At March NAC I was standing near one of our students when I overheard a conversation between two fencing parents who discussed a child of one of these two parents when he was disconnecting from a reel after a devastating 0:5 bout. His mother was lamenting that her child would “never be as good as his opponent” because “some people are just born with it” and “you can’t teach that kind of natural talent.”

These words stopped me in my tracks. Not because they were surprising — they weren’t. But because they captured something so fundamentally misguided about our relationship with fencing, with competition, and with athletic development. Something we rarely challenge openly.

Let’s be honest — we’ve all thought this at some point. Watching that fencer who seems to float across the strip, whose point control looks almost magical, whose tactics are three steps ahead of everyone else. We think, “They’re just naturally gifted. I could never do that.” Or worse, “My child could never do that.”

The irony doesn’t escape me. We’re at a national competition where years of training, countless hours of practice, and immeasurable dedication have culminated in these performances. And still, we attribute success to some mystical inborn talent rather than to the sweat and tears behind it.

I want to talk about this myth. Not the general admiration we have for elite fencers, but this specific, nagging belief that excellence is primarily innate rather than developed. It’s different from recognizing that people have different starting points or physical attributes. This belief is more fatalistic, more disempowering. It’s about giving up before we even try. And if we’re honest with ourselves, we need to ask: how many times have you given up on an activity after thinking you aren’t as talented as someone else?

When we say some fencers are “just naturally talented,” what we’re really saying is that we don’t want to acknowledge the thousands of private lessons, classes, camps and competitions, the countless failed actions, the frustrating plateaus or even completely bad seasons they’ve pushed through to get where they are. We’ve built this comforting narrative that lets us off the hook — if success is mainly about inborn talent, then our struggles aren’t our responsibility.

But here’s what I’ve learned through many years of coaching: excellence in fencing is both more accessible and more demanding than we think. More accessible because it’s built primarily through deliberate practice, not genetic lottery. More demanding because there are no shortcuts — those “naturally talented” fencers put in the work when nobody was watching.

Think about the fencers you admire most. Do you really believe they came out of the womb knowing how to execute a perfect fleche? That they never had moments where they looked awkward or made tactical errors? That they never lost bouts they “should have” won while developing their skills? Think about all these Olympic and World Champions who lost “absolutely their” bouts in the first round of the T64 — to a fencer who barely made it to the second day.

Every single action in your fencing repertoire — even the ones you’re most confident in now — started as something uncertain. Something that could have gone wrong. Something that probably did go wrong, many times, before it became reliable. The only difference between those actions and the new ones you’re afraid to try is that you’ve forgotten what it felt like to be uncertain about the old ones.

The truth is, there’s no such thing as risk-free growth in fencing. Every new technique, every tactical variation, every adaptation to our game comes with the possibility of failure. And yes, sometimes that failure will be public. Sometimes it will be against opponents we’re “supposed to” beat. Sometimes it will make us feel less than competent.

But here’s another truth: what looks like “natural talent” to outsiders is almost always the result of deliberate practice — a specific kind of practice that’s purposeful, systematic, and focused on improvement rather than just going through the motions. It’s not about how many hours you spend in the club, but how you spend those hours.

What Does Deliberate Practice Look Like in Fencing?

So what exactly does this deliberate practice look like in real fencing terms? Let me paint a picture that might sound familiar. Two fencers are practicing at the club. Let’s call them Michelle and Jocelyn. Both have been fencing for about the same amount of time.

Michelle shows up, does some general footwork with the group, fences a few bouts, works on whatever the coach has assigned that day, and goes home.

Jocelyn comes with a notebook. Before practice, she reviews specific problems she and her coach noticed in her last competition. During footwork, she is not just going through the motions — she is focusing on these specific mistakes during lunges that they identified as her weakness. When bouting, Jocelyn is not just trying to win — she is deliberately working on specific actions, even if it means losing more touches in the short term. After each bout, she writes in her journal what worked and what didn’t.

A year later, Michelle is still roughly at the same level. Jocelyn, however, has transformed her game. And when she wins, people say, “Wow, Jocelyn is so naturally talented.”

The difference isn’t talent. It’s approach. Deliberate practice requires:

1. Specific goals: Not “get better at fencing” but “improve my ability to recognize and exploit preparation”
2. Focused attention: Full engagement in what you’re doing, not just going through the motions
3. Immediate feedback: From coaches, video analysis, or your own awareness
4. Getting out of your comfort zone: Regularly attempting things that are just beyond your current abilities

This doesn’t mean mindlessly repeating the same action thousands of times. It means thoughtful repetition with constant refinement.

I see this play out with our students all the time. The ones who progress fastest aren’t necessarily the ones who started with the most coordination or athletic ability. They’re the ones who approach practice differently. They’re the ones who understand that “natural talent” might give you a head start, but deliberate practice is what gets you to the finish line.

The Challenge of Deliberate Practice

Deliberate practice isn’t easy or always fun. It requires discipline, patience, and the willingness to embrace struggle rather than avoid it. It means spending time on your weaknesses rather than showing off your strengths. It means focusing on process over results, sometimes for long periods without obvious improvement.

When our students complain about plateaus or seeing others progress faster, I often ask them: “How are you practicing? Are you just putting in hours, or are you challenging yourself in the right ways?”

Because here’s the reality: fencing four times a week, going through the same comfortable routines, will eventually lead to stagnation. One focused session of deliberate practice, targeting specific weaknesses with clear feedback, can do more for your development than weeks of autopilot training.

Every hour spent in private lessons needs to be matched with multiples of that time in thoughtful solo work in group classes.

Why solo? Because only you can create and thoroughly follow your individual plan to improve – your footwork, your point control, your technical accuracy, your expansion of fencing actions, your tactical awareness, and so on and on. Some of the most valuable training happens when no one is watching.

Creating Your Deliberate Practice Plan

If you’re inspired to start implementing more deliberate practice in your fencing, here’s what I recommend:

1. Identify your weaknesses honestly: Ask your coach, watch your bout videos, notice which situations consistently cause you problems.
2. Break down complex skills into components: Don’t just say “I need to work on my attacks.” Which part of your attacks needs work? The preparation? The distance? The timing? The technical execution?
3. Create a specific practice protocol: Design drills that isolate the exact aspect you’re working on.
4. Get immediate feedback: Use mirrors, video recordings, coach feedback, or training partners to check your progress.
5. Track your progress: Keep a training journal noting what you worked on, how it felt, and what to focus on next time.

And perhaps most importantly, develop the right mindset. Recognize that feeling challenged, making mistakes, and struggling are not signs of lack of talent — they’re essential ingredients of improvement.

You definitely will get frustrated and maybe even sometimes bored. But remember, if this feels hard, it means you’re growing. The day this feels easy is the day you need to find a new challenge.

So the next time you watch that seemingly “naturally gifted” fencer at a tournament, remember: what you’re seeing isn’t magic or inborn talent. It’s the result of thousands of hours of deliberate practice — most of it unseen, much of it unglamorous, all of it essential.

And the beautiful thing about this reality? It means that excellence is available to anyone willing to approach their practice with the right mindset and methods. You might not become an Olympic champion, but you can absolutely become much better than you are today.

The choice, as always in both fencing and life, is yours to make. And perhaps that fencing parent I overheard at March NAC might realize that her child’s potential isn’t limited by some mythical talent ceiling, but by the quality of practice, the mindset he brings, and the deliberate work he’s willing to put in when no one’s watching.