King's and Queen's Rapier Champions, Part Two

The day-of.

There are a lot of directions I could go with this.

I could go into a general talk about how mental health and "tournament game" are inseparable. I could talk about all of the other experiences that led to that day. Instead, I'm just going to leave it alone and talk about the day itself, because quite frankly, that previous post was too emotionally exhausting for me to write anything more serious.

*****

The day-of, I got up early and had Dunkin Donuts for breakfast, as is traditional. I had two Vitamin Water Energy drinks, as well as a Diet Coke, a bottle of water, and some of my favored powdered coffee to drink. Basically, I've reached a point where all of the liquids I drink are caffeinated, for better or for worse.

Over the past few days, an idea had been brewing in my head. In school, I was a good test-taker. This doesn't mean that my anxiety is good or bad - it just means that there is a particular type of anxiety that makes me excel. So, I tried to tap into that feeling. I had several mantras throughout the day.

• "Like a test you know the answers to."
• As stated above, this is designed to invoke the feeling I have about standardized testing - that I'm good at it, and that even if I don't know the answers, I can usually use meta-information in the test to answer them. It is designed to bring about that anxious-but-ready feeling.
• "Just another fight."
• The implication here is that it isn't anything special, so I don't need to feel anything about it, positive or negative, because any feelings can lead to mistakes.
• "Nothing before, nothing after."
• Nothing which has happened before matters in the fight. Not my previous passes with the people I fight, not how I have been performing in the day. None of it. As well, nothing that happens after the fight matters. What will happen, will happen. All that matters is the fight itself.
• My own secret mantra.
• This is a sequence of nonsense words that I have used over the years to quell my own personal anxiety. As a matter of half-believed superstition, I do not tell them to other people because I believe that they have special significance.
• Random compulsions.
• If something floated across my mind, I would just do it. I decided to give in to all of the "I should adjust that dagger slightly so it feels right" or "my gloves need to be on my mask in a particular way" compulsions, to free the energy that I normally spend suppressing them. As well, to get my body used to responding instantly to whatever my heart wants me to do, whatever my reactions say I should do, because that's where fencing comes from.

My strategy for the day was to create openings and exploit them when they were big enough. It's a general enough strategy to not get caught in the muck of the fight. But it's also a specific enough strategy that I could always fall back on it. I'll write about more specifics on how I had been thinking about it, some day.

I decided that I was going to wear my most comfortable clothes for fighting. This means my doublet, my older shirt, leather gloves, and only my OGR pin. No scarf, since that had hurt my arm at Rose Tournament. No favors, because I would be fighting everybody whose favors I wear. No belt, no nothing distracting.

I fought some passes against Malocchio. He was on fire. I was... okay. Partway through, I realized that my socks were drooping, so I switched them out for a tighter, newer pair. He was my only warm-up.

After that, I decided to get into my head-space. We were divided up into pools. After my fight with Caoilfhionn, I had to run and get my hat. I was not relaxed, but I wasn't tense either. I was sipping drinks through the fights. Every fight, I made the same salute and got into the same stance. With only a few exceptions, I maintained my rhythm. After every fight, I would put down my sword and dagger, take off my mask, put my gloves on top of my mask, take down my hood, put on my hat, adjust it so nobody could make eye contact with me, take a sip of water, check my heart-rate on my Fitbit, and wait.

The rounds were arranged in a way which is ideal for me. My first fights were against more hesitant fighters - this is good because I tend to fight better after my first fight or two. At the start I tend to be antsy and hesitant. I won my first pass with hand-shots, because I didn't want to commit.

My fights were always at the top of the round. This was good, because it made them predictable. As well, fights were called rather than having to negotiate and engage socially with who I was going to fight.

A couple of people did a nice thing and tanked social encounters when people tried to talk to me. That was kind of them.

My heartburn started kicking in, starting a bit after my first fight. That was a good thing. That gave me a "dumb" thing to concentrate on - it hurt. My only thoughts at the time were something like, "This hurts. I'm cold. I'm a bit hungry. I'm a bit thirsty." Historically, I do well when I am a bit uncomfortable and a bit hungry. When I'm not a bit uncomfortable, my brain has room to have thoughts. Thoughts are anathema. I did allow myself to shiver with the stress, and rearrange objects based on random floating compulsions, though.

The Fitbit was useful - I found that generally my best fights ended with my heart rate around 100 bpm. Any more and it was a sign that the fight had gotten me too nervous. Any less was a sign that I was flagging and needed to be slightly more anxious.

