The average person doesn’t understand that a professional athlete isn’t born, she’s made. It takes relentless, all-consuming training and untold personal sacrifices before any of the glory is seen. Sometimes even I questioned this path I’d chosen, but I had to shift my thinking and convince myself that the struggles I was experiencing served a purpose. Most of my family didn’t understand why I was working so hard for a still unnamed goal, and I knew it was a struggle for my parents to sign on to my dream because there was no precedent in our family for what I was doing. I wasn’t in graduate school. I wasn’t married. I didn’t have a real job. There was no easy reference point for my decision to pursue sport.
My parents smiled through it all, though, and never tried to move me away from fencing. I loved them for not giving up on me because charting this unknown territory on a leap of faith at times was paralyzing. Every day I had to silence my internal voices of doubt, and I would still be left wondering if this was the right path for me. I feared the unknown. I couldn’t guarantee success was coming. Would I ever make the national team, much less an Olympic team? I heard judgment in the innocent questions people would ask. “How long are you going to be doing this?” “Are you still going to law school?” “What’s your plan if things don’t work out?” “When are you getting married?” That’s when I would think about my grandmother Louella, her strength and her convictions as a woman, and I would renew my promise to continue on my quest to be the best, with nothing but faith in my pockets and courage in my heart.
One day in early 2009, almost a year to the day since I’d committed myself to fencing, something happened that would completely change the trajectory of my career. More people were joining the Fencers Club, so we were in desperate need of another saber coach. There had been some talk about a former foundation fencer, moving from Texas back to New York, who would take the new job. His name was Akhnaten Spencer-El, and he had been on a few national teams as a kid and even qualified for the Olympics in Sydney back in 2000. I had met Akhi at the New Jersey Fencing Alliance back in Maplewood, when he briefly worked for Coach Mustilli before joining the foundation. He’d towered over Coach Mustilli. With his golden skin, permanent five o’clock shadow, and eyes that crinkled like crescent moons when he smiled, I found him to be easily approachable and always very encouraging when I’d stop in for a secret lesson unbeknownst to Sam. I didn’t know much about Akhi, but he seemed really nice and invested in the development of his students, so I didn’t hesitate to tell Peter that I wanted to switch coaches. I had grown tired of walking on eggshells around Sam and dealing with his unpredictable behavior. Lately Sam had been showing up to my competitions late, if at all, and dressed like he was going out clubbing in Harlem in the 1920s. Instead of wearing sweatpants and sneakers like most coaches, one day Sam showed up in what looked like a pink zoot suit—pink slacks, pink shirt, pink fedora, and pink alligator shoes. His choice of attire showed just how uninterested he was in coaching or in helping his athletes during competition. He proved to be more of a distraction than an asset. Even though I really didn’t know if Akhi would be the right coach for me, I figured he had to be an improvement over Sam. At that point, anyone would have been an improvement over Sam.
“Ibtihaj, I think you could be one of the best fencers in the world!” Akhi said to me after our first lesson together.
“Really? Me?” I asked, my disbelief clear. Since it had been a year since that meeting with Coach Mustilli, I was now holding on to my confidence by a thread. It felt wonderful to hear someone else verbally acknowledge my potential.
“Yes, you,” he said, chuckling. “Who else am I talking to?”
“Okay,” I said, grinning like a fool.
“You have a really good sense of timing and you’re really fast,” he said. “You have a natural counterattack and that’s a strength we can exploit. I’m going to have fun turning you into a champion, Ibtihaj.”
I wasn’t used to being praised by the coaches at the foundation for my skill or potential. More often than not, they seemed to see the potential only in the male saber fencers. But here was a former Olympian telling me that he could turn me into a top fencer. I relished the idea and couldn’t wait to get started. I could already feel my spirits starting to rise.
“So, when do we start?” I asked, the smile still plastered on my face.
“Actually, our training is going to have to be put on hold for a minute because I have to take care of something,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I want to be a certified fencing Maestro so I have to go through a certification course in Hungary, and it’s about to get started,” he said. “I don’t want to be an assistant coach forever.”
My world crumpled at the thought. “Hungary? Like the country, Hungary?” I asked, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice. “How long will you be gone?”
“Three months,” he said, grimacing, “but I’ll give you some exercises you can do while I’m gone, and I’m sure Sam can continue to work with you until I come back.”
A cold ball of dread formed in my stomach at the thought. If only Akhi knew what I’d been going through with Sam. Here I’d mustered up the courage to let go of Sam, and now I had to work with him again for three more months, with the added burden of him knowing that I no longer wanted to work with him. The unselfish part of me was happy for Akhi and knew it was a necessary step for him to take in order to be a respected coach in our club, but the selfish part of me wanted him to stay in New York. That night as I rode the train home, I had to try to psych myself up for working with Sam again for another three months. I prayed that he wouldn’t hold it against me that I’d dared to finally cut our ties.
