and how important it was.

Much later than that, when other things he had said from the beginning began to fall into place, and have actual meaning beyond the words.

It took me a while to realize that each time I came to that new recognition of what something meant, that as much as it felt like NOW I understood, I was still in that "first inch" of all there is to know. That I could simultaneously have come so far- and have so far to go.

It isn't only that "the more I know, the more I realize I don't know."

It is also that the more I know, the further I am on this path, the more paths there ARE. The more there IS to know.

I may get beyond that first inch, after all.

I may even reach the top of that column.

And that will be when I can see that the COLUMN itself continues above the ceiling.

In that museum, years ago, that column very probably did continue.

I don't know.

I was too busy looking at the bottom of it to even think of looking up.

I took that intro class six times before taking a different class.

I take it again, every time we teach it, working on that "same" footwork just as much as the "students."

May it always be so.

Around and Around and Around

2011-02-04T09:37:00.001-05:00

Item: When I received my black belt, I was delighted to be invited to the special “black belts only” class. In that class, we worked on 3 of the basic techniques from our “beginner” kata, “heian shodan.”

Item: About to challenge for the heavyweight boxing championship of the world, the contender was asked what he’d been doing to prepare for the fight. He announced, as if revealing a secret weapon, that he’d been working on his jab – the most basic punch in boxing and the first one you learn.

Item: I once dated a brilliant cellist who began her daily practice early --- VERY early -- every morning by playing the major and minor scales.

Many people conceive of mastery as a long path from point a to point b. “The journey of a million miles,” as they say. There’s a notion that as you learn, more “advanced” stuff replaces the “basic” stuff. Even that the “basic” stuff is what you have to grit your teeth and suffer through in order to get to the “good” stuff.

I suppose this is part of the “inoculation” theory of education found in academia that says once you “take” a course you don’t ever have to “take” it again. You have the antibodies.

Let me offer you a different model.

Imagine a great stone tower. The kind your mother used to make – if she was a Norman lord. It’s round, more or less, and 4 or 5 stories high. Maybe higher.

Inside there’s a staircase that spirals around, from bottom to top. At each floor along the way there are narrow arrow-port windows, north, south, east and west, and points between.

Let’s say you enter the north gate and start your ascent. To reach each higher floor requires one full turn around the spiral, and you can look out the windows as you go, north, west, south, east….

At the bottom level you can see the front mass of the attacking army, a wall of shields and swords.

Around you go and up a floor.

When you get to the north side again, you see the mass of the attacking army, but from your new higher perspective, you can also see that it appears to be 8 ranks deep.

Around you go again and up another floor…

When you get to the north side this time, you can see a rank of archers a short distance behind the front lines.

Around again….

Now, at a higher level, looking north you can make out squads of cavalry gathering behind the archers…

Around and around to the top.

From the top of the tower you can see for miles. Beyond the ranks of the opposing army, you can see men building siege engines at the edge of the forest; beyond the forest, farmers in distant fields plowing with oxen, oblivious to the battle; beyond that, distant hills, growing dark under the gathering clouds of an approaching storm….

Learning is a lot like this.

Your journey of a million miles isn’t linear; it’s circular.

Each time you come “back to where you started from” you’re at a higher level, with a different perspective, which gives you a better understanding of what you saw before – or what you couldn’t see from your previous level, even though it was always there.

Things that were obscure at a lower level are in plain sight at higher one.

Whether it’s working on your jab, or playing a major scale, one thing that masters know is that everything important is there right at the beginning. The most vital things are contained in the most elementary techniques. What is true is true of everything, in all times, in all places, for all people, in all situations.

Even if you can’t see it from the level you’re on right now.

My Turn

2011-02-03T09:22:00.002-05:00

Now that the Master has spoken, I'll add a little bit about me. The sidekick to the superhero. Or something. :-)

Things change. Everyone knows that. You live your life, and suddenly, one day, looking back, you realize that things are not the way they were, and often, are not like anything you had imagined. But how often is anyone able to look back and pinpoint the very minute things changed?

Maybe that's why I enjoyed the recent movie "Inception" so much. The concept of changing everything, by inserting one small change, one moment.

One evening, years ago now, I received a phone call from a friend. She called to ask me if I was interested in joining her to take a "sword class" she read about. Not having done anything just for myself since my children were born, and having always "liked swords," I agreed. I had no idea that that simple decision, that moment, would change everything about my life, several times over.

The next week at the first class, some guy walked in and introduced himself as a Fencing Master. Practically from that very moment, I was captivated. Throughout the series of classes, I surprised myself by looking forward to the hard work. Although I was able to do very little as far as technique in those classes, I did learn that this was something I very much wanted- needed- to do. I felt a sense of connection that I had not felt very often before.

That was the beginning.

A couple of years later, there was another important moment, and I remember that one in detail, as well.

It was the first class of a series of beginning foil classes.

During the introduction, listening to the master explain why he teaches, I realized that not only did I want to learn to use the sword, I wanted to learn to teach it.

I mentioned this after class, expecting it to be something I'd work on "some day."

I was invited to assist in a class the next day.

