The Art of Aggression

Just got home from fencing class and feel all revved up and buzzed on the exercise. There is such freedom in fencing. You focus all of your attention on your opponent, anticipating their every move, looking for an opening before you strike their breast in an explosive instant. It’s the contrast of control and release that is intoxicating. You become hyper aware of your breathing and the view of your world narrows to a field of white, the target. Sound falls away and you are thought and motion, one. I tend to be very aggressive, attacking and pressing, forcing my partner to defend. So I am practicing patience, learning to wait, to let them attack and then strike on the parry. It feels like music when you execute it well. I like to watch the others fence, you can get lost in the back and forth, the tension, its escalation and the coup de grâce.
The shower feels wonderful afterwards. You are so aware of your body that the coursing heated water is a lover’s touch, first soft and then hard as you turn it up to rinse the soap from your skin.
The Saturday after this one I will compete for the first time. I will probably lose badly. But the drive to win is so strong in me that the approaching contest will only make me increase my intensity. I plan on joining the fencing team on Thursday for extra practice and to learn some moves that are more advanced than what our instructor is willing to teach. Meanwhile I will buy a few pieces of equipment to have as my own. A breastplate, a glove…the beginning of a collection.

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