Apparently, Sam wasn’t up to the task. He was either unwilling or unable to take the high road. Instead, Sam made it his mission to make the next three months unbearable for me. I was convinced he wanted to break me or see me quit, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. On the contrary, he just fueled my desire to succeed even more. He would never see me quit.
It was obvious Sam didn’t want to work with me, either, but Peter hadn’t given him a choice. In response, Sam routinely came to my lessons late or would cut my lesson time short. I knew better than to ask for any more than he was willing to give, because it would have fallen on deaf ears. He was passive-aggressive in his treatment of me, but the worst part was his refusal to acknowledge my talent and ambition. He treated me like a chore or, worse, like a waste of his time. Sometimes I just wanted to scream and yell, “What did I ever do to you? I can be better if you’d just help me, if you’d just do your job and coach me!” But it wouldn’t have mattered.
I’ll never know why Sam was so dismissive of me. My only guess is that he had a general lack of respect for women. When I was younger, he always seemed to favor the boys in class, always allowing them to stand in the front line as examples to the rest of us, or hand-selecting male students for special activities that girls were never chosen for. As an adult I saw the way he treated other girls and young women in the program, often with the same disregard for their potential. I told myself it wasn’t me, it was my gender that Sam had a problem with, but it still made me so angry. Deep down I sensed he wanted to see me give up, like many of the other female fencers unfortunate enough to be coached by Sam, but walking away from fencing would have proven him right, that I wouldn’t amount to anything. So I showed up early to every lesson, gritted my teeth through the arduous group classes, and was always the last one to head home. I was literally counting down the days until Akhi’s return, but I would never give Sam the satisfaction of seeing my pain. My negative feelings about Sam were finally confirmed when he was fired from the foundation some months later. Although it didn’t take away from all the suffering he had caused, I did feel vindicated.
Akhi was back by the summer, and we started training right away. Most fencers take a break from training in the summer since the fencing season runs from October through June,
but when Akhi came back in early June, we got right down to business.
Working with Akhi felt like having a gourmet meal after eating a steady diet of gruel. He was as hungry as I was for success. As a new coach at the foundation, Akhi needed to prove he had what it took to turn regular athletes into champions. I was hoping to be his first success. My spirit came alive under his tutelage. We were the first people in the gym every morning and the last ones to leave at night because we had a goal we were working toward, and that was to make me one of the best fencers in the world. Finally, I had a coach who was willing to climb on board my crazy workhorse train, to put in the hours and grind. It was such a welcome relief to have someone who not only rooted for me, but also believed in me as well. It wasn’t only his positive attitude and willingness to put in the time that made working with Akhi so different, he was also showing me a whole new approach to the sport of fencing.
Until this point, I had always been taught to fence defensively by reacting to my opponents. I was given methods and approaches to attack or defend and was told to execute these moves with speed and strength. Akhi had a different approach. He told me fencing was a mind game, so instead of focusing on the physical, he taught me to think tactically. We spent a lot of time watching videos of some of the world’s best female saberists—some from Russia, others from Ukraine—and Akhi would break the matches down for me point by point.
“You have to realize that it’s human nature to want to score,” Akhi explained. “Even the best trained athlete is vulnerable to a strong tactical game, so you have to figure out how to get into your opponent’s mind. Let them think there’s an opportunity, but really you’ve devised a plan to score using that false action that your opponent has fallen for.”
I nodded my head to show Akhi that I was listening. I felt like I was being given the secret keys to the kingdom. Akhi’s face was animated and his eyes were lit with enthusiasm when he spoke. He had a love for this sport that could not be denied.
“You have to use your strengths, Ibtihaj,” Akhi continued. “Your sense of timing and explosive speed have to be used to your advantage. And you must have a plan A, a plan B, and a plan C. Before every competition, you have to know your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses and how you plan to beat them. Just like a football coach has a plan of attack, you need one, too.”
I devoured everything Akhi said and tried to faithfully execute everything he told me through the weeks and months of practicing together. I had never had someone put that much time and thought into helping me develop as an athlete. Throughout my journey, I had been given advice, but nothing compared to Akhi teaching me that my opponents’ strengths and weaknesses were as important as, if not more important than, my own. Akhi’s style of coaching was brand-new to me, allowing me to discover an entirely new approach to fencing. I shook my head at the time I had wasted with Sam. Maybe Sam’s approach to fencing had worked back in the day when he used to compete, but it had never worked for me. He was probably ten years older than Akhi, and things do change, the sport evolves, so maybe that was it. It didn’t help that Sam genuinely had no interest in coaching female athletes, either. I was just grateful I had been brave enough to switch coaches. Deciding to work with Akhi had required a wild leap of faith on my part, but it was one of the best decisions I ever made in my life.
