I’m A 23-Year-Old Olympic Fencer And That Isn’t Everything
Nzingha Prescod
July 18, 2016
Estimated reading time – 5 min
“Sniper in Dallas.”
I received that text from my mom two Fridays ago, when my U.S. Fencing teammates and I were headed back to our hotel after a Rangers baseball game. We had spent the past few days at an Olympic training camp and were focused on finding a good place to stop for some barbecue.
Suddenly, we were 20 minutes from the most deadly event for police since 9/11. We turned on the car radio and started scrolling through live news updates on our phones to try to make sense of what was happening. Our hotel, located steps away from the still-active shooting, was on lockdown. There was a bomb scare, and our coach and a teammate were in the lobby as shots went off outside.
To me, it made sense that this shooting was connected to Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, the two Black men murdered in Louisiana and Minnesota. My success as an athlete didn’t shield me from the realities of being a Black woman in America. I was exposed to both the surreal experience of being near a shooter and the magnitude of the injustice underlying the week’s fatal events. Fear, the same fear that the Black people in my family and my neighborhood too often feel, coated me.
I grew up in Flatlands, Brooklyn – a bus ride plus 23 train stops away from the Fencers Club in Manhattan, where many of the world’s most elite fencers train. But the trek didn’t deter my mother, an immigrant from the tiny Caribbean island of St. Vincent, from signing me and my sister up for fencing lessons through the Peter Westbrook Foundation (PWF) when I was nine years old.
When my mom first read about PWF – a nonprofit that teaches fencing to kids from underserved New York City communities and funds scholarships to the Fencers Club – she was intrigued. The sport seemed interesting, but what really enticed her was PWF’s track record when it came to grooming Black Olympic fencers (Peter Westbrook himself was the first Black fencer in history to win an Olympic medal). It also didn't hurt that the Saturday morning program only cost $25 for lessons and equipment.
In typical nine-year-old fashion, I remember feeling annoyed to learn I’d been signed up for yet another activity. Now I’m conscious of – and grateful for – the opportunity that my mom’s decision created for me. I’ve fenced in college, in the 2012 Olympics, and in more than 30 countries. The sport has completely changed my life in ways that run deeper than meeting the President, attending the ESPYs, or appearing in the pages of mainstream magazines. It has helped me develop a strong sense of discipline, character, and ambition. PWF turned out to be a godsend.
When my sister, my best friend, and I first started taking fencing lessons at PWF, we had no idea that fencing was a historically White sport. Virtually all of my PWF peers and mentors were Black, and nothing about that seemed abnormal. I admired the older fencers I was learning from each Saturday. Their talent blew me away, as did the fact that they were among the best in the world at something.
As an athletic kid with a strong desire to please my coaches, the training suited me. After a few months of classes, PWF sponsored my sister and me to join the Fencers Club’s after-school program. That’s when I first started noticing that there were very few fencers who looked like I did, or who lived in Flatlands, Brooklyn for that matter. But through PWF, I continued to interact with and learn from Black people who really knew the sport, including role models like 2008 Olympic silver medalist Erinn Smart. That was really motivating.
My sister and best friend eventually both decided to focus on other activities, while fencing began consuming the majority of my time. I started winning competitions when I was 10, and I quickly got used to being among very few Black fencers at tournaments. I remember competing at the Youth 10 Nationals and getting so excited when I saw a Black girl from Atlanta. I still get pumped when I cross paths with another Black fencer who I don’t already know from PWF (though I’m happy to report that the sport is noticeably more racially diverse today than when I started). When I encounter younger Black fencers, whether it’s at a tournament or the Saturday PWF classes I now teach, I make sure to welcome them and encourage them to make the most of the opportunity.
My fencing teammates exposed me to a world of privilege and to what it meant to “have.” Many went to prestigious private schools that are funnels to Ivy League universities. I’d hear about Latin classes, violin teachers, and SAT prep in the locker room from the time we were 12. Foils, epees, and sabres were the only sort of “weapons” people were referencing. To many, there was nothing unusual about inviting teammates to their houses in the Hamptons or vacationing across the world. To me, it all seemed pretty extraordinary.
My exposure to this life was generally balanced with a taste of my Brooklyn. My mom is a strong and well-educated woman – a lawyer for the city government. She always emphasized the importance of my sister and me finding productive ways to spend our time and helped us seek out opportunities to do so. Unfortunately, not all of our peers were blessed with the privilege of having an available parent who could steer them towards enriching activities and help unlock their passions. Nor were resources readily handy for everyone to take advantage of. While I grew up feeling safe and supported, I have witnessed shootings, and I know a number of people who have been killed or involved in crimes. On the train home from practice in Manhattan, I would always notice the mass exodus of White commuters halfway through the one-hour ride (I’d stand in front of them so I could take their seats when they got off).
I treasured both worlds for different reasons. I remember getting a pair of UGG boots before they became mainstream because they were so popular among my teammates. At the time, I may have been the only person in my middle school who had even heard of UGGs, which made me feel as though I was in on some exclusive secret. We bonded over competitions and tough practices. Back home, my neighborhood friends and I debated the best jerk chicken spots and rode in dollar vans on Flatbush. We went to bashments (basement parties) and roamed around Kings Plaza. No one asked me how my hair had suddenly gotten so long. And these were immeasurable comforts and indicators of home.
Being in this in-between space, I’ve grown to spend much of my time with other Black fencers I met through PWF. Beyond introducing me to a core group of lifelong friends and allowing me to compete at a high level, fencing has opened so many doors. It has raised the expectations I have for myself, along with my standards of satisfaction and happiness. I’ve learned to aim incredibly high.
I also try to recognize the privilege I have. A lot is possible, especially when you are equipped with the resources, opportunities, and encouragement to be successful. We’re so influenced by what is (or isn’t) around us. Being in Dallas, so close to the brutality and deadly tension between Black Americans and the police, was a vivid reminder of how much needs to change. We can’t live in a world where a high-aptitude Black child has to be the beneficiary of an amazing (but all too rare) nonprofit program to become successful. Being treated fairly – and having the opportunity to become great at something – shouldn’t be the exception.
When I head to Rio to compete for Team USA next month, my goal is to fence well. I want to come back to the States with a medal (Who wouldn’t?), though I don’t know exactly what I want to do after the Olympics. Here’s what I do know: I won’t be a competitive fencer forever, but no matter where my career takes me, I want to focus on extending opportunity to others in the way that PWF did for me. I want to create spaces where everyone can, at the very least, feel like they can belong and have a chance. We all deserve that.
You can follow Prescod and her #RoadToRio on Instagram at @nzinghap.
Images by Yemi Adewumni
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