As time passed, I progressed, but still found myself with a feeling of contempt and anger upon exiting the strip without a winner’s bout slip. With hopes of giving myself an excuse for my defeat, I often gave up towards the end instead of giving it my all and still losing. Whenever the tide of the bout would shift to my opponent’s favor, my hand would start to drop, my footwork would get sloppy, my strategizing would become stagnant. As a sport that takes pride in its sportsmanship, I felt ashamed but became all too familiar with this habit. Although, I didn’t lose nearly as much as in my first tournaments, this practice was perpetual. I told myself that as I got better, my losses wouldn’t carry as much weight, but I soon came to realize that they actually started to carry much more. Flying to multiple Summer Nationals and Junior Olympics, I started taking losses harder. My growth as a fencer was unproportioned to my growth as a person.

When the pandemic struck, I knew I would not be able to fence for a while. At this point, I was lost in my journey to become a better fencer and could no longer find my way in extra practice. I was offered the privilege to start teaching online classes to beginners at my club. Maybe I could find answers as to why I handled my losses the way I did. 

Darius was the first kid with whom I bonded. Throughout training exercises, his bursting energy kept my other fencers pushing for one more lap. When I taught him a slight clockwise turn of the hand when performing a parry, one of the techniques that I had polished over the years, he jumped with joy like Barney the Dinosaur. His radiant face always jumped out of the Zoom screen. What I found most remarkable, however, is that he never worried about losses. Whether it be bouts or games, he never dwelled on a loss. Darius simply enjoyed the teamwork, sportsmanship, and fun that fencing brings. 

My first tournament in over a year finally approached. Despite the Covid conditions, I came back prepared and more conditioned than before. I didn’t leave myself any excuses or space for half-assed performance. I was at my best and knew I had something to prove to my coaches, my friends, my parents, but most importantly myself. Out of the exceptional pool round, I felt relieved and energized. Until direct eliminations, that is. Seeing my opponent’s name next to mine, I froze with fear; he was an internationally ranked fencer and a coach with A-rated disciples. He also happened to have qualified for the Beijing Olympics. Towering over me, he monopolized the fencing strip. With each labored breath, I prepared to surrender. Then, I pictured Darius’s face – grimaced in a plank, bursting laughter after someone let one loose – which reminded me each bout is about learning and growing. 

I made my way to the piste with determination and tenacity. There he was, standing with an heir of superiority. Physically, he was much taller and stronger than me. I didn’t know what would happen next, but all I knew is that my life as a fencer would change in the next 9 minutes. The bout started off balanced out and I managed to even the score until 9-9. It wasn’t until he did the signature whip of the blade and flick on my back that I snapped out of my old losing habits. He was trying to backflick me, an action meant to disrespect any fencer. I now found the resilience needed to finish the bout. Point after point, he never ceased to try backflicking, but I wouldn’t let him. Swiftly avoiding his blade and hitting him, I regained my dignity. Beating his blade back and making him acknowledge my presence, I regained my self-respect. 

The final score, 13-15. Walking off the strip after saluting my opponent and the referee, however, for the first time, I was happily lost in the cacophonies from all adjacent strips as other fencers’ swords parried. It was the sound of the community that supports, respects, shares experiences and camaraderie – one that comes together to build each other up. Now, I take the first sure-footed step toward building another community together.

A typical school day varies drastically for me depending on what day it is. On lucky days, I’ll be home by 3:30 PM, but on sad days (as I call them), I’ll be at school for 11 hours from 8:00 AM to 7:00 PM. 

I’ve come to appreciate the lucky days more and more because I can add more diversity to my daily activities. As soon as I come home, I usually do a workout consisting of either weight training or fencing drills. With the Fortune tournament already coming up next week however, I’ve been exhausting my legs with fencing drills for the past week. After the workout and a quick shower, my favorite time of the day arrives. Dinner’s on the table and I get to enjoy some TV shows or Youtube while eating before I lock myself up in my room for the next 4-5 hours. In past years, homework would just consist of whatever was assigned at school and studying for tests. I now have to worry about editing my common app and supplemental essays along with everything else which I seem to leave to the last moment. Most weekdays follow this routine that, for the most part, hasn’t changed drastically. My weekends, however, are what have been most affected throughout this college application process.