To say things changed dramatically after I started working with Akhi would be an understatement. Even though I had performed well at Duke on the college circuit, competing at domestic and international competitions was a whole different experience. It was like the difference between playing college basketball and being drafted into the NBA. Yes, college competition was tough, but domestic competitions meant competing against a much larger field of competitors, fencers of all ages from across the United States. It’s a separate universe entirely. I had to pinch myself as I started to walk away from these domestic competitions with gold medals around my neck after training with Akhi over the summer. Akhi had helped me perfect my craft and develop my natural talents of timing and speed. Most importantly, Akhi showed me that with a good tactical plan, I could beat anyone on the strip.
Just a few months into the season, I had fenced well enough in the domestic competitions that I now had a high enough national ranking to compete on the international circuit. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine that happening so quickly.
This World Cup competition was to take place right outside of London. Even though I’d traveled to Morocco in college, this was my first international fencing competition. My parents were worried about me traveling alone, but the coaches at the Westbrook Foundation assured them that I would be well cared for. They also reassured my parents that I’d never be alone because there was another young female fencer, Candace, who was also competing. Candace also fenced saber and was one of my favorite people at the foundation. She was always the face of calm, which is good company for any competitor.
Candace and I flew into London’s Heathrow Airport together, and took a taxi to our hotel. It was my first time in London, but I was so nervous about the competition, I hardly paid attention to the world speeding by outside the taxi window. Once in our hotel, both Candace and I quickly unpacked and headed out to find a grocery store where we could buy some healthy snacks and bottled water to take with us to the competition the next day.
The competition was to take place on the outskirts of London at a private boys’ school in an area called South Croydon. Pulling up to the Whitgift School on the first of the two days of competition, I decided the school looked more like a prestigious college campus than any primary school I’d ever seen before. The imposing brick buildings on the campus looked like castles. Candace and I found our way to the school’s gymnasium, which had obviously been modernized, as it stood in stark contrast to the gothic buildings surrounding it. Once inside, the distinctive sound of metal hitting metal and the fierce yells of the competitors permeated the room.
My face must have shown the fear and apprehension I was feeling because Candace smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Ibtihaj. You’re going to do fine.”
Candace had been fencing saber from an early age and was a better fencer than me. Everyone at the foundation, including me, was waiting for Candace to qualify for the United States National Team. In order for that to happen, she would have to be one of the top four saber fencers in the country at the end of the season. I knew she was close, and I was praying for her to succeed.
“I’m so nervous,” I said.
“Of course you’re nervous,” Candace said with a grin. “If you weren’t, you’d be overconfident, and that’s a surefire way to lose.”
“Well, I have enough nerves right now, I must be on my way to win the gold,” I joked, trying to make light of my current situation.
“You’re going to be fine, Ibti,” Candace said. “We both are. We’re going to show these people what two beautiful brown girls from the USA can do with a saber on the strip.” I laughed. I was so happy to be here with Candace. I tried to capture some of her enthusiasm, bottle it up, and carry it with me on the strip.
There are usually two days to a competition. The first day is used to whittle down two hundred fencers to forty-eight. The second day those forty-eight fencers from the first day join the top sixteen seeded fencers in the world to complete the elimination rounds of the tableau of sixty-four. I likened the top sixteen fencers in the world to superheroes, insanely fast, mesmerizing to watch, and lucky enough to not even have to fence the first day of World Cup competition. I clearly wasn’t there yet, so I had to fence in the preliminary rounds and hope I made it to the second day of competition.
When I walked into the gymnasium on the first day, the talent I saw on the floor overwhelmed me. I watched women seemingly fill every available space, running, stretching, fencing, warming up for this, the first World Cup of the season. These were the world’s best fencers, and I was about to join their ranks. After finding my pool number and strip assignment, I looked at which
women from which country I was slated to fence and tried not to psych myself out. After warming up with Candace, we sat together as long as we could before wishing each other luck and heading over to our respective strips. Unfortunately, it didn’t go well for me or Candace.
I had thought after all of those wins in the United States on the national circuit that I had proven that I could handle a major competition. And here I was, my first international competition, and I was out before the fun even started. Neither Candace nor I made it to the second day of competition.
Back at the hotel Candace tried to cheer me up, but nothing was more devastating to my pride than going out so early. I started down a steep slope of feeling bad for myself. Candace stopped me.
“Ibtihaj, you can’t let every loss destroy you. There are going to be way more losses if you’re trying to do this full-time, so you have to get used to this. Why don’t we go to watch the competition tomorrow?”
“Why, so I can feel horrible all over again?” I said.
“No, so we can watch the fencers that we lost to. Let’s take detailed notes, so we can work on those moves back in New York. We’ll never get better if we don’t learn from our mistakes.”
I stopped packing and sat down on my narrow hotel bed.
“I guess you’re right,” I said, remembering Akhi’s instructions to know my competition. I couldn’t go back to him without some sort of feedback, so I agreed to go.
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