That "assisting" consisted primarily of watching, and was the beginning of what has now become an apprenticeship of over ten years, with daily interaction and guidance.

I may be the only person currently on earth who has had the extraordinary good fortune to have such an apprenticeship.

What this means is that I've spent the last dozen years or so immersed in learning about the sword, and learning to teach. I am still learning. I have a resource that is nearly universally unavailable- a Fencing Master to ask, to work with, to observe, and to learn from. Every day. Full time.

And best of all, as anyone who has worked with him might tell you, he can be a somewhat demanding task master. :-)

I will attempt to share some of that with whoever is interested.

I also have my own blog, which covers a variety of topics. I am a single Mom of three nearly grown kids, all of whom grew up without attending school. I am a volunteer firefighter and EMT. All of that provides much to write about.

Here, on this blog, I'll share my perspective on fencing itself, and on the process of learning to fence, and learning to teach.

I'll share some insight on being an apprentice.

I'll share some of the questions I've had, and how I have searched for, and sometimes found, answers.

I hope it is of some value.

Welcome

2011-02-01T22:43:00.002-05:00

Welcome.

It is my great pleasure to share with you what I know about what I believe to be the True Art, Science and Spirit of the Sword.

A wise man once said, “If you have eight hours to chop down a tree, spend the first seven hours sharpening the axe.”

So this initial entry of The Swordmaster’s Grimoire is about sharpening the axe, to tell you what it is, why it is, who we are, so that you will be able to derive the optimum benefit from your visit.

What is this blog about?

Someone once said, “Any science, sufficiently advanced, is indistinguishable from magic.”

Combat in general, and the use of the sword in particular, are quite scientific, and yet, at times so subtle and sophisticated as to be “indistinguishable from magic,” at least to the untutored eye. But, as with “magical,” illusions, once you know how the trick works, you can never be fooled by it again, and the gaff seems so obvious that you can’t imagine how you were ever fooled by it in the first place.

I refer to the things I’ve learned about the sword and about combat –technically, “behavioral hoplology,” ie, the study of human behavior in combat – as my “grimoire,” my book of “magical” spells, formulas and incantations. My “bag of tricks.” A magician’s toolbox, if you will.

This blog is about sword-fighting or “fencing” in particular, but also about combat in general. It’s also about how the same principles apply in some other areas such as horsemanship, music, fire-fighting, even business and personal relationships. I love finding connections between things that seem on the surface, unconnected

Why another damn blog?

That’s an easy one.

In France, one of the places that brought sword-fighting to the peak of its development, you can’t spit without hitting a fencing master (“maitre d’armes d’escrime"). Fencing salles are as common as bowling alleys are in the States.

But here, fencing masters are a rarity, few and far between. Most people simply don’t have a professional handy to answer their questions, help them work through problems, explain the combat logic behind the “rules,” and generally offer guidance in their practice.

The result is that quite often we have a situation in which the “most experienced” fencer is cast in the role of “teacher,” even if that “experience” amounts to only a single college semester of a beginners’ class.

And these unfortunate folks do the best they can.

Sometimes an interested person will form a group, either live or on-line, and try to figure things out that way. There are times when group brainstorming is just the thing for finding creative ways to solve a problem. But there are some things that can’t be done “by committee,” as anyone who has ever served on one can tell you.

Unfortunately, there is no known mechanism by which a sufficient number of persons, each of whom are ignorant on a given subject, can, by collaborating, spontaneously generate knowledge of it. That is, If you don’t know how to ride a horse, you’re not going to figure it out by asking other people who also don’t know how to ride a horse. Or as a mentor once noted, “If you want to win the broad jump event, you need one guy who can jump 8 feet, not 8 guys who can jump 1 foot each.”

The trouble with being the local “top gun,” is that it can pretty easily go to your head, and make you lose your perspective. When folks start treating you like you know what you’re doing, there’s a tendency to play that role and to act as if you know what you’re doing, even when you don’t.

Here’s another bit of wisdom I like:

The less you know, the more you THINK you know, because you don't know enough to realize how MUCH there is to know.

The more you know, the more you realize how LITTLE you know because you know enough to see how MUCH there is to know.

Now, by that measure, I must know something because I often feel like I don’t know anything at all!

But there is one thing I know for sure:

At present, the sword is an endangered species.

At one time, the title “Maitre d’Armes” may have meant something. Back in the days when disputes might be settled with blood in a remote private location rather than with ink in a courtroom. In those times, a man who made his livelihood by teaching swordfighting had to know his business. Dead clients don’t pay – and make for very bad advertising.

Today, no one’s life is at stake.

Since the “sport” of fencing finally abandoned its traditional roots of verisimilitude and combat-logic in the early 1980’s, only a very few have continued to practice fencing as an art based on real-life combat. Most fencing masters were employed by schools and colleges that unwittingly subscribed to the new and antithetical “interpretation” of the rules, which contradicted hundreds of years of knowledge and experience.

Whether they agreed or not, they had to “go along to get along” and keep their jobs.

Now we are left with the vestigial remains of “fencing,” resembling real-world, life-or-death fighting about as much as the vestigial hind legs of a Baleen whale resemble real, functioning legs.

