There is a phenomenon my fellow sword fighters share: we call it the Post Tournament Blues. I may have mentioned it before. After an event, after the exertion of fighting, after the mix of emotions up and down and comradery and conflict, the days that follow are an emotional low. The hangover, the coming down from the thrill of the event.
I’ve akin it to something mentioned in Fight Club. It’s like the volume on everything is turned down. But after the Beast the volume was not turned down, everything was just uninteresting, boring. Nothing felt motivating, like things were in slow motion. In the past, post race was a time for reflection and introspection, but there was no time for that. I could only look ahead, re-prepare, try to heal both physically and mentally before facing the next monster hiding in the shadows.
My hand was ripped open. A nagging wound that lingered for days. There was also the foreboding feeling of 4 more upcoming events. I could only focus on the future, distracted by what was to come, not seeing what was in front of me.
Two days after the Beast I started my routine again, running and CG. I felt run down, like I needed rest. But I told myself I shouldn’t stop. I had to stay in shape, stay loose. Rest would come and I needed to ward off the temptation to slack off or miss a workout.
Then there was the much anticipated sword fighting tournament in Oklahoma. I drove Thursday night and made it there at midnight. With little rest, the next morning I fought in the first of a three day event.
My focus was sharp, my resolve strengthened. I felt the same way in January 2022 when I won 2 gold medals. The competition in Oklahoma was much stiffer and some of the fights I won I walked away from feeling like I had lost. But I was successful, winning gold in two of the events and qualifying for an advanced pool in the third. But again something nagged at me. I did not feel like myself. There was an ember of anger behind my eyes. Some burning competitive flame I had never felt before. I often mentioned I was in a weird headspace in the January tournament when I won those last 2 golds. I felt that way again in Oklahoma.
“To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?”
I felt like a lion in a cage. Pacing back and forth letting the hatred grow waiting for the gate to lift. When it did I would pounce on whatever was beyond. Freedom was not the goal, only blind vengeance aimed at the first thing that got in my way.
At one point I was called a monster by smiling comrades. The judges were making bad calls in one particular fight. I took my frustration out too much on an inexperienced fighter, the one who didn’t deserve it. I know my friends calling me a monster was just a shallow metaphor everyone uses, but in the context of the situation it hit me harder than it should have.
I thought I’ve been running from demons, preparing to fight them, but like the saying goes: “those who fight monsters must take care not to become one”. I’ve been trying to prove something, not sure what, not sure to whom. My sense of accomplishment is shrouded in a shadowy cloak.
At the end of the 3rd day of the event, the tournament director and instructor of the Oklahoma sword fighting school was congratulating me on my wins. He said he tells his students to strive to be the dragon everyone wants to slay. The implication being I am now that dragon. But that adds a mounting pressure. It’s the opposite of being an inspiration. I feel now I have a target on my back. It makes me guarded and ever watchful. The pressure is on to defend everyone’s perception of me.
A week later I competed in another sword fight tournament. This one was lower stakes, more for fun. It was held at a castle built in the middle of a swamp outside of Houston…but that is a story for another day.
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