I am now three weeks into my four-week “intro to swordfighting” class. I’m enjoying it an immense amount, although the traffic-clogged drive makes it unlikely that I continue beyond this course. So why am I driving an hour each way on my Sunday to sweat while swinging around a two-handed longsword that could cut a pig in half with one swipe? (OK, our swords aren’t edged – training swords are plastic – but the idea is still there and we are constantly warned to treat them as if they were real, which means no horseplay and no thoughtlessly resting your blade on your shoulder like a baseball bat.)
There’s an undeniable elegance to Italian swordfighting. (Swordwind, where I’m taking this class, also teaches the German style of fighting which is much more “cut their face off and they’ll probably stop running towards you.” Suitable, when you consider that in the 19th century, Germans considered facial dueling scars to be a mark of honor.) Anyway, the Italian style is marked by lots of flourish and swagger. As my instructor puts it, “There are three rules to Italian swordfighting. One – be safe. Two – be able to get out of there alive. Three – look really cool doing Rules One and Two.” Much of this is peacocking – looking haughty and intimidating is actually a thing in this style. In three sessions, we’ve learned basic footwork, cuts, thrusts, and parries, using both our dominant and non-dominant sides.
It’s been interesting. I’m the only woman in the class, I’m the only left-handed fighter, and I’m easily 20 years older than anyone else in there (and probably twice that for several students). And while the others are beginning to show flashes of looking like really cool Italian nobles defending the honor of their house, I feel more like an Italian nonna who has been pressed into defending the honor of her linguini. Well, we take what we can get.
Swordfighting is actually not at all about strength – you have three feet of super-sharp steel coming at your head at a fast rate and you quickly learn that the outcome rests on brains, agility, and speed. I watched a skirmish competition today after class. Matches are limited to two minutes total and most were over inside of 30 seconds. Even a tall adversary with superior reach is no match for a smart, nimble fighter.
All of this is to say – stretch yourself, Divas. Try something way outside of your comfort zone. You may discover a talent you never knew you had, but you’ll certainly discover an appreciation for the skill set. And if you need further motivation, watch the seven-minute swordfight in 1952’s Scaramouche. Then review this simple “How to Win a Swordfight” tutorial.
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