About the mixed sabre, the less said the better. I was even less motivated than yesterday and basically was fencing because I had to be there while Jessica was fencing. My resolution was not to get peevish when hit hard by young men. More precisely, my goal was NOT to explain to them in annoyed tones that they have misjudged the distance between them and veteran women and attempted to hit someone about four feet behind me. I did not meet my goal, because my DE was with a very polite and respectful young man who barrelled into me like a freight train, bent my wrist back twice, and made me fall down twice, and at the break I commented to a team-mate that I was about to bellguard him. After the bout, he apologized to me, and I could not help myself. However, I wasn't as peevish as I usually am in similar circumstances. I think I may give up fencing these large mixed events, though.

My pool was hilariously skewed in age--it was Wayne McCullough, John Genn (a foilist), Alan Blakeborough, Dick Richards, and a boy from DCFC named Theodore Cohen, who was the only real young'un among us. Alan twisted his ankle in a bout and after that did a whole lot of hopping backwards on one foot. Everybody beat me because I was completely brain dead, except that I woke up for Dick Richards because I so often beat him that I decided it was worth it to me, and beat him 5-4 though at the expense of a stripe or two on my back. At least he didn't break a blade on me this time. I notice from the results that my only really bad bout was with Wayne, who asked me afterwards what happened to me Everybody else I was within a point or two.

Meanwhile, Jessica was fencing her second tournament in four years, the women's epee, which was an A2. Jess was seeded 12th because of the C she earned in Rosemont, but her goal was to win two bouts in the pool. Her first bout was with Val Asher, and she beat Val 5-4, and when I found that out I knew it was going to be a long day.

I assured her beforehand that she didn't have to fence it if she didn't want to, and however she did it was fine, because this was basically practice. Occasionally I would wander over and see how she was doing, and gradually one by one she won all her pool bouts and came out seeded first.

Between bouts and between periods, she would look at me and say, "This doesn't matter, right?" And I would say, "It doesn't matter. Nobody cares if you win and nobody cares if you lose." She would nod as if that confirmed what was right and good in her universe, and then she would go out and beat Elizabeth Karcher, Kyra Swick, Mary Frye (who had just taken out Margo Szabunia), and finally Ashley Severson. By the time she got to the gold medal bout with Chantal Montrose I could see that she was tired; she confirmed later that she knew what to do with Montrose but couldn't execute. I walked over to her between periods with water and said, "It doesn't matter." "Nobody cares," she said, and then we talked about what we were going to eat for dinner. She didn't win that bout, but I didn't tell her until afterwards that her second place finish earned her a B. From a D to a C to a B in less than a month, after taking four years off. What an annoying child.

It was, of course, the last bout in the place and all the strips except that one had been taken down. We were going to eat with everybody else but once we got in the car we just kept going. I have to teach tomorrow and she has a bunch of work to do at school.

It was the best Cherry Blossom I've seen yet. Great bout committee, good referees, nice atmosphere, reasonable fencing, good conversation. Getting good results didn't hurt, either. The ladies room, again, was disgraceful and disgusting and Wayne said he would talk to the university about at least having someone do a pass through after the first day.