Until this year, weekends have always been what I mostly looked forward to other than vacations. I would have ample time to finish my homework and relax with a movie or hang out with friends and family. Weekends are now just “opportunities” to buckle down to finish my schoolwork early just so that I can spend even more time on writing and working on my college applications.  Sadly, there is no joy in finishing my schoolwork any longer. Although this disappointed me at first, I’ve learned to accept it and live with the fact that my life will not be fun for at least another few months.

From now until January 2022, I see a lot of college essays, schoolwork, and fencing practice. What I, as a 13-year-old teen, had expected of my high school senior year has been completely disproven, but I hope for the best.  Just a few more months of hard work, rewrites, and concerted efforts – it surely will help pave the road to my future.

My overall performance throughout the event wasn’t perfect, but this year I got to compete in two team events with my teammates. In the Senior team event, I was hoping to be able to fence some of the top-level fencers and just have fun. In the Junior team event, I knew that we actually had a shot at performing well. Unfortunately, we fenced the exact same team in both events and lost. Although we didn’t advance through the brackets, team fencing is always so much more fun and different than individual. Each point won or lost feels more critical.  It seems to weigh a bit more on your shoulder.  Nonetheless, cheering your teammates on, and leading your teammates as the captain throughout the multiple bouts is an amazing experience.

While my fencing results weren’t the best, I took solace in the culinary experience in Philadelphia. I had enough Philly cheesesteaks in one week to last me a lifetime. The Pan-Asian cuisine was also amazing. Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Vietnamese food after a long day of fencing was simply heavenly. We (my friends, their family, and my family) ventured out to an Italian restaurant for a team dinner one evening, and it was as authentic as a restaurant in Florence that I had visited before COVID-19. 

In addition to fencing and eating, I also visited some tourist attractions.  As you all know, a trip to Philadelphia wouldn’t be complete without climbing the Rocky steps. I went to Independence Hall, which was much smaller than I expected, where the Declaration of Independence and U.S. Constitution were debated and signed. (Spoiler alert!) The Liberty Bell, located right across the street from Independence Hall, is much smaller than you would expect. After visiting some more attractions like Elfreth’s Alley, the oldest street in America, my sister, my dad, and I took a little road trip to UPenn to New Jersey to New York for college visits. UPenn is practically integrated within the city.  Many UPenn buildings stand flanked by banks, restaurants, and shops. Princeton was pretty much opposite with its beautiful, gated campus and paths, walked on by many brilliant minds for over 270 years, weaving through all its awe-inspiring edifices. Columbia is almost a mixture of both universities – a big, gated campus similar to Princeton but with the feel of New York City permeating throughout the campus.

This year’s nationals, like all other national function events I had participated, gave me the chance to fence great competitors, to explore great cities, and to enjoy some vacation time with my family. The July Challenge is coming up next week now.  I look forward to more fencing and yet another opportunity to explore a new city.  Salt Lake City – here I come!

Unfortunately, around noon, the clouds started to disappear in a hurry, leaving us with blinding sunshine. With the exception of a couple of tents set up for officials in certain corners, there was quite literally no shade anywhere. The heat was intolerable, and I was so glad I had packed extra water bottles the night before because I needed all of them to stay hydrated. I stayed in this scorching tennis court like a roasting chicken for over 10 hours and left the tournament with a few battle scars. The sunburn above my nose made me instantly regret not putting on sunscreen but applying sunscreen under the fencing mask would have felt so uncomfortable. Needless to say, it wasn’t the best experience, and I now appreciate fencing as an indoor sport more than ever.

Putting aside the sun-drenched tennis courts, it wasn’t too bad for my return to competitive fencing. The adrenaline rush, the familiar butterflies in my stomach, the nervous grin, yet excited emotions – oh, how deeply I missed them! Unlike training at the club, every single point matters in a tournament. I hadn’t felt that very sense of urgency for quite a while. Things as trivial as weight/shim testing right before every bout started to wake me up and push me back into the groove of competitive fencing. That feeling when each touch has the potential to shift an entire bout is something you can never feel anywhere else. The concentration and motivation that you must maintain at all times throughout your pool and DE bouts are definitely exhilarating. Returning to tournaments (even outdoor ones) was a huge step toward getting back to some semblance of normalcy. 

