En Garde

She thrust a long thin weapon at me and lunged, aiming for my chest. I freaked, my instincts took over, and I attempted to protect myself: I turned my back and ran, covering my head.

Then I heard laughs — a lot of them — coming from the sidelines.

"We're laughing with you," onlooking women fencers called out.

Sure.

I can't profess that I've ever had a hidden desire to fence; we don't live in a culture in which little kids grow up wanting to be fencing stars. But this past Thursday was my lucky day. Without any cost to myself, other than my dignity, I had the joy of a brief fencing lesson from two of the epee specialists on the Princeton women's fencing team: juniors Kira Hohensee and Rachel Zuraw.

In the process, I learned that fencing is one of those sports that is much harder than it looks.

Walking into the fencing room is a frightening experience. First off, it's located in the depths of Jadwin Gym's dungeon. Standing at the door to the room, there seemed no way to cross the great divide to get to Rachel, the 'Prince' copy editor, who was waving at me. Between us, two fencers were fiercely "playing" fencing. While no one else seemed to think this should impede my travel, I was a bit tentative — I didn't want a wayward weapon to poke out my eye.

Even after I found what I thought was a suitable path, my head was almost taken off by a golf ball — yes, a golf ball — apparently hung from the ceiling at eye level for practicing target aim.

Eventually, I arrived unscathed before my instructors. Before we could begin, though, there was the problem of appropriate clothing. One does not fence in ordinary athletic apparel. Unfortunately, I was wearing shorts, the first no-no of fencing, Kira explained. She and a friend then displayed their battered legs, the cost of not taking their own advice. I didn't argue and donned the pair of pants they gave me.

The mask they offered fit; I just wasn't proficient at getting it over my head. I wasn't really able to get anything on by myself, for that matter, but the fencing veterans helped me out. For chest protection, there were three layers: a hard plastic guard, an odd cloth half-shirt and a top shirt, which has wires awkwardly running through it so the fencer can be plugged in like a robot.

In what other sport is learning to dress yourself so hard?

Ready for war

I felt prepared to go to war, but before giving me a weapon, Kira demonstrated the "en garde" position used by all fencers. When she first started fencing, her coach told her to walk around the house and even stand at the dinner table "en garde." She actually did it, she admitted, but only for two days.

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Since continual movement is important to avoid being a sitting target, I next practiced moving forward and backward, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

Finally, I was entrusted with an epee — a long, thin metal sword with a button at the end. It plugs into the wires in your top shirt, which can subsequently be plugged into the wall so that if you hit your opponent, the button is pushed in and the electronic scoring registers a point. It's so high-tech, in fact, that if you hit the floor or your opponent's epee, it doesn't register.

There are many different positions in which one can hold the epee, all of them numbered like a coordinate plane. My elbow, however, is apparently not cut out for fencing. It hyper-extends — a fact previously unbeknownst to me — so that my epee was not in the appropriate place, even when I followed instructions and completely extended my arm. This confounded my tutors, but we proceeded anyway.

With the introduction of electronic scoring, fencing has become much faster-paced, but the sport retains the chivalry of its ancestry. You must salute your opponent before donning your mask and beginning the bout. As I mentioned before, I couldn't put the mask on with two hands, much less with an epee glued to one of them. In other words, it was long after my opponent, Kira, was ready that I finally got my mask positioned correctly, and even then it was only with Rachel's help.

And that was when Kira ruthlessly attacked and I fled.

I guess my instincts just aren't cut out for fencing. I knew her stupid epee couldn't hurt me, so why did I run?

Eventually, I improved slightly — or at least stopped running away. I faced Kira and attempted some lunges, though I didn't score at all. I did manage to protect myself a bit with my epee, but Kira was just playing with me, the way an NBA player would go one-on-one with a two-year-old.

My next opponent, sophomore Erin McGarry, was even easier on my pathetic beginner skills and encouraged me to attack her. I did, and I even scored some touches. But every time she let my epee come near her, the first word out of my mouth was an involuntary "sorry," my non-fencing instincts taking over yet again.

Eventually we called it a day — I was getting a bit stuffy in my gear, and the fencers could better spend their time on worthier opponents.

My right hamstring has a newfound respect for fencers — it was sore for days. My instincts do, too, since they clearly would need a lot of learned behavior to adapt. But more than anything, my entire body developed a deep respect for fencing's protective gear, because otherwise I would have been quite bruised.