So, I fought and I fought and I fought. My pool had several people who I historically have a hard time against. My first near-loss was one in which my opponent called that they were late. The same thing happened a second time later. Eventually I got a double-kill against Robert Earlson and a straight-up loss against Remy, who was also on fire that day. I was purposefully not paying attention to anyone else's fights. As such, I was mildly surprised that I progressed out of my pool. The whole thing lasted for about 2 hours of fighting and waiting.

*****

Afterwards, I immediately dropped my game-face and started talking. I put a little cheese and bread in my face, I threw away the two empty Vitamin Waters, and waited. Eventually, the Sweet 16 were announced. I ran off, hit the restroom, and grabbed my Diet Coke and made myself some instant coffee, which I sipped throughout the Sweet 16.

*****

In the Sweet 16, I knew I needed to redouble my headspace-game. So, I dove head-first into the set of mantras I had. Where previously they were just there in case I needed them, starting in the Sweet 16 I invoked them repeatedly.

I still didn't watch anyone else fighting. In some far-off place, I hoped not to have to fight Remy or Malocchio, since they had both proven to me that they were on fire.

And so things went, with me fighting my best fight and not thinking too hard about who I was fighting. Things happened, good and bad, in the course of those fights, but I remained mostly dead to the world. As time went on, I started making more mouth-noises. "Woo" and things like that. Inside me, but still isolated from me, there was a rising joy of fighting. Of the wonderful, beautiful violence that was happening.

The part of me that was making choices was still isolated, but in the same way I was allowing my compulsions to happen without any interference, I let my joy go straight from my heart to my mouth, without even considering interposing my brain.

Some people tried to get in my head or under my skin. I saw it for what it truly was - they respected me as an opponent and didn't want to lose. Perhaps they were even scared of me. Their words didn't mean what their words said - they meant what they were feeling inside. So, I invoked my inner Will Deth and let it slide off of my heart.

My heart rate and energy levels flagged a bit before fighting Caine. I kept pacing and put a bit of bounce into my step. I re-doubled and re-tripled into my mantras, and managed to stay in the game. That was the hardest part of the mental game - nothing that Caine said or did, but maintaining intensity into and through that fight. Again, I had neither opinions nor judgement about whether or not I would win, or whether winning or losing had any value. It was just another fight, just like any other.

I briefly looked at Malocchio and Remy fighting, when they finally fought. I had no opinions about who I wanted to win - they both would be ferocious opponents.

*****

As much as this post and the previous post have been all about being ridiculously honest and forthright, I can't say too much about fighting Remy and Malocchio yet. They were both gracious, extremely skilled opponents. My fights with them gave me a new respect for the both of them, and I already respected the hell out of them both. But aside from this one anecdote... not yet.

*****

In my last set of fights against Remy, we fought and we fought.

I won a truly long pass.

He won a pass.

He won another.

I grabbed my dagger.

I won the first.

I think we might have double-killed?

He won the second.

At that point, I think I fell over and took off my mask, from the tension. At that moment, I thought I had lost to him, and was prepared to hug him and walk off of the field. I had a good run, but I was happy for Remy and unsurprised. He was fighting so very, very well that day.

Everybody was still staring at me.

I thought back about the results thus far. No, I hadn't lost yet. We were 1-1 in the second set of fights.

Oh damn.

So, I put back on my mask and kept fighting.

*****

And then there was a post-revel. I was a bit of a butt - there are one or two things which seemed hilarious and unrelated-to-the-tournament to me at the time, but in retrospect probably seemed ungracious of me. I can and will endeavor to be better in the future.

*****

Thank you for indulging me by reading this post. If anything, I know that more people than ever will be gunning for my head. And I know that at least two of them can take me down if I flinch even a little bit. But I welcome this challenge.

I welcome it, with joy in my heart.

King's and Queen's Rapier Champions, Part One

This year, I won K&Q Rapier Champs.

For those who don't know, this is The Tournament in the East. This year there were over ninety fencers, fighting to be Champion. It's a hell of a thing. I've never before made it out of my pool, but for the past three years, two of the top four were from my pool. The difference this year was that I was one of those two.

But let's not talk about this year yet. Let's talk about last year.

If you're not comfortable with Real-Talk posts, don't read this. It's sincere, and lays things out there in a way that I haven't really done for anyone other than Sorcha.

