I am not what you might call a swashbuckler. The only villains I have dispatched to Davey Jones’ locker have been made of plastic, and I’ve never wielded a sword in lethal combat. Yet despite my lack of sabre-rattling experience, I was haunted with images of lightning duels and zinging wisecracks la Pirates of the Caribbean and The Princess Bride, until, succumbing to the delusions, I signed up for a one-hour intro-to-fencing course at the Athletic Centre’s Fencing Salle.
It appeared I was not the only one with aspirations to one day take down Darth Vader, as about 15 students-guys and girls of all ages-had plunked down the five pieces of gold needed to play pirate for an hour. I soon found out, to my begrudging acceptance, that beginner fencing contains none of the spark-flying duels I’d hoped for. Good thing, too, since my fencing career got off to a less than auspicious start when I held the sword in the wrong hand and dropped into a lopsided en garde position.
Lead by Nicholas Rudzik, assistant coach of U of T’s fencing team, and under the guidance of head coach maitre Ken Wood, our band of initiates learned the basic stance and movements of fencing, as well as lunge and defense postures. Although most of us had never held a sword before, not even the lightest pee, we all enthusiastically attacked the problem of not falling over while sliding back and forth and lunging.
I was impressed with the amount of focus even this basic fencing lesson required. Although my opponent was five feet away and Rudzik was dictating all of our moves to avoid any actual contact, it took a lot of concentration and reflexes to counter his steps effectively. I winced when I tried to imagine the the mental and physical agility required in a competitive match of “physical chess,” as fencing is known.
In fact, fencing is becoming more and more competitive in Ontario as the sport continues to grow. There are currently three to four hundred competitive fencers per sword (pee, foil and sabre) in the province. U of T has a strong fencing team that competes in provincial tournaments. Many of its members are veterans of the weekly programs offered at the AC. (If you’re interested and in town, check out the course offered this summer.)
Though at the close of the session our mottled crew of swordslingers hadn’t quite been moulded into a crack team of Ninja Turtles, we had made a few friends and picked up some good tips about a sport that turned out to be quite different from our wildest dreams. Still pressing for some story to tell my friends about this adventure, I asked Rudzik whether in competition he could anticipate his opponent’s next move by “seeing it in his eyes.” With the look of a man who’d been asked that question one too many times in his 12 years of fencing, he sagely pointed out that if he was looking at an opponent’s eyes he wasn’t looking at the tip of his sword. Turns out looks can’t kill, only the blades can. I stand corrected-touch.
With a final gesture of thanks to our opponents, leaving our swordhand free in case of a dirty trick, we trudged back to the outside world with a taste of how disputes were settled-permanently-in medieval times. Although I’m not ready for a tournament, armed with this new knowledge and my trusty pee, I might have enough skill to play an extra in Pirates II. With my luck, it’ll probably be one who gets killed off early.
