Fight Club

Can I tell you about something really cool?


Sometimes we have experiences that are so deeply meaningful and profound that it's a long time before we can put words to them. And when some time has passed, to do so is to risk letting go of the immediacy and excitement of that adventure - that the intensity and they way it's remembered will never quite be the same and we want to hold on to our version of those memories as tightly as we can. But there comes a point when the experience demands utterance and defying the call to express it only results in a dull, chronic stomach-rot. I've had a few times like these in my life, but there really is something special about my time in Vancouver during the 2012 Fight Directors Canada National Workshop.

Back in May, I learned that I would be teaching Drama at the high school this fall. That's totally cool, I love that stuff. But, I really want it to go well. And I know that I don't always relate so well to teenage boys (I just don't get them. I mean, I'm a teacher, so I should, but . . . ) and I thought, "You know what? I should really look into taking a stage combat course. If I can teach them how to throw a few punches and kick each other in the nuts for a scene, they'll be thrilled and I'll be golden."

So, I looked into it online - something that would fit the timeline of anywhere between then and the end of the summer. I've never done anything like this before, so I let Google do the walking. The first thing that popped up was an FDC Basic class at Rapier Wit in Toronto. That sounded totally cool. Then I discovered the Nationals which would be a couple of weeks later. A variety of circumstances (to do with timing and family stuff) led me to go with Vancouver. I was looking at two weeks of intense training in unarmed, quarterstaff and sword combat for the stage. Cool, right? Yes. Oh, and at the end we would have to get up in front of a panel of judges and be tested on 3 choreographed partner fights . . . *Cool.*

So, I made my decision. And then I put off doing anything about it. A week would go by and my husband would ask, "Have you registered yet?"

"No."

"You better get on that."

"Yep." And then I wouldn't. This happened a few times. I left it until the last minute.
And then,

"Have you booked your plane ticket?"

"No."

"You better get on that."

"'Kay." More procrastination. I booked. And then I checked the website I don't know, about a week and half before it was to start and noticed that I booked it for a day too late. I must have read it wrong, so I had to change my flight.

I should have been excited and I was, but I was also really dreading it. What the hell was I thinking? I had never done anything like this before and I was completely out of shape. And not that I want it to matter, but 40 is looming larger than I want it to. I'm short. I'm left-handed. I could have just not gone. But as the start date approached, I began to know (in a way that I wished I could ignore) that this was going to be about far more than just teaching kids how to kick each other in the nuts on stage. It would also be about me going through something really hard just to come out on the other side of it still standing.

I had five goals (the pursuit of which took up all the available space in my head):
• learn the moves
• try not to look like too much of a moron
• catch the bus on time (there were two buses from downtown Vancouver to Capilano University in North Van).
• follow the pack and don’t get lost (the classes were in various buildings).
• don’t forget to eat (when you're married you become half-useless. Food is the domain of my other half).

As regards the second point, (for the first week at least) I felt like a moron every day. Every minute of each of those days. I'm talking tears. Most people (including some of the instructors, certainly those looking to be instructors) were younger than me. I thought I could be so cool about learning from younger people, but it was harder than I thought. I mean, it's humbling. I'm usually the teacher - the one who knows and imparts, not the one who doesn't know and is at the mercy of another to impart. But I got over it and then it was wonderful. The young folks (not to the exclusion of the older-than-me-folks, who are master teachers and completely mesmerizing) were extremely cool and smart and funny and totally dedicated, not to mention unrelenting in their high standards. It was not long before I was enchanted by the whole thing.

But. Let's just say I was out of my element.

Cut to the first day of the second week. It was a good start - I had been struggling with all of my choreography for the entire first week and spent some of our one free day studying and rehearsing. Sword class was first and I made it through the choreography fairly smoothly when my partner and I presented it to the class. Therefore, a win.

I pause here to talk about my gargantuan fear of performing.

As a teenager, I loved being on stage. I enjoyed it a bit beyond high school, but then I think something changed. Maybe there was some kind of significant identity shift or something in my early twenties, but I found myself shying away from acting (or even being interested in it.)  Drama class? That's my thing - be it teaching or participating. Putting myself out there in front of people, especially professional actors and directors? I could die. In there somewhere is a malignant form of insecurity entwined in narcissistic self-obsession. Any way you look at it, I am most at home in the rehearsal hall, the classroom or in front of the computer - not onstage.

