Manufactured Relaxation

Back when I was a national-level fencer, I discovered something about sports that I have yet to see professional teams implement. There were always the top guys; the ones who consistently finished in the top 16 or top 8. They were the people the rest of us looked to in fear and trepidation. They were the ones who looked bored with the beginning stages of the tournament because they knew it was going to come down to the same few people they would have to beat like always.

I was one of the best fencers in my club and one of the best fencers in the country, but whenever I faced one of those top guys I got dominated. My coach told me that I had the skills, the knowledge, and the physical ability to beat those guys. He told me it came down to the psychology of each fencer to determine who would win on any given day. So, I tried to overcome my worries and self-doubt.

I trained at one of the most elite fencing clubs in the country. Multiple Olympians came from my club. The head coach had been to the Olympics multiple times. Coaches from around the world who achieved the status of maestro came to our head coach and called him “Maestro.”

My personal coach was no slouch either. He fenced for Ohio State where he won multiple state rings, taught at Ohio State after graduating, coaching several people to state championships, and he qualified for the Olympic team.

It was a big division 1 tournament, so only the very best fencers who had qualified through other tournaments were even allowed to compete. I remember seeing those top guys walking around all calm and could already feel the dread seeping into my bones. After the initial pools, one guy, named Pan, stood at the very top of the seeding. I remember thinking how appropriate it was that someone named Pan would be great at swordplay.

There were fewer than 200 fencers in the tournament that came in from around the country. There were even former Olympians in the tournament, but this Pan guy was number 1. Division one tournaments are especially harsh because the bottom 20% of fencers get eliminated after the pools. There was this tangible line that separated the people who still had a chance at victory and the people who were told to get out and stop wasting everybody’s time.

I was the name above that line.

I was literally the lowest seed I could get. I was the person in dead last, and all I could think about was how relieved I was to make it out of pools. I was relieved to not be the only one from my club to get eliminated. Then I realized what that meant. The terrifying and seemingly insurmountable reality of my situation smacked me in the chest when I saw what I needed to do to move forward.

I had to beat the number 1 fencer in my first bout.

This is the guy who was supposed to win the gold medal. I was having an off day. I just went through a turmoil of emotions because of the pools and the stress of waiting to see the results. I was so certain I had been eliminated I hadn’t even kept my body warmed up or started to get psyched for my bout during the extended break between pools and direct elimination. I had to be ready to win the equivalent of a finals bout in less than ten minutes just to move on to the second round.

It went about as poorly as I expected. At the break, the score was 8-1 with Pan in the lead. It had barely been three minutes since we started, but I was already about to be eliminated. Other elimination bouts hadn’t even started yet. My coach talked to me during the break to try and get my head in the game. He told me I wasn’t thinking. But I knew that. He told me I was acting like I was afraid of the guy. I knew it wasn’t an act. He told me to stop playing around and to use the strategies and skills I spent so many hours practicing. Nothing came to mind.

The time after the break didn’t improve much. 9-1, 9-2, 10-2, 11-2, 11-3, 11-4, 12-4. My fate was closing in fast as Pan approached the 15 points he needed to win the bout.

On that last touch, I was walking back to the start line and noticed my coach had left me. At some point during my pathetic performance, he simply decided to walk away to give his attention to one of the other club members since I was such a lost cause.

13-4

Then something happened that I only saw in movies and anime. My mind started racing a million miles every second to the point I was able to form full and complex thoughts in the seconds it took to walk back to the start line.

I remembered a story my coach told about when he was a fencer. He was getting smacked by some guy he had no business losing to and his coach walked away in disgust. My coach won that bout. When he walked up to his coach and stood next to him, the coach simply nodded his head and said, “Good job.” They both had this understanding that he had to win the bout or else he wouldn’t be able to show his face.

I thought about that story, and I thought about what it might mean. I thought it might mean my coach was telling me something as clearly and as seriously as one can; through actions. He was telling me that he expected me to win this bout. He was telling me that I already knew what I had to do to win. He was telling me that the only person standing in my way of victory was myself.

13-5

I don’t know how it happened or what exactly triggered it, but I knew that something changed in me at that moment. It felt like my heart was beating so slowly I was dead, yet I could feel power and energy flowing through my veins and muscles. I could feel the potential energy contained in my muscle fibers but I didn’t feel tense or tight. I had absolutely no clue what I should do in the bout, but there was an image so clear in my mind that I knew if I tried to focus on it that it would disappear.

13-6

Now I could feel my heart again, and it seemed to bring back all my nerves and anxiety with it. But I could still see that image in my mind showing me exactly what I must do.

13-7

A part of my mind started freaking out. I started asking myself all kinds of questions in the moments between each touch. Was I actually doing this? How am I doing this? What am I even doing? How do I keep scoring when I don’t even know what my plan is? How is my plan so perfect despite me having no idea what it is? Am I thinking too much? If I think too much will I fall out of this weird superstate I managed to achieve on complete accident? If I try to stay in this mode will that pull me out of it? Then the referee said “Fence!” and my mind went blank again. All I could see, all I could know was that image in my mind.

