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By Rebecca Glass

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Just because a training sword isn’t steel does not mean it doesn’t hurt. I learn this the hard way; I come in too close during my first sparring bout, so Eric grabs my free arm, and then –wham – it flies right into my unarmored torso.

Such a hit would discourage many. I can’t say I blame them since one of the general axioms of life is “don’t die”, and yet when I finally make it home, the first thing I do is to sign up for more sparring sessions. How does this happen? Is there something wrong with my brain, or is it something more instinctual, a thirst for violence that seems to be inherent in humanity since the dawn of time? How do I go from the girl who stood in the far corner to avoid being hit during dodgeball to someone totally willing to hit (and be hit) by weapons which, in their purest form, are designed to kill?

I don’t remember when I first learned about HEMA; I’ve known about it for a while since my friend Amy has been a practitioner for a decade (has it really been that long?). My mistake was assuming that HEMA clubs were only something you could find in Europe, so I never tried looking as hard as I should have done.

What is HEMA? For the uninitiated, the abbreviation stands for Historical European Martial Arts. It’s an accurate description, but also a mouthful, so sometimes the terms WMA (Western Martial Arts) and historical fencing are used; sometimes, when I’m less self-conscious about describing what I’m doing, I just tell people I sword fight. Nomenclature is important; although the term ‘fencing’ would, in fact, be the most correct term denotatively, the modern connotations – foils, epees, and all-white clothing – might give some the wrong ideas about what we do.

We aren’t modern fencers, and the differences are such that it’s like comparing soccer and ice hockey. Yes, both involve trying to score by putting an object in a goal, but there the similarities end. So it is with us—yes, we use swords, but that’s about it. Our main weapon is the historically-based longsword, which is wielded with two hands (some also train one armed weapons like messer, saber, and sword and buckler, but the longsword forms the basis of our training); we compete in a round instead of on a piste because our footwork is non-linear, and there is more emphasis on power generation through hip movement. Oh – and instead of all white, our jackets and knickers come in black.

Why—if you must choose—do HEMA instead of modern fencing? The answer will vary based on who you ask; for me it’s a combination of a welcoming community and the idea that by learning the techniques of the old masters, we can do our part to preserve the history behind it. Modern fencing’s rules are well-established; and it reached the pinnacle of sports recognition—a place at the Olympic games—a long time ago. As a sport, we’re still in our formative years; our rules vary with each tournament, and whether or not to have tournaments at all was controversial, the question being: should HEMA be an art, or a sport?

I’ve always been competitive while not being very gifted athletically. My coordination is barely passable, I am slow to react, and I am smaller than most athletes save gymnasts and jockeys. So when people tell me that my size can help me, and that size really doesn’t matter, I’m sceptical at first.

It turns out, however, that my classmates are correct. If my technique is good enough (and I admit that as a new student my technique has a long way to go), the rest will follow. I haven’t experienced it myself yet because I am too new, but I’ve seen it. I’ve seen a woman about my size, maybe even smaller, take on a well-toned man twice her size and do some damage.

It takes years to perfect a martial art; in fact dojos willing to award black belts in under a year or two or to young children are often derided as ’mcdojos’. We don’t have belts, but the idea is the same: no one gets good at this overnight. So, right now I’m more of a punching bag than an actual threat, but the idea that even I could become proficient is enough to keep me going.

The debate about whether HEMA should be an art or sport might seem rather academic, but its importance exists because your instructor’s conception of what HEMA is will color the way they teach: if HEMA is meant to be an art, then techniques are taught as though the ultimate goal was what you’d do if you found yourself in fifteenth or sixteenth-century Europe and had to defend yourself; if it’s meant to be a sport, then techniques taught will be designed to score you the most amount of points.

Some tournament organizers have recognized the conflict of interest and taken measures such as penalizing double hits (ie, when both fighters hit the other), because in an actual combat scenario the only rule that matters is “don’t die”, and any blow that leaves you exposed will give your opponent a chance to kill you.

Not dying is also a relatively acceptable goal for the newer students like myself for each class. I’ve already got bruises I can’t explain, and I’ve had to use my heating pad on my shoulder after any class that involves off-arm grappling (yes, grappling or, as it’s known in German, Ringen is a part of HEMA, especially when using daggers or messers). More than a couple have nursed broken fingers; other injuries are less common but not unheard of – up to and including knocks on the head. After all, I have to learn how to be hit before I can be unafraid enough to be aggressive myself.

If you asked me, after all of this, “why HEMA?” I would tell you that it’s because the sword is a beautiful thing. A well-crafted blade is a work of art—if you think I’m crazy, then please consider the arms and armor collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Wallace Collection in London, or the armory collection inevitably found in most major European capitals.

That’s how my love for swords started, anyway—I was in love with their beauty, the same way I love Caravaggio, El Greco, and Titian. Walking the streets of Toledo with my brother, I’d see the elegant blades in souvenir shop windows and beg to be allowed to purchase one (at that age I had no conception for the costs of international shipping). A year later, I did start collecting them: mostly broadswords, but an arming sword, a nineteenth century-style ceremonial replica, and a katana got added to the mix as well. Some were pricey, some were obviously meant for decoration only, but it’s never easy to look away—not for me, nor for anyone who’s ever seen them.

The jump from sword collecting to sword fighting is a relatively easy one to make: I have these gorgeous objects, and now I want to know how to use them. The fights themselves might not be as graceful to outsiders as those of Inigo Montoya or Rob Roy, but as I see it, anyway, knowing how to live to fight another day has a glamor of its own.