I want to address the three core issues that have plagued competitive fencing in the US and were at the core of my own fencing journey growing up. I'm sure many other fencers that grew up on the national circuit can relate. I will also talk about my transition to MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) and how it showed me that solo combat sports do not have to be like this.
**There are plenty of great fencing clubs that do not have these problems. These problems apply specifically to the world of competitive youth and cadet/junior fencing that is mostly focused on elite college recruitment.
- Youth fencing is one of the most isolating sports. This is both due to the highly selective nature of college recruitment and the culture of many high level clubs. At practice, you are teammates. At tournaments, you are competing against each other for the same Ivy League future.
Additionally, the culture of many competitive clubs (and this is not exclusive to fencing) makes missing practice or being late feel like a felony. In high school I missed out on a number of hangouts and friendly gatherings with people just to go to practice because I felt like if I missed a single day I would be "behind" and that would get me less attention from the coach and perhaps mess up my chances of getting in to an elite college. Because of this, I had trouble making friends for much of high school, and only felt socially satisfied by senior year when I started to take fencing less seriously.
- Fencers burnout young. I remember loving this sport and thinking it was the coolest shit when I was 11, then hating everything about it at 15. Still, I never missed a single practice because I was told this was a natural part of working hard to be great at something.
I remember competing in Y14 NACs and watching parents scream at their children for losing pool bouts. Coaches scream at 15 year old fencers and scrutinize everything they do if they lose. Every NAC event has ONE winner and hundreds of losers, so chill the fuck out. This isn't tough love; this is abuse.
At practices, we were often subject to brutal conditioning sessions. I don't actually have a problem with this in itself, but the criticism of us during conditioning was so unnecessary. Of course, if you were lagging behind in shuttle runs or footwork you would be yelled at and called lazy or undisciplined. To remedy this, we would often discuss with each other beforehand like "let's all keep an easy pace so none of us get yelled at." If you were performing worse than you usually did, you would get accused of not putting out. Like have you ever thought that I am slower than yesterday because maybe I had to stay up late doing school work or maybe because I am fatigued doing the same exercises four days in a row? Competitive youth fencing has this weird performative macho culture to it. Like dude we are youth fencers at fencing practice not Navy SEAL candidates in Hell Week.
- Focus on talent and "potential." 12 year old fencers are picked apart and scrutinized by club coaches like they're being scouted for the NFL. I remember overhearing coaches discuss in detail the bodily features of 12 and 13 year old fencers. "She has pretty long arms for her age I think she will be good at stop-hits in Y14." "He's moving pretty fast for his height I think he will be really good after his growth spurt." This is fucking weird. It's one thing to talk about how your kid might have good anatomy for fencing, it's another thing entirely to pick apart and scrutinize every detail of a child fencer as if you're considering recruiting them for a professional sports team.
Additionally, the discussion of talent is utterly ridiculous. I have heard coaches directly comparing the natural talent of two sibling fencers to the parents, saying one is more promising than the other.
When I was 14 I was told by my coach that I lacked a lot of athletic talent compared to most fencers he's coached. Still ended up fencing at an Ivy League school so clearly that either didn't matter or was bullshit. A few other fencers that were told the same thing in my club ended up leaving the sport entirely when lost their love for the game. We should not be discouraging children from doing something they love just because they don't have as much "talent" as someone else.
- How MMA showed me the other, much more beautiful side of solo combat sports:
I decided to stop fencing late in high school after the college stuff was all said and done (I resumed fencing in college the following fall, and I love my college team but that's a different story). I picked up MMA at a local fight gym and I absolutely loved it. The first thing I noticed was having a peer relationship with the coach rather than the strange power dynamic present in youth fencing. I casually chat with my fight coaches about our relationships, hobbies, etc. When I'm late I'm not expected to have some elaborate excuse. I just get in and start warming up like normal. When I skip a day I don't have to explain myself the next day.
Instead of feeling forced to endure brutal conditioning, I'm motivated to push myself in every part of training sessions. I don't feel scared that I will stand out for lagging behind others in training. I feel motivated to show up and work hard. Fighting has some of the most brutal conditioning out of any sport, yet I'm happy to work my ass off through all of it. If someone is ahead of me, I feel happy for them and motivated to catch up rather than scared of being judged for being behind.
The culture is extremely supportive and cooperative, even though it's literally a solo sport where you're trying to hurt and damage your opponent. Everyone is trying to help each other get better. Pro fighters took time out of their training to show me movements and techniques and correct my mistakes. This culture maintains itself in competition too.
I had my first few amateur fights some time ago. I won by TKO (technical knockout) in my last one. My opponent and I shook hands and hugged afterwards and we wished each other luck in our next fights. This was 2 minutes after we were just trying to smash each others' faces. The whole fight gym was there to support me, cheering for me even when I almost got choked out.
It's a brutal, violent, and literally bloody individual sport. Some call it the loneliest sport in the world. Yet, I have never once felt isolated. There is something we can learn from this as fencers.