Me on the left, a few years ago in Arizona
Last year, my college fencing club's coach brought her friend to one of our practices. It's always enjoyable to meet and bout against someone new, especially if they're friendly and jocular, as this older fencing veteran was.
When it was my turn to get on the strip to fence him, his face beamed. "I love fencing girls!" he told us. "You know, I couldn't do that until it was allowed several years ago, because they're so delicate!" I chuckled politely while side-eyeing my teammates. DELICATE?!
In the spring of seventh grade (gosh, that was in 2009), I asked my mom to enroll me in a weekly fencing class that took place in our town's community center. My motivation? I saw this as an opportunity to 1) try out a seemingly cool and unique sport 2) have an excuse to stop playing golf — the sport that my family pretty much centers around, and since I'm nowhere as good as my sisters, has led to constant feelings of inadequacy. Woo!
Little did I know that after those classes, I would be so captivated by fencing's demand for both quick feet and quick thinking that I would join a real fencing club, become actually interested in competing, and feel empowered as a teenage girl.
When you're seventeen years old and win champagne at a local open event
Of course it felt good and boosted my confidence to have won a few medals and done well in some women's events. But it was practicing in my club with, and fencing in local tournaments against, people of any gender (and of practically any age) that really developed me as a person, by teaching me how amazing inclusiveness can be in athletics.
I can't think of any other sport that has sanctioned competitions in which individuals of any gender — as long as they're over thirteen years-old — can enter. The opportunity to fence an adolescent, adult, or "veteran" man not just in practice, but also in legitimate tournaments, gives me the ability to thrash or be thrashed by him in sports and contests where I normally couldn't. Consequently, I'm not restricted by and prejudiced for being a young woman; I win or lose bouts because of comparative experience and skill. Gender and age are not disadvantages. Rather, fencing has taught me that these are aspects of my identity that I should be proud of.
Throughout my fencing career, it was clear that female role models in the sport are definitely abundant. My coach has told my teammates and me that the greatest fencer who ever lived is in fact, a woman: Valentina Vezzali. A winner of six Olympic gold medals and fourteen World Championships for women's foil events, Vezzali is also a mother, as well as a politician.
Additionally, the flag bearer for Team USA at the 2012 London Olympics Opening Ceremony was Mariel Zagunis, two-time Olympic champion in women's saber and the first U.S. fencer to win gold in a century at Athens. More recently in the news, saber fencer Ibtihaj Muhammad will be the first U.S. athlete to compete in the Olympics in a hijab, later this year.
Valentina Vezzali, celebrating a touch. Fencing can get hecka emotional.
While I've never been, and am nowhere near their international level, these women, along with many others, never fail to amaze and inspire me. It's so refreshing to see women represented, not just as successes within their own "women's only" events, but for the sport as a whole. Fencing's inclusivity has transformed my approach to athletics, as well as other realms; without these experiences, I'm not sure if I would be as passionate as I am today about the importance of empowering women.
Some less eloquent (and probably more spiteful) variation of this thought entered my mind when I went en garde and faced that older, somewhat sexist male visitor from that day at practice a year ago. That maybe, I could change his perspective on fencing women, even if it was just for a little bit. That maybe, I needed to teach him what I personally learned over the course of my seven years of fencing.
And after the bout quickly ended with a decisive score, I like to think that I did — to put it "delicately."
