Parry, Riposte, Repeat: What Losing Taught Me About Life

This post isn’t about medals or highlight reels. It’s about losing - the kind that stings, humbles, and, oddly enough, teaches you more than winning ever could.

There’s a certain brutal elegance to fencing: one minute you’re ahead, the next you’re catching your breath while the scoreboard blinks back a hard truth: defeat.

And I’ve known my fair share of defeats. In fencing, everyone knows their fair share of defeats.

When I first started fencing, I thought talent and speed were everything. I trained hard, perfected my toe-touches and memorized feints. That changed during my sophomore year at a tournament in Virginia. My timing was off, my confidence collapsed, and I lost to a fencer I had beaten routinely in the past. I was crushed…and confused. I remember walking off the strip, sweaty and embarrassed. There were the obligatory words of encouragement – parents, teammates, coaches – but of course, as a fencer responsible for her own actions, those words only go so far.  I had another event to fence in 15 minutes and I had to pull myself together and focus on what’s next. I didn’t have time to be crushed by what could’ve been. What I had time for was a quick assessment: what was it that was ‘off’? What DID work? What one or two things can I do differently?

And therein lies the twist: the outcome of those events will eventually fall from my memory, but that day led to one of the most important realizations of my life.

I used to think failure was the enemy. That every missed point or lost bout was a sign I wasn’t good enough. But after those events ended, and reflecting on the day, I realized failure is not the enemy at all. Because failure, in its rawest, most uncomfortable form, forced me to grow.

Failure forced me to examine not just how I fenced, but why I fenced. I stopped trying to win to prove something and started fencing to grow. Losing taught me how to watch my bouts with fresh eyes—not as evidence of weakness, but as maps for progress. I saw patterns. I saw hesitations. I saw a girl learning how to fight smarter, not just harder.

It also taught me emotional resilience. There’s a quiet humbling in saluting someone who just outfenced you. But over time, I stopped seeing opponents as enemies - as someone that could induce my failure - and started seeing them as partners in my growth.  Partners I still wanted to beat on strip, for sure, but unsuspecting partners who would push me to become better, think faster and act more decisively.  And I became braver, on and off the strip.

And maybe the most surprising lesson? Failure reminded me why I love this sport. Not because of when I win, but because I always learn. Every loss carved out a space inside me, sometimes painful, sure, but it created room for grit, resilience, and deeper self-awareness. And that is what growth is all about - making room for more improvement.

And here’s the thing everyone gets wrong: losing isn’t failure….Giving up after losing is. But if you choose growth over failure - watch your videos, ask questions, get back on the strip, then every setback becomes a stepping stone.

Now, when I salute my opponent and hear “En garde,” I’m not afraid. Not because I’m guaranteed to win, but because I’m guaranteed to improve.

So to every athlete out there afraid of falling short: don’t run from failure. Lunge into it. Let it sharpen you. Let it humble you. Let it remind you that you're human and let it push your growth—and that’s where your strength lies.

Failure also made me more compassionate. When you’ve tasted defeat, you know how to encourage others through theirs. You stop judging people on their worst moments and start showing up for them when they need it most.