Student_Voice : To bend, not break

Lee Junho

The author is a student at Clifton College in Bristol, England.

I have been fencing for four years. Most people know that fencing is a sport where people stab at each other and try not to get stabbed. Most people also know that a fencing sword is made from metal. Many think the sword is almost impossible to break, but that is wrong.  

However, it does not break easily. That is because it bends. If the sword were stiff, it would not be able to take the pressure and would break upon contact. Because it bends, it’s flexible enough to withstand the pressure. The sword bends so it does not break —- just like us.

Although I fence, that does not mean I am always good at it. Last year, I went to the Korean Fencing Federation President’s Cup in Jamsil and did not do so well. There were more than 100 fencers in that competition, yet the ones in my group looked beatable. I was faster, and I could predict their moves. However, my opponent blocked every one of my attacks. First, I used Disengage Advance Lunge, trying to go around my opponent’s sword and stab his chest. Blocked. Next, I used Beat in Parry Sixte, trying to knock my opponent’s sword out of the way, sweeping hard from the right, and then aiming low on the torso and moving on to the chest. Blocked. That was the moment I had a shock; I’d never been eliminated this early in a tournament.  

After that loss, I thought it was the end of the world. Shame was a heavy burden pressing down on me. Darkness was flooding in. Letting all these bad feelings in can lead to breaking. But by letting go of these feelings, you bend. As I was bending, my mother told me something important. No one is ever perfect. You learn by failing. That is how you improve.  

A few weeks after that, I suffered an injury. While playing a match, my opponent lunged toward me as fast as she could, and I was moving backward as fast as I could. When I shifted my whole body weight onto my back foot, my ankle twisted. The pain was as if someone had electrocuted me. It felt like I was in slow motion as I collapsed onto the court. It turned out that I had stretched a ligament.  

I panicked. I thought I would lose my fencing skills if I didn’t practice for a while. I was partially right. Each day that passed, I could feel myself getting worse. I wondered if maybe I should play football instead. Maybe it was time to give up. Depression was a starving lion that swallowed me in one gulp.  

However, whenever I wanted to quit, my mom was there to encourage me.  

“You can regain your skills later,” she said. “I bet you can be even better than ever.”  

It was her kind encouragement that helped me to bend, not break.

I worked harder and did not quit. Two competitions after that, I finished in third place. But the finest moment during the matches wasn’t winning. It was the match where I lost. My opponent was the best fencer in my grade. He always got first place. He was incredibly strong —- when our swords clashed, he always pulled mine down. However, I was faster. When he lunged at me, I scrambled backward to avoid the tip of his sword. He managed to beat me, but only by two points. I was satisfied with my result.

Like every other fencer, I have dreams for the future. Sometimes, I daydream of going to the Olympics. The crowds are cheering. It’s the finals. The match ends in less than a minute, with me winning 15-0. As I win the final point, I throw my helmet off and celebrate. Of course, a gold medal would be great, but a bronze medal is good enough for me. After I retire, I will become a fencing coach who teaches one essential principle: Bend, don’t break. If you put too much pressure on your sword, it breaks. If you put too much pressure on yourself, you will break as well.