A big part of feeling normal was seeing old friends. It really was the best part of competing again. For me, what makes fencing tournaments so fun and exciting isn’t about winning or losing; it is the camaraderie. Especially after the long hiatus, it was good to see a lot of familiar faces (albeit covered by the hair they had grown out throughout the entire quarantine period). Catching up with all my fencing friends from other clubs made getting roasted in the sun worth it. Everyone had changed tremendously within a year along with their fencing. Although it’s an individual sport, fencing has allowed me to connect with many people from all walks of life and build lasting friendships. Fencing last Saturday reminded me of what fencing means to my life. I can’t wait for the next tournament.

Staying focused and motivated has been an ongoing struggle I’ve had to face every day. Back when school was in-person, it was business as usual. I would go to classes, teachers would assign homework for the next day, and I would come home and study. However, ever since I started zooming, many distractions were more immediately accessible, and it took what seemed like a Herculean effort to stay clear from now-all-too-familiar distractions. When YouTube and Netflix are just a click away while the APUSH teacher is boringly rambling on about Franklin Roosevelt, it’s hard to prevent my mind from wandering away from the bullet points on a static Power Point slide. As trying to keep focused unwaveringly wasn’t fruitful for me, I decided to practice more intentional listening and thinking. I make more mental notes from which I check off, and this gives me a better sense of daily achievements.

Taking exams in online classes has its unique challenges. For example, my integrity is put to the test when there’s that last question for which I am simply unprepared. Searching for an answer to the question on Google would take two seconds, but I quickly remind myself that my integrity isn’t negotiable for a couple of additional points on the exam. I now have a slightly different appreciation of my junior year spent largely in the 14-inch classroom. It has taught me different ways to motivate myself and how to amplify the sense of integrity.

Similarly, I had to reexamine my commitment to my fencing. With all my schoolwork and fatigue, there have always been reasons not to practice with the fencing dummy or do the 30-minute cardio workout. Looking back at all the excuses I used to justify my tendency towards procrastination, I can confidently proclaim that Gus Ahn is the resident expert of convincingly arguing with himself or with anyone else who would listen why he doesn’t have time to put in the work. However, I started thinking about how procrastinating would irreparably jeopardize my fencing ability when tournaments open up again. What would happen if I permanently lost that burning urge to fence? I knew that if I continued to give in to my laziness, I would be stepping on to the strip for the first time in 9 months completely unprepared, mentally, and physically. The result of that would-be first bout gave me the chills. That’s when I found my “why”, the “why” that crushed all my personal reasons not to practice. I forced my out-of-shape body and even more out-of-shape mind to reboot and created a habit of regularly exercising and doing fencing drills.

Now that schools are opening back up and tournaments are coming very soon, I’m thankful that I have grown and matured a bit through the whole quarantine experience. It helped me discover things I never thought that I needed to improve and allowed me to reset. My fencing is steadily getting back to normal. Going back to school won’t be such a big adjustment. If anything, it’ll be easier after having fought through all these difficulties. With stronger resolve and self-motivation, I’m ready to jump back on the strip.

Creating a lesson plan turned out to be the first and most important step. I had to focus on what drills matched each fencer’s skill level. I had to go back to my beginnings and relearn the basics I hadn’t studied in years. The basics of fencing became so ingrained in me that trying to explain them to novice fencers was nearly impossible. It’s like asking someone to explain how to walk. They wouldn’t be able to explain how to walk, they would rather show you how to walk.  However, conducting a virtual class, I found it also challenging to demonstrate drills – camera angle, lighting, etc. This process of intentionally explaining was a great experience and allowed me to fully understand the reasoning behind all my actions. Something as simple as a disengage which I perform without thinking became a complex building block that I had to dissect and rebuild for my fencers. It’s instinctive for someone to disengage when the opponent is trying to take the blade, but it can lead to so many subsequent actions, such as threats, second intention, etc. Although I’ve always taken these subsequent actions, what came naturally to me wasn’t clear to them. Teaching these beginning fencers unexpectedly allowed me to progress as well by relearning the basics more intentionally.

