History of a fencer, part II

My years fencing for Penn State were some of the best in my career as a fencer. One of the reasons I'd originally chosen fencing was that it is, for the most part, an individual sport. I didn't want teamates to have to rely on me, too many bad memories from elementary school gym class. I wanted to compete for myself and only myself without being put at risk of becoming "the goat" of a team.

When I started fencing NCAA's all of that had to change. NCAA's are fenced in a team format so individual victories and defeats all go towards the team's point standing. I hated this at first. I can't stand to let people down and this format put me in a posistion where that could very well happen. The unexpected effect though was that I pushed myself that much harder in training.

Practices at Penn State were generally not as physically or mentally demanding as those at RFC. They were shorter with less intense footwork, conditioning, and drilling. There were two things though that pushed me much farther than I ever could have gone at RFC. The bouting was more intense and with more teamates, and the individual lessons I got made those at RFC look like a stroll through the park. For one thing they were usually about 45 minutes long versus the 20 at RFC. For another I had to go at full speed the entire lesson. The motivating factor in this was my coach, Wes. He's a former 7 time polish national champion and Olympic saber coach. If you've ever seen video of Navy Seal instructors working over trainees then you have a basic idea of one of his lessons. If it wasn't right, do it again. You're tired? So what. If you don't want to train, why did you show up? Two things were made clear very early on. One, he was going to kick your ass all up and down the strip. Two, you volenteered for it.

There was method to the madness though. By putting his students through the physical and mental strain of his lessons you really got ready for those bouts where it's tied up 4-4 and the next touch means victory or defeat not just for you but for your whole team. If you can deal with a screaming Pole chaseing you all over the place with a saber, trying to land a cut on some bit of exposed skin, you can handle that situation pretty well. There was a distinct difference though between his antics and those of my first coach (Yell). Where as Yell would just be mad at you that you didn't do it right, Wes would yell at you because he knew you could do it better. Even if you caught a shot accross the ribs or on the elbow there wasn't malice behind it. It still hurt, but when your coach is standing there chuckling and telling you that his grandmother could do it better as opposed to screaming obscenities at you there is a different dynamic at play. One other thing about Wes, he always coaches to the level of his student. He reserves this kind of treatment for those who have been training hard for a long time, have reached a high level of competency, and are trying to push past their current limits. When he's working with kids he's a teddy bear.

I got over my insecurity of team competition and really began to love it. The greater stress of other's counting on my performance continued to drive my training and push my limits. Not only that but I formed very strong friendships with my teammates because of it. I remember my first week at PSU one of the other freshman fencers was talking about how she'd had these great world cup results and that NCAA fencing was a joke and just her way of paying for college. By the end of the year that same girl was as rabid about winning championships as our coaches. There were those on the team who I think fenced only because it would look good on a resume or because of the higher status and privlidges student athletes recieve, these people were for the most part ignored by the real competitors on the team. Even the occasional good fencer fell into this category, but if you weren't dead serious about winning you weren't really part of the team. In fact there were a few people who were there on scholarship or even full athletic grant who didn't have the necessary mind set to conistently train hard, support their teammates, and win. These fencers almost always fell by the wayside principally because of a lack of commitment. Conversely there were fencers on the team that received no extra benefits who worked their asses off. These were the people you could always count on to give you their best. It was this core group of fencers that made PSU win time after time regardless of if they had fenced in the competition or not. Frankly I'll always prefer to be on the team with the hardest workers versus the team with tons of talent but no drive. It was this attitude that created a culture of winning at Penn State.

We were expected to win, and we worked to dominate our opponents. There are plenty of victories in my memory where our adversaries didn't win a single bout. We even had a rule that if you were the only person to drop a bout to an opposing team, you had to buy the keg for the victory party. We ruthlessly enforced this too. Once, my teammate Mike tore his meniscus during warm up before a dual meet. We only had three for the saber squad so rather than forfeit his bouts he fenced anyway without telling the trainer (If he had they wouldn't have let him fence). He still had a winning day but he was the only person to drop a bout to two different teams so he was obligated to buy two kegs, which he later negotiated to one keg of good beer. Granted he complied after a great deal of bitching and moaning but by doing so he set an example for the team. The next year he was elected team captain even though he was still somewhat hobbled from his injury. Plus he got the added bonus of telling that story anytime an incoming freshman complained about anything team related.

Each of the three years I competed for Penn State we won NCAA Championships and I made second team All-American. The first by just a few points, the second by what I think is the widest margin in NCAA history, and the third again by just a few points. My junior year was the last year I competed for PSU. I was at the pinnacle of my skill level and athletic ability. Every dual meet I put myself in as the anchor and I didn't lose any 4-4 team matches. At NCAA Champs the men fenced second and blew the lead that the women had generated on the first two days, I fenced mediorce at best. The second day I lost my first bout and I could see the looks of disapointment on my teammates and coaches faces. I decided that having any anxiety about winning or losing my bouts wasn't going to help me at all and I just let it all drop away. How I did this I can't say because I don't know, but every action became totally natural, obvious, and without effort. I was in the zone. The day turned into my single best day as a competitor. That first loss was my only loss of the day, I was untouchable after that. All of the men's team dug deep that day and in the end we were the victors. St. John's took second and to give them credit they fenced like absolute madmen. Not only did we only beat them by only a few points but they didn't have a full team that year. PSU had qualified 12 fencers while they had only 11. After the competiton some of my teammates were upset that the victory had been so close and that they personally hadn't contributed as much as they thought they should have. I pointed out though that without the wins they had accumulated we wouldn't have won at all, and that "Dumbass, that's why we're a team."

End of part II