*****

Last year's K&Q was Rough for me, for complex reasons. You see, people like narratives. So, in the first few years after I moved East, there was a running narrative in my head, based on the order in which things went. Basically, my Don, Thomas of Effingham, would receive an award, then Sorcha would, then I would. Here's the order in which things went:

1. Thomas already had his Award of Arms.
2. Sorcha got her Award of Arms.
3. I got my Award of arms.
4. Thomas was inducted into the Order of the Silver Rapier.
5. Sorcha was inducted into the Order of the Silver Rapier, receiving Thomas's medallion.
6. I was inducted into the Order of the Silver Rapier, receiving Thomas's medallion via Sorcha.
7. Thomas was inducted into the Order of the Perseus.
8. Sorcha was inducted into the Order of the Perseus, receiving Thomas's medallion.
9. I was inducted into the Order of the Perseus, receiving Thomas's medallion via Sorcha.
10. Thomas became Queen's Champion.
11. Sorcha became Queen's Champion under Thyra, who she had fought for previously.
12. And then King's and Queen's Rapier happened.

Last year, Caoilfhionn was the Queen. I adore her. She is fantastic and amazing. I had fought for her on several occasions - while Thomas was her primary rapier fighter, I was her number-two. As well, Thomas would not be able to become Queen's Champion again, because that's not how these things work. I was convinced that if I made it out of my pool, I would get to be her Queen's Champion.

So, I walked into that tournament needing to get out of my pool. Hungry for it. Convinced that the narrative of the day, of my career as a fencer, was on my side.

That day, Thomas wasn't feeling like entering the tournament. I won't go into detail, but I'm pretty sure it was, at least in part, my impassioned plea to him that convinced him to fight that day.

So, we warmed up for the tournament. I warmed up against Wyatt and Edward, two people who I have trouble against, but who I was relatively convinced that I had one "trick" I could use, for each of them, to take at least one pass. At the time, I was much more of a "bag-of-tricks" fencer than I am now. So, thinking about how unlikely it is that in a tournament of 80 people, they would end up in my pool, I used my tricks in warm-ups.

Then the pools were announced. All three of them were in my pool. I lost to the three of them, and only them.

Edward elected not to progress, leaving Thomas and Wyatt as first and second place in our pool. Third place was a tie between myself and Jean-Michel, and I had beaten Jean in the pools. So, if I had not encouraged Thomas to fight, I would have progressed.

Ouch.

I wandered off, over the site.

It was a beautiful day.

I stared at the sea and I cried. It hurt. It hurt so bad. Because I was happy that my friend was doing well, but I couldn't escape the knowledge that, if I hadn't encouraged him at the last minute to fight that day, I would have progressed. I was convinced that I would have been Queen's Champion!

It hurt for a long time.

But my Don, my friend, was still fighting that day.

So, I put on my big-boy pants, and I supported the hell out of him. I supported him the best I could.

In the end, he made it to the finals against another of my friends. He lost to Master Donovan, partly because Donovan, for various reasons, wanted it more that day. I was happy for Thomas, though, because he had fought well and gotten so far. It was a good day for him.

At-the-time-Lord Llewellyn was selected as Queen's Champion. I consoled myself with the knowledge that he would be a better Queen's Champion than I would have been. I chastised myself and told myself that it wouldn't have been the non-question that I, in my hubris, thought it was, that he would have been a better choice than me, even if I had made it into the Sweet 16. Really, the man's the ideal Queen's champion, and all future champs will have a hard time filling the shoes he left.

It was a good day for Thomas. I still don't regret anything I did that day. I made all the right choices, and Thomas left that day feeling good. I was sincerely happy for him.

At the same time, I hurt, but I couldn't show it. Llewellyn probably remembers the gritted teeth through which I called him "Champ" over the first half of his time there. It was even worse because I knew that he was the better man for the job, so I couldn't complain in the slightest.

But still. I had wanted to be Caoilfhionn's champion, like my Don had been before me. I had wanted it so very, very badly.

*****

The reason I talk about this now is because, had things not happened in exactly this way, I would not be King's Champion today. Last year was an object lesson in letting go of regrets. A lesson in letting go of everything.

Walking into the tournament last Saturday, I knew that there was nothing that could happen that would be harder than last year. All of that pain and those conflicting emotions. The joy I felt for Thomas, Llewellyn, and Donovan. The agony I felt about how, if I had just been a worse person and not encouraged Thomas to fight, that could have been me. The shame I felt about even thinking that.

I didn't walk in on Saturday, thinking that it was "my year". I walked in with a clear mind, ready to fight my fight. I walked in, having let absolutely everything go. Having already been through the hardest tournament experience I can imagine.

*****

Here's a link to part two.