 Teaching my fencers was also a fun activity overall. Although classes were all on Zoom, their young, energetic, and goofy personalities shined through. Some were tired but forced to join the classes in the evening, whereas others were begging to do plank contests. Even through the computer screen, we were all able to bond (and it helped in my case since the enthusiastic kids always convinced the tired and bored ones to join the exercise). Before switching to teaching advanced footwork, I taught fencing-focused conditioning. Perhaps it was the nature of these conditional exercises, but all the kids would always make me laugh. Two twins in the class reminded me of the relationship I used to have with my twin sister, always bickering at each other over the smallest things. I would typically end the class with 20 push-ups, and all the kids would complain that it was tiring and boring.  However, they would, then, merrily proceed to doing the push-ups while talking just about anything that popped into their heads. I was able to learn a lot about them during these virtual classes.  I think I even earned their respect although I am only a few years older than them. I promised to meet and fence them in person once the club reopens. I hope I can keep my promise.

This weekend I painted my mask, a task I originally thought would be a piece of cake. Boy, was I wrong. First, I had to research a little and see what type of paint I could use or how to even paint it in the first place. It turns out I can use any standard spray paint, so I bought white Krylon from Amazon. Since I’ve never used spray paint, I took out an old mask and ran a quick test on the left half.  Simply turning the nozzle on and spraying wasn’t good enough. Some parts of the mask had too much paint to the point where holes were completely filled up, whereas some parts barely had specks of white. It looked like what would be the paintjob of a car sold on craigslist, thousands of dollars below the market price by a sketchy one-star seller. I consulted a few Youtube video tutorials and took another shot at spray painting the other half.  It looked slightly better. However, it soon dawned on me that if I kept on practicing, I would run out of paint for the actual mask. Sure enough I felt the spray paint can getting lighter and had to reorder a new one. 

After waiting another week, I debated whether I should risk having sloppy white blobs on my flawless Leon Paul mask that had been with me for quite a while. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to get it right.  I would look like a fool if I went to a tournament with a mask that looked like it was fingerpainted by a toddler. I was about to call it quits when my dad told me “Don’t worry what other people will think; even if it turned out bad, only you would be the one noticing the flawed paintjob because other fencers would be either focusing on their bouts, or too nervous to notice white specks on your mask.” I realized that I was worrying about nothing.  I popped open the new can of spray paint, and confidently let out the stream of white paint.  To my surprise, the newly painted mask looked as if it was professionally done.  To tell the truth, however, I was so nervous that my back was soaked in sweat.  In retrospect, preparing the mask to be painted took much longer than painting it.  I had to make sure the parts that should not be painted were covered with precision.  I meticulously applied painter’s tape around the round edge of the mask, cutting out excess tape strips with a knife. Although the entire process of making a decision to paint the mask, preparing and completing the work was nerve-racking and tedious, the end result made it all worth the time and effort.

Regardless the end result, however, I am glad I tried something new.  It was my way of preparing for the 2021 season, and my mask symbolically represents a fresh start, leaving behind all the ups and downs in 2020.  My newly painted mask is unique; it is ready to march forward with me.  New mask, new year, new fencer.

There’s always the weekly fencing/conditioning zooms but nothing like the real thing. I always tried to practice with my fencing dummy that I had built a couple of years ago, but it still didn’t fill that missing feeling. Looking into a wooden pole while doing parries was an interesting experience to say the least. In order to stay sane, I experimented for a little bit by trying to find a new routine. Early morning runs was hit or miss – a horrible idea, in fact, because I’m not a morning person. I later decided to just do simple one-hour workouts on my own, 3-4 times a week, which wasn’t much, but better than nothing. School eventually started, and I had classes starting from 8:00 AM to 7:00 PM in front of a screen all day, or in my case, falling asleep and accidentally smacking my face against the keyboard each time. The workouts eventually started to become a nice release and really helped me get through the week. Inevitably, homework started piling up, and I was only able to work out whenever I had time after school or on the weekends. My life was caught in a grueling, boring, and overall unchanging cycle: Wake up, get in front of the computer, sit in a chair for who knows how long, eat dinner, do homework, and finally go to sleep. Thankfully, when Coach Miller offered to do private lessons at my house, I felt my prayers had finally been answered.

