About three years ago, I walked away from the sport of fencing, after thirty years. I had many reasons for quitting, some practical and some emotional; mostly it was just recognizing that it wasn’t working for me any more, and that I didn’t want to expend the effort necessary to make it work.

I made it work for a long time, of course. I didn’t start until I was in my 40s, and the sport is designed as a pipeline of youth and teenagers to college fencing and, for a tiny handful, the Olympics. Nonetheless, I managed to train hard enough to get to a high level, and to be successful.

It was worth it to me to endure. I liked practicing. I liked the camaraderie. I liked learning new things, and having a goal. I went to national competitions and to over-50 championships, medaled often, and won sometimes.

Then my husband died. Oh, I still trained while he was ill, and I went to World Veteran Championships in Croatia not long after he died, because I already had my plane tickets, and I won gold for the fourth time.

But I was weary. You see, part of why I fenced for so long was to get myself out of the house, and now that my husband was gone and I was retired, I had the house all to myself and didn’t really need to escape my responsibilities any more.

I kept going for a while, but it seemed stale.

Some months after Croatia, I competed in yet another tournament, and won it. But afterwards, I sat there in a folding chair in the noisy venue, and thought, “This isn’t worth it.” I didn’t like having to pump myself up to beat some nice long-legged 40-year-old when I was in my 70s, especially when my opponent cared deeply and I didn’t.

It finally just didn’t seem to matter enough.

Then I sold my car and didn’t replace it. I couldn’t get to practice any more.

I just stopped going.

And I didn’t miss it.

But I started to miss it yesterday. I don’t miss a lot of things about the sport, but I miss practicing. I miss the camaraderie. I like learning new things, and having a goal. I am probably too old to take up any martial art that involves falls or grappling, honestly. I already know how to fence, though, and I know the community well enough not to have unnecessary expectations.

I looked up some things last night. There’s a club in my city. I can get to it by public transportation, even though it doesn’t have my discipline, which is sabre, just foil and epee.

Maybe, I thought, I could take up epee. What the heck. I’m 73. It’s not too late to learn an entirely different discipline, right? One in which I would be routinely destroyed, because it requires a completely different mindset and skills? In which there are many, many other people with much deeper experience, even in the over-70s? In which it would take me years to get competent?

I told my kid what I was thinking, and they said, “HA! Oh, mom.” Oddly enough, they understood; they were a fencer themself, and even went back to it briefly before the grandkid was born, probably from similar motives to mine.

While I was looking at fencing in my area, I came across a club in South Jersey run by a couple of people I know. Their web page has a photo on it of a gold-medal bout in a foreign country. On the left is one of the co-owners of the club. On the right, as it happens, is me.

I have had my successes. I won over-50 World Championships four times. Successes are beside the point.

What I miss, honestly, is practice.

Oh, I could take up chess, I suppose. Or go back to embroidery. But I do like trying to trick people so I can hit them. And I love practicing.