13-8

13-9

13-10

Later I found out that a crowd of over one hundred people had gathered at that point to watch the bout. Coaches from different colleges and clubs from around the nation had come to see this first place versus last place bout. Parents were ignoring their own children to watch. Other fencers, both those in the tournament and those already eliminated were squeezing in to try and see what was happening.

13-11

I don’t remember any of the sounds. These tournaments always took place in these huge arenas where over a thousand people were walking around doing their own things. Dozens of other fencing bouts for all different weapons and ages were going on at the same time. Announcements were blaring from the loudspeakers. Other fencers were yelling and giving their all in their own stories. I was aware I was screaming and yelling. I was aware that Pan was fighting with his own voice to win the bout. I knew the referee must be giving instructions and explaining things to us. But I heard none of it.

All I could hear was one word: Fence!

13-12

I couldn’t see my surroundings anymore. I saw no bright lights, food stands, or onlookers. I couldn’t see the floor beneath my feet or the machines immediately next to me keeping score of the bout. I couldn’t see the referee, my opponent, or even myself.

All I could see was that image in my mind.

14-12

Back in those days, it was a rare thing for me to not be worried about something. I felt that calm understanding then. I could feel the very real possibility of failure rapidly approaching me as if there was nothing that could stand in its way. I could feel the disappointment from my loss already. I could hear the negative feedback from coaches, teammates, and parents I would face ringing in my ears as if the bout was already over. But, above all of those feelings, there was this overwhelming sensation running through my entire being. It was the knowledge that I was done being worried about anything.

14-13

There were no longer any thoughts. I was pure instinct.

14-14

The image in my mind was laid out in front of me like the events were already taking place. All I needed to do was follow the motions. I would go forward and fake an attack. Pan would desperately lunge forward to score that final touch he needed. I had already planted the idea in him to try to hit me on my left side in previous touches, so I would be ready to block and then land my own attack to win the touch.

“Fence!”

I went forward with the intent to run my weapon through Pan’s torso, but at the last second, my entire momentum changed as I pulled away in my fake attack. But, Pan didn’t lunge forward in desperation. He took a step and pursued me down the strip. My mind raced to put a new image before me to account for this unforeseen event and I saw that I could still use my fake attack in retreat. I knew that Pan wanted to lunge and just needed another incentive to give up his advantage.

He had at least a half-foot reach advantage on me and my plan required me to get extremely close to make my counterattack seem legitimate. I still have no idea how my body moved fast enough to put the distance between my body and this 6’4” man’s lunge. All I remember is that I knew it would.

His lunge fell short and now I had the advantage. All I had to do was hit him with my weapon and the bout was mine. I pushed forward while looking for that critical moment to strike. It is such a strange phenomenon to be cautious of danger and threats but completely unconcerned with them. He tried to take the advantage back by taking my weapon, but I evaded it no problem. He tried to launch his own counterattack, but I defended and continued forward. I felt this pressure release from my chest and I burst forward towards victory.

I missed.

Pan had the advantage again and came at me quickly. My image showed me he had no intention of being careful or cautious this time because he knew I would pull yet another trick. I scrambled backward watching the different scenarios play out before me until I saw the one that worked. He still wanted to hit me on my left, so I showed him what he needed to see to encourage that desire.

He lunged.

I blocked.

Two lights came on and we both turned to the referee our voices carrying out through the doors of the building because we knew the bout was decided and both wanted the win.

I lost 15-14.

I shook hands with Pan to acknowledge a bout well fought and turned to unhook myself from the machine and wires. My coach was waiting for me and embraced me in the first truly meaningful hug I had experienced since I was a little child. Maestro came up to me and congratulated me on what I did. My dad had tears in his eyes from the joy he felt.

I felt empty.

Later, I was in the bathroom cooling down after being eliminated when what really just happened finally hit me. I'd lost a bout and the people whose opinions I cared about were happy for me. I didn’t know exactly what happened in that bout to change things around so drastically, but I knew it was the key to winning the next time. I knew I had to figure out how to control that state of being.

It was months later at another tournament that I finally figured out what happened.

It was a small tournament for teams of fencers. Each team had 3 members and a substitute. You switched fencers each time a team reached a score that was a multiple of 5 (so 5, 10, 15, 20, etc), and the first team to reach 45 points won and moved on to the next elimination round. My club put forth two teams, and I was on the one nobody really expected to win.

We were good, but we were obviously the bottom 4 of the top 8 fencers in our club, and every team in the tournament was made of the top fencers of clubs from around the country. Even our name was a joke: Team Junior B. Meanwhile the team everybody actually cared about got to be called Team Senior A. Plus, despite having all four allowed fencers on the team, one of the guys said he had no intention of fencing.

We won our first bout without too much fanfare. There was a bit of a comeback, a little bit of an upset, and tons of passionate yelling from me, but nobody really cared about the victory. We might have won, but we were going up against a team expected to make it to the finals. All four of their guys were people we saw at top-level tournaments throughout the year and two of them were some of those top guys everybody knew would be at the top of the standings every tournament.