Although only on the weekends, starting up fencing lessons again was so liberating in the time of covid-19. I felt freer in my thick gear and mask than in my PJs in my cozy room. It is another Friday evening, but this time, I’m cleaning my fencing gear for tomorrow’s lesson. This is now my new routine.

As I reluctantly traded in my 2 sizes too small wasted pair, I moved on to my next fencing shoes, the Kobe NXT 360s. These were the most memorable of my shoes. Through every competition and through every practice, they stuck with me. Every scratch and every hole showed my perseverance and failure. It was my first pair of shoes to enter a tournament with me and the first to leave with a crushing near last place. I would go to tournaments for up to 5 hours and perform poorly then go to school the next day and get a B on a test as a result of the lack of studying. It seemed as though I wasn’t progressing in either education or the sport. If I didn’t excel at something I loved and if I didn’t excel at something I needed to be good at in order to become successful, then who was I? I often asked myself this question never quite finding an answer or at least a satisfying one. I felt lost and was given an ultimatum by my parents but more importantly by myself. At my last chance to earn a fencing rating, I laced up my Kobe’s and soared through each bout with built up eagerness for victory fueling my ascent. In one of the most defining 5 hours my life, I placed top 10, earning my first rating. It was a crucial moment for me that made me feel true self-worth for the first time.

There were definitely times when I have won but there have been far more times when I’ve fallen to the bottom with no hope for progression. Every loss, my shoes have been there to show how hard I’ve tried and how hard I’ve practiced since. They’ve taught me sportsmanship, acceptance of all outcomes of every bout, never giving up, and always adding new scars to the collection. They gave me tenacity and I always left a piece of the chewed-up rubber on the metal floors with no regret. Through my very first competitions, I could rely on them even earning my beginning ratings but as time went on, the once colorful fabric had begun to fade. The torn rubber soles had formed holes through the bottom and as my feet grew, so did my fighting spirit and level.

I outgrew my first pair of true fencing shoes that had for the first time traveled out of state for competitions and experienced all the ups and downs along with me. I then went on to my third and current pair of shoes, the Nike Metcon 5s. After just 6 months of usage, they had become my most beat up shoes by far showing how hard I trained and how much more serious I had become about my passion. I was always one of the last in the club and often chose practice instead of having fun with my friends or playing video games. In all the tournament stadiums I entered, I was always proud of my most destroyed shoes in the room and especially when I wore them on the podium of my very first 1^st place finish. As the prolonging bouts went from top 16 to semi-finals and eventually finals, every bone and muscle in my body told me to collapse to the floor. The only thing that stood firm was my will to win and my trusty Metcon 5s. My gold medal wasn’t the only thing that brought me joy that day but also the sign it gave me that all my extra hours and given-up Fridays had finally amounted to something.  By overcoming the temptation of instant gratification with my friends, I had invested in my future and accomplished one of my long-term goals. The level of damage done to my shoes became a measure of skill for me. No matter what happened in each bout, my shoes were there to hold me up. I laced them up with confidence and never took them off without taking a few bruises. I felt that I had finally become worthy enough to call myself a fencer and found a place in the fencing community. I had finally reached the expectations of my family and friends. Their undivided support played a big part in my improvement but what gave me the most backing were my remarkable Metcons. Attached to me as if they were my very own feet, these Metcons never gave up, shaping me to become more ambitious with each point I scored. These Metcons propelled me forward, teaching me rewards of hard work and allowing me to reap the fruits of my labor. These Metcons supported my heavy feet, lightening each step and each advance furthering my journey.

My path through fencing and life has been reflected through my shoes, outgrowing my previous ones as I grew physically and beating them up as I grew mentally. New fencing shoes are unbeaten and have never encountered any battle. They are just a part of millions of other shoes in their unopened boxes with no stories or experiences. All the ripped threads, torn cloths, tattered holes signify something to me and the work I have put into this amazing sport. They are unique to my experiences as a fencer and my troubles as a person. I don’t know what my next pair will be, but I believe in having the most beat up shoes on the strip; I believe in my fencing shoes.