…of fencing coaches
Other than my first coaches, those wonderful men who were generally too busy trying to stop 12-year-olds smacking each other with swords to focus on much else, I honestly believe that fencing coaches say some of the most insightful things you are ever likely to hear.
More often than not, the profound nature of these statement is not immediately apparent, and you are left with the unshakeable feeling that they have misunderstood something of great value.
My very first teachers notwithstanding, I have had three coaches who, in their own unique ways, have shaped me as a fencer and as a person.
With the exception of my dad, I think Laszlo has had a bigger impact on my life than any other man.
Not in a Mr Miyagi, student/master zen-type way, but through the very practical fact that my decision of where to go to university was based almost exclusively on the fact that he was there.
So the four years that I consider to be the most formative time of my life, the years in which I decided who I wanted to be, and that made me who I currently am (the two things are not the same right now) where all experienced because Laszlo exists.
He was a constant presence, a more essential part of my university career than any lecturer.
Patient when I was struggling, over-joyed by my successes, deeply sympathetic when I was injured.
Generous with his time. Committed to his students young and old, no matter what their level.
A kind soul and the kind of man you would never want to disappoint.
I once worked out that I had more contact hours with Laszlo per month than any professor in my department. Which explains a lot.
I will always, in my heart, be part of Laszlo’s Fencing.
He taught me to love fencing and respect opponents. To be a good loser and a good winner and to learn from other fencers as well as him.
I think that every single one of his students learnt something from Laszlo that made them a better person. I certainly did.
And he did all this with a wonderful turn of phrase that often leaves his students baffled, but somehow happy.
Some of the more memorable Laszlo-isms are:
1) (On meeting me for the first time when I was about 15 and excessively gangly having just grown several inches) “You have no idea how tall you are, but neither do your opponents, and you have longer to find out.”
2) “You must be prepared, like hedgehog.”
3) (After I managed not to get injured during a training camp) “I am pleased you did not break, maybe next time you will work more?”
4) (Directed at the then British number one) “You used to move like old woman. Now, sometimes, you begin to look like fencer.”
5) “Your arm is like a sewing machine, stop it.”
6) (Directed at a consistently brilliant fencer) “Chris, you have the timing of an orangutan.”
7) “There is not enough room in your head for you to let other people inside.”
8 ) “Even when you are being slow, you must be fast.”
9) “You must work at everything.”
10) “Keep leg straight, like chicken.” (Thanks to Andy for reminding me of this one.)
“Terrifying” was my first impression of James. Ex-Olympian, ex-army, stacked as all hell, and not afraid to yell.
He also taught me how to let go of what happened on the piste once you stepped off it, how to stay focussed, and how not to let the noise other people made distract me.
As the only native English speaker in this post, James’ wisdom does not have the ‘lost
in translation’ charm of the other two, which is coupled by the fact that he was always very direct with praise, criticism, and all his other opinions.
If Laszlo taught me to train hard and be dedicated, James taught me not to moan and just get on with it.
1) “Pain is weakness leaving the body.”
2) “Tell that to someone who gives a damn. That ain’t me, by the way.”
3) “If you can talk, you can fence.”
4) (After a particularly brutal lesson)
“You need to make sure you get back for your parries.”
Me (standing very upright, breathing very steadily) “Ah-huh.”
“You need to really use your length when you lunge.”
“You need… to vomit don’t you?”
5) “You don’t need a jacket for the lesson, if you do it right you won’t get hit.”
6) (In a text message, sent on a hot day, having not seen or spoke to him for several months) “If you’re thirsty, it’s too late. Stay hydrated.”
7) “She’s not as good as you, she just doesn’t know it. Remind her by winning.”
8 ) “Just do things better than the other person. It’s easy.”
9) “Stop whining, get fencing.”
Whether he knows it or not, Christophe has pretty much kept me sane for the past few months.
A spell of unemployment, followed by being thrown into a shift pattern that risked turning me into a hermit with insomnia, training with Christophe as often as possible is keeping me happy, healthy, and focussed.
He is (slowly) teaching me the principles and techniques behind an entirely new weapon, and to think in the long term about what I want to achieve four and five matches down the line.
More than that, he is re-teaching me the joy of fencing that I somehow lost along the way.
He also has a turn of phrase so similar to Laszlo’s (right down to the animal similes) that I am convinced they are in some form of clandestine coaches club. Although there is a little bit of James thrown in for good measure:
1) “We need to make you a plan, like an octopus.”
2) “I don’t want slow, fast. I want fast, very fast.”
3) “Don’t go as I finish stopping, it needs to be as I start stopping.”
4) “I can tell from your fencing that you are very bad at maths.”
5) “See? It is better when you just don’t think.”
6) “Sometimes I think you might be a good épée fencer. Possibly.”
7) “What is wrong with you? If you do that again I’m going to hit you.”
8 ) “Allez! You’re not tired. Your mind is lying to you.”
9) “Your brain has to connect everything, but let them all do different things.”