My first session of the month is a shining example of this. It’s May 1st and ECC is shut due to a public holiday. It’s Labour Day – a day set aside for the employee to consider their duties and responsibility. I find it rather ironic that a day off work is given to mark such a thing, but there you go.
I take the opportunity to go to the gym and train, but it’s the hardest and most debilitating session I’ve had yet. The big boss man type bloke (to give him his proper name, I’m sure) is my first trainer and pushes me fiercely. I put everything I have into it until I’m down to my last vestiges of energy and somehow I struggle through. But it is a struggle, and an embarrassingly apparent one.
I then do technique with the chunky fella with the pale skin. He’s bloody massive but I figure it’ll be all right cos it’s just technique practice. Wrong. When I’m least expecting it he throws a kick into my chest. I fly back into the ropes, almost totally winded. To my credit I get up straight away. If I’ve learnt anything it’s to do that. Big boss dude shouts to me, “This is muay Thai.” You’re not kidding.
It’s then I realise what’s going on. I’d bought some proper muay Thai shorts a few days before and was wearing them here for the first time, as my football shorts were in the wash. To them it must seem like I’ve decided I’m now worthy of wearing proper shorts (which isn’t the case at all) and so they’re gonna put me through some proper muay Thai. The message is loud and clear. I would never wear them during my time here again.This carries on until I’m reluctant to throw any punch or kick at the pads for fear of retaliation. I should just suck it up and get on with it, but I’ve gone into preservation mode and can’t shift out of it.
I feel a little like a rag doll after. I certainly must have looked like one. I get pretty down. The usual post-session feeling of satisfied tiredness isn’t there, the endorphins unable to work their magic against a feeling of total dismay at the constraints of my physicality. I begin to wonder what the point is if I can’t improve myself. We’re fed on a diet of films and stories that talk of ordinary people becoming heroes or whatever and I realise that that’s what I’m trying to do with all this – have myself a little piece of that story. But I’m fed up of striving to improve myself and not getting anywhere. I mull and mull and forget that it’s not my fault, that life just gets in the way sometimes.
I don’t go back for just over two weeks, and then I get pissed off with myself and go. The next couple of sessions are okay, though of course there’s no improvement. The evening after my penultimate session I head to Rajadamnern Stadium to check out the professionals in action. A bunch of us had tried to go to a Thai boxing match the previous week but the price had put everyone off and we’d gone to the pub instead. But I need to see one to write about, and take some photos. Plus I really want to go, it’s an integral part of the Bangkok experience. I’ll be pissed off if I don’t.
And it really is one of the best evenings I’ve had. I have trouble getting there cos it’s pouring with rain and none of the taxis want to take me the short distance from Khao San. I eventually end up getting a tuk-tuk, after lots of bartering. I forget to lie and tell the driver I’ve not yet got a boxing ticket. He insists on taking me somewhere to buy one but I get out of it by explaining that I’m meeting my friends and can’t buy for all of them. The traffic is horrendous, and even with the tuk-tuk nipping in and out of the cars I miss the first bout. I think I’ve missed getting in but a ticket girl tells me otherwise. I’m most relieved.
She shows me into the arena, where I’ve paid for front row seats. The seating is set up as three tiers – some chairs down by the boxing ring, normal seats behind that which start to go up the side of the arena, and then, behind a fence, the cheap seats where all the Thai guys shout a lot and gamble away their money.
I’m sat down at the front and immediately offered a beer. I accept and pay for it. It’s much needed after my own training. There’s a Japanese guy sat next to me who stares at the match going on intently. Some Californians are shown in and sit on the row behind me.The first bout features two 15 year old lads taking each other on. The Californian woman sat behind me can hardly believe it. I can almost hear her processing all kinds of child protection regulations as she tries to take it in. The fact one of them gets knocked out in the third round doesn’t help her any.
But these guys train from about the age of six. They’re more than used to it and know exactly what to expect and how to combat it. Although the guy in the first event is stretchered off, a near-knockout in the second event sees the stretcher rendered useless when the guy (a little older this time) gets up and walks off himself.
Altogether 10 bouts take place and each one throws up its own entertainment.
Just when you think one fighter has the upper hand, one expertly placed move from the other one can destroy his confidence and swing the balance of power the other way. Also interesting is the little Buddhist ritual that takes place before the fight. This is called the Wai Kru and it starts with the two fighters walking around the ring. This is them symbolically ‘sealing’ the ring, to say that the fight is only between them. They then go through various moves and stretches, such as kneeling on the floor and touching their head to the ground, or stretching their legs in various positions. It’s almost like a normal warm-up, but a little more intricate and thoughtful.
Even more entertaining, though, are the gamblers up on the third tier. Even in a half-empty stadium, their loud and infectious chanting can make you feel like you’re at the biggest sporting event in the world. You can tell when there’s a lot of money on a bout as well – the chanting gets louder, and the atmosphere much tenser.
I try and film a round at one point but get told to sit down in no uncertain terms. I’m blocking someone’s view. I chat to the Californians – they’re here on holiday – and talking to them I realise I’m a little drunk. I go outside and get some noodle soup and feel a bit better.
The last round lasts just a couple of minutes. Most of the audience has gone home and there’s obviously not a lot of importance to this bout. One of the guys gets kneed and decides not to carry on. The audience’s encouragement, it seems, is as important as your training.
During the breaks between matches I chat to the Japanese guy. He tells me he used to fight but he was never good enough. He even competed once, he says, but once was enough. Nevertheless watching the fighting seems to stir something in him and by the time he leaves he seems determined to get back into it. As much as I’m enjoying watching, it fails to ignite the same reaction in me.
I make my last visit to the gym on the 30th, as much because I’m writing a column about muay Thai and need to take photos as me actually wanting to go. Kingsak takes pity on me at one point and spends some time doing technique with me. He can see I’ve got it in me to do it; maybe the others can as well. But of course it’s hard to make them understand, with their limited English, that I have other priorities.
A man moves around the gym taking photos. This annoys me considering how insecure I’m feeling about it all. I ask him what the pics are for. He tells me “for memories”. I tell him he should try it out then. He agrees in a way that suggests he’s never going to. Tosser. At least as I take pics towards the end of the session I can say I’ve done it. This cheers me a little.
These past few sessions have seen the presence of a pair of American brothers training. They’re both amazing looking and I’m a bit in awe of them; though one has a thick black circle tattooed on his chest and stomach, which looks a bit weird. But I get some great shots of him wrestling with one of the Thai trainers.
I leave happyish, though knowing I probably won`t set foot in there again.
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