So, I made it through the morning sword class. And I got through most of the rest of the day all right. But then we had a second sword class at the end of the day. I was pretty spent (see above re: completely out of shape). And nervous - getting through the choreography the first time seemed like a fluke and I had so many doubts about being able to reproduce it. The instructor wanted to see the scenes again, pair by pair. I went first last time, so I kept sitting there as each of the pairs went up to show their work. Time marched until only one pair was left other than myself and my partner. Class was due to be over so I just sat there and let them go, relieved that I seemingly dodged a bullet. But it was not to be. We were called up. And I choked. I lost my way and the thing completely fell apart. My partner (who was actually an advanced actor combatant journeying to be a fight instructor) was a champ and made the best of it, but I felt awful because I knew that I didn't really try because I didn't really feel like it.

There was some time to eat before we were due to be back for evening rehearsals. You can't go back and change what happened, you can only change what you do from there. So I took some time to feel bad and let that bad feeling register in my gut for a while so that I could ensure that such a thing wouldn't happen again. As I thought it all through, it became clear to me that this fight stuff isn't about me (What? Something's not about me?) It's about the partnership. And a partnership only really works if both people bring everything they have to serve each other. So, even though I'm new at this, and I fumble over myself every five seconds, my partner (any of my partners) needs me, too. In short, I learned that I don't have a right to my insecurities.

Oh.

I went back to rehearsal and worked like a dog. Things went better from there. Turned out, I had a lot of fun throughout the rest of the week. Classes were great and rehearsals were better. And then, I failed my fights.

Yeah, I failed the fights. Which I expected.  It's really cool how the whole thing is run. You have your fights pair by pair and then a bunch of hours pass and the fight masters call you in one by one to give you your results. By that time, you're tired and thinking about going home and wearing real clothes every day and feeling surprised that though you didn't come here with any intent to get to know anyone, that you might actually miss some people. It's an intensely emotional time. The fight masters were really supportive and it all resulted in a good conversation. I may or may not have gushed about how great I thought everyone was. I meant every word.

The game face I hoped to don didn't pan out when I left the room to face my classmates. I totally wanted to pick up my things, take the bus back to downtown and meet up with my sister for dinner like she and I had tentatively planned. That's what I wanted to do. But something inside just said, "Dammit, you're staying here and you're going to hug and congratulate the others when they come out of there." I did. It wasn't easy, but I really was proud of them all and I'm glad I had the chance to show them that.

There was a "do" after. A party at a pub. I didn't want to go to that, either. I would rather have run and hid in urban obscurity with my sister anywhere in Vancouver except the pub where the party was being held. Again with the "Dammit, you're going. It's not going to kill you. And people may want to see you and hang out with you, so just stop your bawling and go."

I'm glad I went. The humiliation of my relatively public failure subsided after a couple of drinks and I was thrilled to be able to enjoy the company of some of the funnest, most interesting people I've had the pleasure to meet (as are most people you meet for a short time I suppose, but it was true in this case for this period of time, anyway).

I haven't taught anyone how to fake-kick someone else in the nuts yet. I don't know if I'm any closer to understanding teenage boys, either. I may eventually, but even if I never do, I have this remarkable experience that has rendered me forever changed in a way that I still don't know if I can fully articulate. Not to mention that it was among the most exceptional learning experiences I've ever had. You can't beat that.

And I'm still intrigued by all this fight stuff. I haven't done any of it since, but I'll be at the Paddy Crean Stage Combat Workshop over the new year in Banff. I think it's going to be totally scary, but I can't wait to find out for sure.

0 to 60

Holy fuck. I shouldn't say things like that, it misrepresents me (I like to think of myself as the kind of person who wouldn't say things like that. But obviously, I'm wrong). But, man. I went from a total couch potato to hardly having a minute in the day to even, like, eat.

It's cool, though. It's all good (kinda, except that I have no time). See, I mentioned before about job shuffling . . . So, what happened was that the guy who was originally going to be a partner in crime of sorts in the Drama department at the school is now the Vice Principal. I opted to take his position (there was no middle ground), but it means a steep learning curve. I know nothing about film. And I'm now teaching it. To give you an idea.

I just auditioned kids for You Can't Take it With You. We had such a fun time. I'm in denial about having to make a cast list. I could seriously be happy just sitting about making stuff up with a bunch of kids. These guys are awesome!

A former student from many moons ago stopped by and we chatted through the whole lunch hour. SO good to catch up with her.

That's that. Just gotta breathe.