Last night, I had the most incredibly vivid dream. I was in a fencing salle, surrounded by people dressed in crisp white fencing uniforms, and the atmosphere was electric. The sounds of clashing foils and triumphant shouts filled the air. I remember feeling a sense of awe and pure joy as I found myself standing there, ready for my first ever fencing lesson. My heart raced as I put on my plastron and mask, feeling a surge of excitement when I picked up the foil, its weight and cold metal perfectly balanced in my hand. As the lesson began, I was surprised by my own natural ability and speed, parrying and lunging with precision and grace. It was as if the movements were ingrained into my muscle memory, transforming me into a true fencer. The euphoria of each successful point left me laughing and smiling, not caring about the final result. The adrenaline rush, the graceful dance of the foil, and the camaraderie among fellow fencers was infectious. The entire salle seemed to celebrate my joy with every flourishing strike and every exuberant cheer. As the dream came to an end, I stood victorious, my foil raised in triumph, sweat dripping down my face, and a smile that would not fade away. Even as I awoke and felt the lingering remnants of the dream, the pure joy of it all remained vividly etched in my mind.