sweat, swordplay and sex appeal

hey there boys, girls, and those with a little of both.  again, sincerest appologies for my lack of writting lately, but it’s not easy for me to simultaniously find the time and ambition to write.

As you may or most likely may not know, I am a member of a small group of people who regularly get together and attack each other with long metal sticks.  In short, I am a fencer.  No, not the "three musketeers" crap. i’m talking olympic style.  Granted, I pretty much suck, but that’s besides the point.  Why do I bring this up, you ask?  Well, today I competed in a small foil tournament my club put on in the university every semester.  And while this isnt my first tournament, and it was far from my best performance, I learned something new today: As much as i used to love and live for football, I’m starting to feel the same way about fencing.  the people are so much fun, and so very much more interesting to speak to.  the training is just as rigorous, only noticably more cerebral.  the attention to detail is so miniscule it takes years, if not decades to fully understand, and it would be decades well spent.  I get the same rush i had in high school when i’d open up the running lane with a well placed block as I do now with a pris-de-fer, or a head-cut.

Admitedly, the level of self-awesomeness in fencing is nowhere near the level of football.  We see in movies all the time, of the football player standing tall against the background in turmoil, radiating with pride.  fencing is nowhere near that dramatic.  there are no cheap shots, there are no game chancing fumbles or interceptions.  there is only the drive and grit any true athlete loves.  the determination to improve for your own sake, i think, is what makes things so interesting for me.  in football, i did it all for the team.  i’d bleed for the team, i’d puke my guts out during twoadays for the team.  but I also knew the team had my back.  in fencing, sure you have a coach, you have people you practice with, but when it comes time, there’s nothing else there except you and 3 feet of steel to depend on.  to stand on one’s own in that tension, and to compete at your personal top level, is the ultimate goal, i think, of any athlete.  not as self-awesome, but far more self-motivating.

speaking of self motivation, i cannot for the life of me get up the gumption to get back in the gym.  I know i need to get in better shape if i wanna step up my fencing.  it’s strange really, once i get in the weight room, i’m a machine. i love to test myself and see exactly what i can and cannot handle. i love the smell of the steel mixed with a hint of sweat, i supose it’s gross, but i always have.  the idea of a place dedicated solely to self-betterment, and reserved strictly for the masochistic at heart has always been a good dea to me.  but to actually set aside time to do it is an entirely different matter.  by the end of the day I am so exausted, the idea of working out is the last thing on my mind.  but i know i have to do it.

and besides, I never feel more confident about my physique than when i’m done hauling around more than my own body weight in steel. sure, i’m overweight, i’m kind short, and pale as snow, but there’s something about the sound of 350 pounds of metal hitting the floor that says "I am all that is man".  maybe that’s just me.

till things are brighter.

nick.