The sport called “fencing” shares with sword-fighting the name, but little else. There is nothing left in the sport that even remotely resembles the manner in which a sword could or should be used --- always assuming, of course that the bearer wishes to survive the encounter suffering the least possible injury.

Fencing Masters at one time were expected to have a comprehensive knowledge of the sword, able to teach “any aspect of fencing to anyone at any level for any reason.” Being a “coach” for an athletic contest was one small part of the job. Staging sword stunts for theatre and film was another. Developing self-discipline and character in children was another. Providing healthy recreation that kept the elderly mentally and physically agile was yet another.

Note that only ONE of these jobs was primarily focused on the winning of athletic contests.

Now, however, “winning” is all that matters.

You don’t need a fencing master just for that.

All you need is a coach.

So mostly - with one or two notable exceptions - we're not making any more fencing masters.

Just coaches.

When I was in the service, aboard ship we had a hospital corpsman, who, like all hospital corpsmen, was addressed by the sobriquet, “Doc.” While he was adept at first aid and doling out aspirin, he certainly wasn’t a real doctor, and I believe he knew that as well as anyone. He wouldn’t have attempted major surgery, and he certainly wouldn’t expect actual MD’s to address him as “doctor,” and consider him a “colleague.”

Much the same is true of the new fencing coaches. Except that they want to be called "doctor."

With the “sport” of fencing breaking away and going off on its own tangent, the traditional practice of fencing became known as “classical” fencing to distinguish it from what had previously to that time been known only as “incorrect” fencing, now referred to as “Olympic” fencing. I confess I’m partly to blame for that terminology. Um, quite a large part, I’m afraid. My only defense is that I was trying to be courteous. I think that was a mistake.

“Classical fencing” has no centralized organization, and many of the people out there who use the term don’t even agree on what it is, what they are doing or why they do it, and a least a few apparently haven’t even the vaguest notion.

Some think it means fencing without the electrical scoring apparatus.

Some think it refers to a particular time period, reducing it to a “re-enactment” that makes a fetish out of using the terms and wearing the apparel of a century or more ago.

Some religiousify it (if I may borrow the term from Woody Alllen) seeming to confuse the “great masters” with Moses and other biblical heroes, and treating the words written by anyone no longer available for comment as if they were divinely inspired.

If fencing is to survive, it is imperative that those few of us who were properly taught the true art, science and spirit of the sword, and have remained steadfast in those things, share that knowledge with those who desire to learn it.

We must find ways to create community, and to share information -- even if, initially at least, there is some disagreement on a few relatively minor points, such as there has always been between the various schools of Italy and France.

To that end, in order to share what we know, and what we do, so that perhaps the sword may survive a little longer, we have created this blog.

We encourage others to start their own, and share what they know, too.

Who the hell am I, anyway?

If you’re going to assess my credibility in any meaningful way, you have to know something about me. Here’s what I think is relevant:

I started studying combat when I was 13. A fat, wheezy child, I grew weary of being the preferred target of every playground bully and street thug in my hood. For me, “martial arts” was never primarily about self-mastery, or achieving universal harmony or enlightenment. I only discovered that aspect much later, when I accidentally tripped and fell in it. For me, fighting was about fighting, pure and simple. It’s doing unto others what they are trying to do unto you, only doing it harder, faster, smarter and more effectively. “To hit without being hit.” That’s the sine qua non of combat.

I’ve spent 40 years studying fighting. I’ve practiced several flavors of karate (highest rank achieved third degree black belt), aikido, kung-fu, iaido and kendo and points East. I’ve done Western boxing and fencing, two close cousins which remain my favorites.

For three years, I was an apprentice of Maitre Jean-Jacques Gillet, who was then the head fencing coach at Cornell University. In 1980 I earned his diploma and passed the fencing master exam that was given at that time by the now-defunct US Academy of Armes.

I’ve been teaching professionally ever since. I’ve taught self-defense, karate, and boxing fundamentals, in addition to fencing. I currently teach Classical fencing, Renaissance Fencing (rapier and dagger) and Medieval Fencing (long sword and short sword) at Cornell and at my own studio in beautiful, sunny Ithaca, NY. I’ve done some mounted combat, using both the lance and the sword, and we’re developing a beginners’ class on that.

A few years ago, with the invaluable assistance of my prevost who did most of the heavy lifting, I put together a little book called Classical Fencing: The Martial Art of Incurable Romantics, largely because I grew weary of making reams of photocopies for my students every semester. We're now considering writing up something more on "technique."

At this point I think it's de rigeur to toss in a couple of personal nuggets:

I have a masters degree in organizational communication. Don't ask me why.

Horses are my religion. I prefer their company to that of human beings by several orders of magnitude.

I write a little, compose a little music. I like everything from country to classical, with a special fondness for jazz and blues.

I read a lot about Law, but apart from that, don't generally read fiction.

I've become an amateur "expert" on the psychopathic personality, but a little too late.

I have an allergic reaction to bullies. It makes them break out in bruises.

My favorite color is..... no, that's enough. We probably won't be dating.