The Importance of “de-Feet”
Footwork is important. Exactly how important it is remains a topic of debate among those who don’t like it. The debate doesn’t change the fact of the matter: A solid understanding and use of footwork is vital to success in fencing – after all, if you don’t move how are you going to get close enough to score?
Of course, the lazy person’s answer is “The other guy will come close enough and then I’ll get him.” We all know that’s a cop-out. Not necessarily a wrong answer; there are times when it is best to let your opponent come to you. That does not automatically mean not moving is always the right answer.
Having good footwork allows you to become a far more versatile fencer than bad, sloppy, or poorly executed footwork will. In a game such as fencing, mobility is the key to victory. If you don’t move, your opponent will control every aspect of the bout. If you move poorly, your opponent will control every aspect of the bout except how badly you screw up.
This polemic is not directed at beginning fencers. It’s directed at those who’ve been doing this for a while and know better. For the fencing novice, footwork can be devilishly complicated. You have to learn how to move in an entirely new and wholly unnatural way – fencing footwork is efficient but dang, it looks goofy.
On the other hand, people who go through the motions without pushing themselves to improve waste everyone’s time. Very few people admit to liking footwork. Those that do, in my experience, get looked at by everyone else as (at least mildly) psychotic. There’s a strange contradiction there, much the same one as using pushups as punishment. It implies that exerting oneself should be painful and avoided – but instead, think of this. Using physical exercise as punishment does the ‘offender’ a service by allowing them the opportunity to improve their physical well-being.
Making footwork exercises fun requires creativity and a fair amount of competitive spirit. Fencing is fun and all, but who really enjoys losing all the time? The drive to improve and succeed motivates many of us. Footwork is the acid test of commitment. It’s the unfun, boring, frequently painful and exhausting part of fencing that builds a solid foundation for every other aspect of the sport.
Would you like an example? I’ll provide one – myself. As some of you know, I’ve had arthritis since age 16 in progressive severity. I was lucky enough to have an observant group of coaches who helped me fine-tune my footwork and body mechanics enough so that I was able to teach myself how to adapt to my body’s specific needs. Physiologically, you’re all superior to me. You work. J
The difference lies in three areas: footwork, bladework and tactics. For this particular polemic, I’m going to focus on footwork. Yes, I am going to be that arrogant and say that my footwork is better than yours. I hope that one day this will not be the case; for now it is. What makes good footwork?
Firstly, economy of motion. Defined, that refers to the principle of maximum return for the energy invested. I don’t move any part of my body unless it is absolutely necessary, and I strive to keep my balance as centered as possible. If I pursue you on-strip, know that I have a very good reason for it. I’m not chasing you to keep you close, I’ve noticed a chink in your proverbial armor and I am exploiting it with intent to score.
On the inverse, if I can make you waste energy coming after me it’s a benefit for me. Not only have you committed to chasing me down, but you’ve placed yourself at a disadvantage because you don’t know when I’m going to stop or what I’ll do when I stop. Remember, the simple act of forward body-motion does not automatically grant the attack. It’s the extending of the arm with the business end of the weapon threatening valid target that seizes right of way.
Secondly, proper technique. It’s true that the sport of fencing is somewhat removed from its more lethal origin, but the basic techniques have been refined over the past three or four centuries. There are hundreds of far more qualified people than me who’ve examined the advance, the retreat, and the lunge to find more economical methods of motion over the years and yet the techniques remain.
Proper technique is intimately tied to economy of motion. For example, if you advance with your front foot canted to the inside (ie not pointing directly forward) you’re using more energy than you need to. You’re also using the wrong muscles and throwing yourself off balance. The end result of this is made clear when you’re on strip. I know every fencer reading this remembers when they first started out – how awkward everything felt, the frustration with “why the (*%&@# do I have to stand this way?” and so on. By the same token, can you remember the moment of ‘ah-ha’ when you got on-guard and realized that it felt natural? If you’re not quite there yet, keep practicing and keep reading. It won’t be long.
Third, physical ability. Expanded, that means your body has to be physically able to perform the techniques and have the muscular capacity to support you while so engaged. Does this make the terribly un-PC inference that quadra- and paraplegics can’t do footwork? Yes. It also means that those of us whose bodies don’t work as well as they used to can’t get away with some of the mistakes the truly able can.
Back on topic, physical ability also means you have to make sure that your body has what it needs. I include stretching and exercise in this category. There are a lot of people who don’t stretch until they’re on strip – something I am occasionally guilty of. This is probably the most insidious cause of bad footwork. If you don’t stretch, your muscles, ligaments and tendons won’t be able to assume the proper positions. From there, it’s a domino effect of failures and close-but-not-quites that is just all bad.
For example, not turning your front thigh and knee out enough (for whatever reason, but for this purpose we’ll assume you didn’t stretch your hips properly) can result in awkward motion, which puts undue stress on the musculature. In the short term, it means you can’t move well on the strip so you push yourself harder. Over time, not only will the bad habit of not stretching become ingrained, so too the musculature stress will continue. Sooner or later your system will become critically unbalanced and an injury will result.
Finally, as a special note to the members of the GC3 of which I am a charter member, physical ability also means knowing when not to practice your footwork and just take it easy. When you’re injured or something’s not feeling right, do not push it. Sometimes I think more harm is done by coaches saying “Play through the pain!” than any other sports-related injury. Well, short of getting impaled by a broken blade or breaking a bone...
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