Sword class memories.
Feb. 16th, 2014 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blimixI will shortly cease attending sword class, after 2.5 years and three belt promotions. Although I've enjoyed improving my technique, and creating my own form (kata), my favorite memories are from my early white belt days. At the risk of being spoilery, they involved whacking Master Y___ on the head.
The first time I sparred in class (using what was essentially a foam-covered bastard sword), we all suited up in torso armor and helmets. It was maybe my second or third class. I fought against Ashley, who had just competently attained her green belt, and had no trouble fending her off and occasionally landing blows. So I figured she was being gentle with the new guy, and said, "You don't have to take it that easy on me." I couldn't quite tell whether she stepped up her game after that. (I later suspected that she had not been holding back, in which case my suggestion had been a gaffe. I'm still not sure.)
In that sparring session, we rotated partners, and I faced off against Master Y___, who was not wearing a helmet, despite the fact that we had been instructed to aim for the head and chest. I asked him, "Should I not hit you in the head?"
He said, "You can try."
I hope he didn't read my dubious look of, "Does he think he's in The Matrix?" Clearly there was no point in disagreeing. We sparred, and though he got several good hits on me, I did hit him in the head twice. Of course I didn't say anything.
A few months later, I spent some minutes thinking about problems of timing and counterattacking. After a sparsely attended daytime class, I asked Instructor G___, "Could you strike at me with repeated temple cuts? I want to try something." He obligingly attacked: Left, right, left, right. If someone is fast enough, you can get locked into a pattern of blocking each strike, and never have a moment to counterattack. I had had a seven-year-old back me into a corner that way. This time, I blocked the first three strikes, sidestepped the fourth one, and brought my sword down, stopping right where Instructor G___'s hair would have been. I thanked him.
Fast forward a week, to a crowded evening class. Everyone was lined up single file, taking turns performing a simple defensive routine as Master Y___ attacked. It was something like: Two high blocks, spin around (blocking behind your head), then cut diagonally. The master messed with the most advanced students a little, pressing them with several attacks at the start, which was received with good humor. When it got to my father's turn (Did I mention I'm taking this class with him?), he paused, spun around the wrong way, attacked with the wrong cut, and hit Master Y___. It was clear that this was accidental, and we were still just using the foam swords anyway.
"Don't worry," Master Y___ reassured him, "I'll make him pay for that." Pointing at me. Everyone laughed.
Well, I could see how this was going to go. The two leisurely temple cuts that he was giving most of the other students turned into five very fast temple cuts that I could barely block in time. I sidestepped the sixth cut, counterattacking too fast for precise control, and whacked Master Y___ atop the head. We both froze in time, looking at each other, while the rest of the class gave a low, wide-eyed "Oooooooooh..." As I walked back along the line, people whispered to me, "He's going to remember that," "He's gonna get you," and similar sentiments. After class, they told me epic stories of his patience in such matters. (Well, mostly one epic story of a water fight that his summer camp youths started, and that he finished.)
Fast forward another week or two. We were engaged in a drill that had pairs of students moving slowly around the mat in a pattern of attack and defense. Ashley and I were moving one way, and Master Y___ and my father passed us going the other way. I thought, "He's right behind me. This would be the perfect time for him to get me back." So without any warning, I whirled around and blocked the strike that was indeed coming down at my head. (And if it hadn't been for Ashley's astonished "Whoa," I would likely not have realized afterward how cool that looked.)
Master Y___ did get me with a light tap from behind a few minutes later. I guess that must have counted as his revenge, since me hasn't, to my recollection, done anything else that could qualify. Good times.
The first time I sparred in class (using what was essentially a foam-covered bastard sword), we all suited up in torso armor and helmets. It was maybe my second or third class. I fought against Ashley, who had just competently attained her green belt, and had no trouble fending her off and occasionally landing blows. So I figured she was being gentle with the new guy, and said, "You don't have to take it that easy on me." I couldn't quite tell whether she stepped up her game after that. (I later suspected that she had not been holding back, in which case my suggestion had been a gaffe. I'm still not sure.)
In that sparring session, we rotated partners, and I faced off against Master Y___, who was not wearing a helmet, despite the fact that we had been instructed to aim for the head and chest. I asked him, "Should I not hit you in the head?"
He said, "You can try."
I hope he didn't read my dubious look of, "Does he think he's in The Matrix?" Clearly there was no point in disagreeing. We sparred, and though he got several good hits on me, I did hit him in the head twice. Of course I didn't say anything.
A few months later, I spent some minutes thinking about problems of timing and counterattacking. After a sparsely attended daytime class, I asked Instructor G___, "Could you strike at me with repeated temple cuts? I want to try something." He obligingly attacked: Left, right, left, right. If someone is fast enough, you can get locked into a pattern of blocking each strike, and never have a moment to counterattack. I had had a seven-year-old back me into a corner that way. This time, I blocked the first three strikes, sidestepped the fourth one, and brought my sword down, stopping right where Instructor G___'s hair would have been. I thanked him.
Fast forward a week, to a crowded evening class. Everyone was lined up single file, taking turns performing a simple defensive routine as Master Y___ attacked. It was something like: Two high blocks, spin around (blocking behind your head), then cut diagonally. The master messed with the most advanced students a little, pressing them with several attacks at the start, which was received with good humor. When it got to my father's turn (Did I mention I'm taking this class with him?), he paused, spun around the wrong way, attacked with the wrong cut, and hit Master Y___. It was clear that this was accidental, and we were still just using the foam swords anyway.
"Don't worry," Master Y___ reassured him, "I'll make him pay for that." Pointing at me. Everyone laughed.
Well, I could see how this was going to go. The two leisurely temple cuts that he was giving most of the other students turned into five very fast temple cuts that I could barely block in time. I sidestepped the sixth cut, counterattacking too fast for precise control, and whacked Master Y___ atop the head. We both froze in time, looking at each other, while the rest of the class gave a low, wide-eyed "Oooooooooh..." As I walked back along the line, people whispered to me, "He's going to remember that," "He's gonna get you," and similar sentiments. After class, they told me epic stories of his patience in such matters. (Well, mostly one epic story of a water fight that his summer camp youths started, and that he finished.)
Fast forward another week or two. We were engaged in a drill that had pairs of students moving slowly around the mat in a pattern of attack and defense. Ashley and I were moving one way, and Master Y___ and my father passed us going the other way. I thought, "He's right behind me. This would be the perfect time for him to get me back." So without any warning, I whirled around and blocked the strike that was indeed coming down at my head. (And if it hadn't been for Ashley's astonished "Whoa," I would likely not have realized afterward how cool that looked.)
Master Y___ did get me with a light tap from behind a few minutes later. I guess that must have counted as his revenge, since me hasn't, to my recollection, done anything else that could qualify. Good times.
