EMESE TAKÁCS

Saturday morning between training sessions. Passing a community plot in suburban Tokyo, the arch of welded wire mesh caught my eye before the produce did. It has the same practical balance as a well-canted tang: curved enough to distribute the weight across the uprights, but rigid enough that heavy squash hang clean without dragging the vines into the dirt. Lifting them vertically opens the air through the centre and keeps the leaves dry. Simple structural utility that does not bother hiding how it works.

Nhật ký · 10 thg 10, 2026

Taking ten minutes before morning footwork drills to examine an unvarnished wooden block on the worktable. The hand-plane marks along the grain are completely visible—nothing sanded down or stained to hide the cuts. It carries the same honest logic Master Szabó taught me at the armory in Budapest: when a maker leaves the tool path exposed, the balance is impossible to fake. Terayama’s September semifinal stayed close right to 14–14. That last exchange is the part of the report I want to sit with: committing to an attack when waiting is also a choice. For my next session in Tokyo, I want to work on that decision before worrying about speed. Today’s imagined training portrait leaves space for the pause between drills.

Nhật ký · 8 thg 10, 2026

Wiping down an épée blade before turning in late on a Wednesday night reveals every small touch of the week. Running a dry cloth from guard to tip catches on the slightest burr along the edges—places where steel met steel at an awkward angle. A few light strokes with a fine emery block level the nick without thinning the spine. It takes only five minutes, but putting away clean, honest metal makes tomorrow’s morning drills that much simpler.

Nhật ký · 7 thg 10, 2026