Around the start of the year, after going along to a few Muay Thai classes, I was pretty much suckered into agreeing to fighting a bout by my jovial Thai instructor. I had trained in Thailand's notoriously brutal fight form on-and-off over the previous couple of years while in Ireland, but had never taken it seriously enough to be considered competition material.
When Somchai Chimlum, a guy who boxed in the Olympics and now trains Muay Thai in the wonderfully-monikered Bangkok Fight Club talked me into taking the fight I had been getting bored with the bar-nightclub-hangover routine I had been hammering solidly since arriving in the country, and it seemed like a good way of shedding a few vices. So once I agreed to fight, I quit smoking, drinking, going out to nightclubs, staying up late and fatty foods. To top it off, my trainer informed me that I must also abstain completely from 'boom boom' until after my fight.
The vast majority of Thais who practice the sport do so on a professional basis and it was one of these pro fighters I was informed I would be going up against. They generally get up at around 6am to run between 10-20km before returning for breakfast. Next, it's a solid two to three hours of training before a nap, then it's another jog and and another evening training session. More often than not they live, literally, in their gyms. While the fact that I was contractually obliged to be in my office from 9am to 6pm meant my preparations couldn't be as thorough, I was determined to do as much as possible. So, I've been getting up at 6am to do 10km before work and then going straight to training after work Monday to Friday, plus training twice on Saturdays and Sundays.
Unfortunately, things hit a bit of a bump in Bangkok Fight Club about two months ago. There was a steady parade of new people, more often than not middle-aged and overweight, which led to a drop off in the amount of time I was getting to spend with my over-stretched trainer. I decided to ditch the class when, for the second time, he didn't turn up and it fell to me to coach the band of newbies.
However, the amount of training I had put in meant I still wanted to fight. So, I was left in a situation where I had to find another club complete with a trainer who could arrange a bout for me at short notice. I had been avidly following a show called The Contender Asia, which brought together the best Muay Thai fighters from around the world and pitched them against each other and as it turned out, a few of the show's fighters trained in a club called Rompo Muay Thai about 10 minutes walk from where I lived. The gym I discovered the following Saturday was quite something. I could hear the cries of determination and anguish from across the underground carpark of the soviet-style apartment complex the club nestles under.
The gym itself had a well-worn boxing ring on each side in which fighters were being put through their paces by grunting Thai trainers wearing battered kick pads. A walkway which ran down the middle of the gym was banked on both sides by a dozen punch bags and columns of car tyres which swung from the ceiling by heavy duty chains. The 10 or so predominantly non-Thai fighters furiously attacking the various pieces of training apparatus were a hungry-looking bunch who roared with every kick, punch, knee and elbow they threw.
A few shot me inquisitive glances, which appeared to be about establishing whether or not I might be edible. I walked towards a man who sat behind a small table at the end of the grotty gym and told him I wanted to train. He relieved me of Bt300 (six Euro) and directed me to a changing/storage room.
None of the fighters from the The Contender Asia were around, but at least there was also a notable absence of overweight menopausal women who had deluded themselves into thinking that Muay Thai, of all things, was the sport for them.
