I know this lady named Jane McGonigal who studies how to channel positive attitudes and improve people’s lives through good games design. Jane’s pegged four characteristics that go into making a good game:
1) Clear rules
2) Good feedback
3) The chance to spend time with people you like, and
4) Feeling part of something bigger
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| Whooping it up with Anne-Marie Walters on her birthday at the March NAC, 2015 |
Fencing nails the first three. Well, you might quibble about the rules regarding foil right of way being “clear,” but they certainly are out there in digital ink to be poured over and debated. And coaches and referees, bless them, certainly provide copious feedback. Spending time with people I like (and would not otherwise see), is sufficient motivation to endure the long slog through airports to get to NACs.
But part of something bigger? For me, not so much. Maybe to the extent that I rep my club (go RFA!) when I make it to the podium. But this year, as an accidental by-product of trying to renew my B (and falling short) I made the Vet World Team.
Which launched all sorts of predictable anxieties about travel, and as well as a quite unexpected internal conflict about fencing fashion and what it means to be “part of something bigger” when that bigger thing is Team USA.
I have a complicated relationship with patriotism. I’m deeply grateful that the US took in my paternal grandparents, pretty much penniless and unskilled, when they decamped Russia just ahead of the Cossacks in 1905. I appreciate that the porous boundaries of class in mid 20thcentury America made it possible for my maternal grandfather to go from barefoot farm boy guiding a plow in the Texas panhandle to professor of English at Phillips Exeter Academy. But I also came of age during the Vietnam war, dragged by my parents through protests in DC when I was barely old enough to keep up with the marchers. Taking flack in grade school for the fact that I shut up when we came to the “under god” part in the pledge of allegiance. And seeing my father nod approval when Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised gloved fists on the podium at the 1968 Olympics.
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| As the national anthem played at the 1968 Olympics, sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists to the sky. (Victoria Walker/The Washington Post) |
The upshot of which is, I’ve never been much of one to wave the flag. I appreciate the lull at the beginning of competitions when we pause warm up for the national anthem. On the other hand this patch—from a gift bag given to ladies on the podium at some past NAC—has been tucked in my sock drawer for about ten years because I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Sometimes kids at my club would ask why I didn’t stencil “USA” on my lamé, and I’d say “well, if I ever fence outside the US, I’ll put it on then.” Now the joke’s on me—I had to ship my competition lamé to Oregon so Marx Enterprises could add three letters below my name.
Sometimes kids at my club would ask why I didn’t stencil “USA” on my lamé, and I’d say “well, if I ever fence outside the US, I’ll put it on then.” Now the joke’s on me—I had to ship my competition lamé to Oregon so Marx Enterprises could add three letters below my name.
That sartorial addition was required by FIE rules (as was a new mask with the double-fastening strap—see below). Note that it has already acquired badgerous embellishments.
But there are many, many choices of optional gear related to being on the team, and I’ve found myself falling down a fencing fashion rabbit hole, prompted by the fact that I suddenly do feel “part of something bigger.” Probably amplified by the serotonin hit of online shopping that somewhat eases my anxieties about the whole venture.
For example, I felt MUCH BETTER about the prospect of a 12-hour flight to Cairo when I unwrapped this glove from Zzuma.
I’d long admired Zzuma’s butter-soft, beautifully designed gloves, but had never felt able to justify the expense. I’m trying not to read too much into the fact that after a just a few weeks it developed a tear in the palm, necessitating a repair and adding to my long anxiety list the fear it might not pass inspection. Sigh. (I hear a chorus of parsimonious ancestors whispering, “serves you right.”)
And the team bag. I told myself I really did need a new competition bag. My stalwart, 10-year old Leon Paul team bag (in fashionable black, adorned with badger patches) has developed a distinct list that frequently makes it tip over when I’m attempting to pull it, fully loaded, through the airport or down city sidewalks to the venue. Even though Absolute is the team sponsor (thank you Absolute! Sending you fencer love) after much deliberation I ordered the glorious, ostentatious, over-the-top Leon Paul Team USA bag, with its full in-your-face “I’m on the f$%*ing world team” design.
Boo-ya. Just looking at it makes me feel almost competent.
Almost. But I’m still struggling with a fair case of imposter syndrome. I mean, I did earn this, but it’s not like I’m made the freaking Olympic team. On the other hand, I deeply admire the badass ladies who comprise the rest of the team and am in awe of their accomplishments. So maybe I should feel ok about myself, too?
While I struggle with that thought, I’m systematically working my way down the long, long list of logistical prep. Booking tickets, applying for a visa, getting stuck with multiple needles (gotta love those vaccinations). Oh, and sewing phenomenally huge USA patches onto my knickers. (That’s an FIE requirement as well).
And temporarily removing one of my beloved badger patches from the back pocket of my knickers, since it covers the FIE “800 newtons” certification mark.
And sewing suspenders onto said knickers. (I always cut them off because HELLO! With a 10-inch differential between waist and hips, these pants are not falling off. But technically required, so back on the elastic goes.)
In the end, I feel ok about my shopping spree because it’s a strategic part of shaping the story of “Badger Goes to Cairo.” Memories are grounded in materiality. Mementos anchor shards of experience that might otherwise slip away. This adventure could be memorable for stuff that goes horrible wrong—lost bags, bad experiences with cabs or ride shares, accidentally eating gluten and making myself sick. Embarrassing myself on the strip. (May none of these happen! Knock on wood, spit and throw salt over my shoulder.)
Hopefully these fashion keepsakes will ground the good memories. The fact that I did earn my way onto the team. The love and support offered by my friends and teammates. And the fact that, at least for this year, I do feel part of something bigger. And dang, it feels good.
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| Vet 60 Women's Foil World Team 2019 From left: Jude Offerle, Anne-Marie Walters,Jennette Starks-Faulkner, Badger Merritt |