As part of my new training, my coach told me I had to watch and study the people who eliminated me in tournaments. When the person who beat me lost, I had to start watching the person who beat them until the tournament was over. I recorded their strategies, favorite moves, and overall demeanor. My coach wanted to help me see that nobody was doing anything special to win these bouts. They weren’t doing anything I couldn’t do and especially nothing I couldn’t counter.

I stepped onto the strip facing their best fencer for my first opponent. We were losing already 10-4, but I felt completely calm. I had studied this guy. I had watched him in the last few tournaments because he often ended up along the path to the finals round. I had never fenced him before in my career and I knew that I should be too nervous to face him; especially at a deficit.

I won 11-15.

I walked off the strip and it finally hit me. I realized what happened in my bout against Pan and how I could replicate it against other opponents like I just did. It was strategy. My best performance came out when I felt no pressure or stress about the situation, and I could manufacture that lack of stress through strategy.

The series of events that led to this was perfect. I was on a team nobody expected to even do well, let alone win. It was a small tournament without any real consequences on future seedings and standings. One of my teammates was out of commission and the other two were spaced out and fencing poorly, so nobody expected me to be able to carry the team to victory. I didn’t even expect it. I knew I would win.

I crushed each member of their team when we faced each other. Every one of them removed their masks with a look of total confusion stamped on their face. They couldn’t figure out why I was so untouchable. My own team couldn’t figure out why I was so invincible. I remember laughing to myself in my head because the answer was so amazingly simple I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t common practice.

Strategy.

I had scouted my opponents and developed a counter-strategy long before anybody had entered the building and I didn’t even realize I had done so. In my time watching that top guy I saw that his coach was the key to his victory. His coach was able to use over a decade of experience to predict what the best move would be, and this fencer trusted him completely. He never deviated from his coach’s instruction, and he put his all into each action.

All I had to do was listen to their coach and do the move that countered what he said. It was like playing a game of rock paper scissors where the opponent yelled out what hand they were going to throw before they started counting.

We won that bout 36-45. I scored over 20 points.

In college, fencing was set up a little differently. You still fenced in teams with 3 members and 1 sub, but instead of working to a collective total of 45 points everybody fenced everybody else on the enemy team to 5 points and they tallied the number of bouts each team won. In addition to this change, each school consisted of all three weapons that each fenced 9 bouts, and the school with the most victories at the end of the 27 bouts was the victor.

The other two squads in my school were excellent. They were the reason we usually won since they could win the 14 bouts needed for victory without my squad lifting a finger. Despite being one of the most experienced fencers on the squad, I was still a freshman, so I followed after the team captain and coach.

My squad lost in our first match 6-3. Then we lost 5-4, 5-4, 7-2, and 6-3. Thanks to the other two squads our school still came out victorious overall, but we all knew it wasn’t sustainable. I asked the captain if I could suggest a new practice drill that I had wanted to try at my old club but was never allowed to. I told him it was something that could help build cohesiveness and unity among the team. I didn’t tell him it would allow me to make all the decisions for how we approached our matches from that point forward.

My drill was simple. Two fencers would be on the strip and they each would have a coach. The coach had to call out a specific action and the fencer had to obey no matter what. They weren’t allowed to score a touch if they disobeyed their coach.

Our next match we won 5-4.

I introduced the next part of the drill the following week. Now, the whole team had a standard set of moves that we all knew and memorized. Thanks to my experience in the team bout a couple of years before I also made sure we used code words to communicate what action to take. Now the coaches could yell out 1, 2, 3, or 4 to communicate exactly what they wanted the fencer to do. The fencers had no need to think about anything. The coach came up with the strategy and the moves were pre-formed and standardized. All they had to do was obey.

We won our next five matches.

I tried to demonstrate the power of the system I created one day when I had the most rookie member of our squad go up against one of the potential starters on our team. I coached the rookie, and he won the bout 5-4. It was proof of the concept I’d started developing back in the team tournament. If somebody can be out of the situation and completely focused on the strategy, the fencer can put forth all their effort into the micro details necessary to carry out the strategy. This means that no matter who our opponent was, they were going up against 2 people and one of them usually had more experience.

We didn’t win every bout. Often, we lost because someone was having an off day or was too tired to fence at their best. Sometimes we lost because fencers stopped following the plan. Sometimes we lost because our opponents were just better than us.

I recognized this type of strategy and training in solo athletes. It was blatantly obvious in the ones of the highest caliber and executed to such a high-quality degree you could see why they were the best in the world at what they did. They didn’t just have talent that exceeded their competitors, they had confidence in a strategy they formed long before any competition started. There was never anything for them to do in those moments but execute their well-rehearsed plan.

I don’t know why team sports seem so averse to the idea. I see people make the same mistakes in other areas of life. There are so many businesses and operations being carried out every day with no real strategy in place. They leave it up to the individual skill of the people they’ve collected to figure things out as they go along. It’s one of the reasons experience is the highest qualification for any job and also the hardest to obtain.

I think it’s fitting of human society that those who are individuals understand the functionality and efficiency of strategic planning while those in groups, where communication is inherently more difficult, forgo strategy and standards and instead put their faith in….faith.