“I started fencing for the worst reasons possible—I needed to fulfill my junior year PE requirement. I also needed to prove my parents wrong.
One night at the dinner table while watching the Olympics on TV, my parents started to make fun of me. My dad said, “You’re probably the most unathletic person in the world.”
I thought about what they said. Hmm, maybe they did have a point. Then I saw an IBM commercial with fencers talking about their finances during the Olympics.
“Mom,” I said the next day. “I’m taking up fencing.” It took me three months to convince her that I wouldn’t get stabbed to death by the blade, and she let me take fencing classes.
Fencing had many attractions. It is unusual, unlike tennis or soccer, which everyone plays. You do not need to be physically strong to fence—just quick, clever and lucky.
Slowly I came to love practice. The three-hour workouts, three days a week became my opportunity to avenge all those who had done me wrong (see Beverly Hills High School article on page 20). With each stab came personal satisfaction. With each win came more confidence. In school I felt like I was in a rut and my grades were stagnant, but in fencing I watched myself improve every month. At school I was taught not to fight or punch. In fencing, inflicting pain was good sportsmanship.
It’s a pricey sport
Of course, the cost of fencing also inflicted some pain. I wore baseball pants and tennis shoes instead of fencing gear. My mask was worn and patched up with dental floss. I bought a “white” fencing jacket that was yellow from age. The only new thing I owned was a blade. Even though my gear was cruddy, it still cost me $500.
As I started competing more in local tournaments, my coach’s wife Margo took me under her wing. She had almost made it to the Olympics and she got me thinking about the Junior Olympics. Really, it’s not that hard to get there. I knew I wasn’t the world’s best fencer, but I realized that if I went for it, I might be able to do reasonably well, possibly well enough to catch the eye of a college scout. And that might lead to a scholarship and easier college admission.
The process was simple. First I had to go to a qualifier for under-20 epee. The type of sword I use to fence with is called an epee. Then I would try out for my own age division, under-17 epee. If all that failed, I would need to place among the top 32 at a national tournament.
My first qualifier was nerve-wracking
The pressure was mounting at my Junior Olympics qualifier #1. Drops of sweat began to evaporate from my forehead steaming up my peripheral vision. My arm hurt from gripping my blade. “Just one more touch,” I told myself. Then all of a sudden I saw that my opponent wanted to attack. With a swoop of the blade I managed to hit her on the arm.
“Double touch!” the director screamed. “Wong 15-11 bout!” That meant I had won the bout, 15 points for me, 11 for her.
I stood on the strip in disbelief. I had just won the silver medal qualifying bout, I was going to the Junior Olympics!
“Nice bout,” my opponent said, shaking my sweaty hand. “I can’t believe it.” She didn’t seem distraught, but underneath I knew she was hurt. She had missed going to the Junior Olympics by a margin of four points, four measly touches.
“You fenced well,” my coach said to me. “I just hope you can do just as well at the qualifying meet next week. But hey, you should have no problem. You just qualified for a higher age division. What could possibly go wrong?”
I hesitated for a moment.
“Don’t worry ,” he said. “I’ll take you out for a hot dog.”
In spite of the hot dog, my “easy” competition proved harder than I thought. My opponent was one of my own teammates. I usually beat her, but now I knew that if I won, I would go to the J.O.’s and she wouldn’t. With those conflicts in mind, she won by one touch.
To make up for my loss I went to a national tournament, the North American Cup, in Boston. I told my parents I would do well.
“We’re going to spend lots of money on the trip,” my parents told me. “Are you sure that you can place well enough to qualify for the J.O.’s? Because if you can’t, we’d rather you not waste the $500.”
I did as I promised and earned a national ranking of No. 49.
Then came the Junior Olympics. When I arrived at the site of the two-day competition in Boston, I felt like I had entered a blizzard of 1,000 fencers. There were fencers everywhere, the best in the country! And I was about to compete with them. My goal was to place in the top 50 percent the first day, and the top 32 on the second day.
Going into the tournament I was placed 68th, but after fencing many people, I demoted myself to 77th and ultimately 82nd.
The biggest opposition I faced into advancing into a better position was a bout against Anna Pieper, ranked 57th.
She won, fair and square
Two months ago, I had won her in a 5-3 bout in Boston. I was assured we were on the same skill level. But that day she beat me 10-15. Could I have beaten her? Sure, I did it before. Did the loss mean she was better than me? Not really. Just as I was able to obtain two extra touches from her two months ago, she made five extra touches off of me. Was she three touches better than me?
Three touches means nothing. Athletes always say, “It’s skill, not luck.” I disagree. You need a fair amount of luck to do well. Skill will get you there to a certain degree but without luck nobody can nab the No. 1 position. When I see the top ten fencers, I know they are alike in skill level. Luck and fate are the basic determinants in who gets the gold, silver and bronze.
This was the case with me and Pieper. On a good day, I am sure I could have slashed her. On a bad day, she could have massacred me.
I have to admit, she’s better
However, looking at her overall performance, I would say she is the better fencer. She is much more mature than me in terms of experience and skill. Also, since I had fenced her two months ago, she had improved a lot. She went from never making any finals for a year and a half to securing top notches in national tournaments.
My first loss left me with a shrunken ego. My second day of competition was just as bad. I started ranked at 44th and fell to 57th.
By the time I fenced the top 64 finalists, I knew I was doomed. I was assigned to fence the No. 8 fencer. There was no way I could win.
I went home empty-handed, but I had the greatest time in the world. I’ve met some cool friends from every state—New York, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, Ohio, Alaska—you name it. I also schmoozed with fencing coaches from Northwestern and Princeton.
Even so, I was sad and uneasy about my performance. I blew away $1,000 on the trip, equipment and lessons. Who wouldn’t be upset?
“What did you want?” my teammate Josh asked upon my return. “You’ve only fenced for five months!”
Then I think about all the other girls out there who didn’t have enough money to travel to all the competitions, who are not fortunate enough to obtain equipment donations from friends or have enough money for lessons, and I know I am the luckiest girl in the world.”