work schedule and could not believe how quickly time had drawn me closer to fight day.
The morning of the fight I was experiencing a mild level of anxiety, so I did not eat a big breakfast that morning and stuck to drinking only water. I was really hoping Milton would be able to make it. He was a great coach, and I was used to hearing him in my corner.
We arrived at our destination. It was still morning and we managed to park across the street in a grocery store parking lot. We were early, and the gym was already busy, but the yellow, rundown building gave off an eerie feel, making us all the more anxious. MAS Thai Boxing was located on the top floor of an older industrial-style building. We proceeded up the rundown dingy stairs, and they squeaked in protest as we climbed each step slowly. Once upstairs, we removed our shoes and were led through the large doorway into the official gym of my first Muay Thai fight, which turned into a war.
As I turned the corner into the gym, that familiar leather and sweat smell hit me. The walls were old industrial brick, which gave it a nice old boxing gym feel. Right away, I noticed the ring situated on the left side at the end of the room and the metal folding chairs set up to the left and right of the room for the spectators. There was a wall dividing the gym in half. As I walked in, I went up to a guy holding a clipboard who was weighing all of the fighters. “I’m Chris from Suffer System.” He glanced at me momentarily, then flipped through his pages and replied, “Yup, I got you here, just step onto the scale, please.”
I put my gym bag down and stepped onto the medical-style scale, “216 pounds, thank you. You can get changed in the room at the right.” As I proceeded to a changing room, I remember my mind racing, thinking that all of this was happening very quickly and nonchalantly, making my emotions swirl a bit deeper. I vividly remembered that even though it was not cold outside, the gym seemed to have a chill to it. I changed quickly and started doing what all the other fighters were doing, stretching and getting to know each other.
People were really filling the seats at this point, and there were sixty to seventy people there. My coaches were at the doorway and seemed pretty agitated for some reason. My heart sunk when I saw that they were leaving. I went out to the hallway to see what was going on, as curiosity got the better of me. They informed me that coaches had to pay the ten-dollar fee to get into the show regardless of whether they were cornering a fighter and that they had refused to pay the bill. So, there I was, at my first Muay Thai fight, unprepared and without a single coach to help me in my corner.
We were called to a separate room for a fighters’ meeting, and the club owner went over the rules, which included knees, kicks, and punches but excluded knees to the face, elbows, and spinning back fists/kicks for the amateurs that were fighting, including me. He told us that this was not sanctioned and that we should not try to completely kill ourselves but that we should have fun with it, just like sparring. “Yeah, right!” I figured, any time I was going into a fight that was not in my own gym and hometown, it would be a war regardless. I have heard stories from Thailand where they loved to beat down foreigners to prove they’re the best, and this would be no different.
Our names were written on a board with our designated opponents along with the fight order. I noticed that my club comrades were all in the lower portion of the fight club where the amateurs had been situated, while my match was closer to the end, sandwiched between the pro fights. I initially wrote it off as a mistake and that I would find my match as one of the first ones.
Then came yet another obstacle: my opponent, walking through the door fashionably late. Standing about 5'11", he sported dreadlocks reaching past his shoulders, a thick Viking beard, a barrel chest, and a stocky build. He weighed in at around 242 pounds and seemed relaxed for an amateur as he strolled into the gym with ease. One of the club’s fighters came over and smirked as he confirmed that the newcomer was to be my opponent. I just shrugged and said “Lets do it,” but in my psyche I was starting to panic more than a bit. I managed to stay positive as much as I could and recalled why I was there, while I maintained my train of thought that I would knock this guy out!
I went to the Suffer System corner, where the other guys from my gym were sitting with Beata. One of the guys turned to us and said, “Oh shit, look at that guy!” as he pointed to my opponent. I rolled my eyes and told them he was my opponent, as they all laughed in a stressful manner, probably fearing for my safety. I wouldn’t let him get in my head any longer, and I sat there trying to conserve my energy taking deep breaths. They then made the official announcements for the start of the fights. Just like that, the first match was over, and I had no idea when it even started. My opponent had these big bamboo-style drums that he would bang on instead of the traditional Thai music. “Great, the guy not only looks like Rob Zombie on steroids but he’s also some Amazonian,” I chuckled to the guys. But, I was hoping that he was wasting needed energy for the fight and that it would work in my favor as he beat the drums mercilessly.
The third fight showcased my novice friends. As our coaches were not present, the leftover Suffer System guys went to the corner. I helped get the gloves on him and reiterated “Stay calm and kick ass bro; it’s all you,” as he pumped himself up in his corner. The fight started, and they went at each other like wild animals. Both being lightweights at 150 pounds, they had plenty of energy to burn. It seemed as if all technique went out the window and all that remained were wild round hooks and overhands. It was an old style barn-burner to say the least, and once the first three-minute round had concluded, both practitioners were drained of energy.
When he came to the corner we gave him water, asked if he was all right, and tried giving him a strategy as best as we could. I was telling him to circle right, away from the power hand as he got tagged hard a couple times. My other training partner was telling him to throw more kicks and so on. Again, I told him, “Remember, it’s all you in there,” in a stern voice to get him to focus.
The second round started wild and fast, as our teammate landed a nice “superman” punch that I had been the recipient of the week before in sparring. In that split second, I started yelling “Superman! Do the superman, it works!” And a second later, he landed a perfect superman punch, rocking his opponent.
The third round seemed to mirror the second, and our corner was sure he had the win. It was up to the judges now, and there was no way that the combatants could sway it the other way. I was right; our club got the first win that day, and it was a great feeling, especially having been in his corner.
The fights came and went, and the pro fights had already started; I was still waiting. I made my way over to the jiu-jitsu room to stretch and get my head ready for what was to come. I was warmed up, so, doing some stretches, I went over scenarios in my mind— visualizing the entire fight. According to the board, my turn was next, so I put my mp3 player on with my usual song list to get pumped. To my surprise, they did not call us up, but instead called the demo fight that was supposed to be after us. They had their two best guys, who were champions, demonstrate an MMA demo match for the crowd.
They finished with everyone clapping, and through my mp3 player I could hear my name called, saying that I was from some club other than Suffer System, an error on their part, I guessed. So, I made my way to the ring with my hands already wrapped up, I bounced back and forth on my toes as I proceeded to the ring, amazed at the ovation I received. To tell you the truth, it was quite nice, and it helped get the adrenaline pumping.
I maneuvered my way into the ring and my teammates put on my gloves which were disgusting in the sense that they had been the same gloves used by everyone else before me in the red corner. By the time I had them on, they had a foul odor and were drenched with everyone’s sweat. My opponent was already in the ring too, and he was all ready to go as the referee called us into the middle of the square ring.
Something wasn’t right, but I could not put my finger on it. I glanced at my opponent and saw that he was wearing his headgear, while I was not. No one gave my corner the headgear, and to add
