The Fights That Came Before

I'm writing this post to immediately follow its predecessor, and I separate the two because I wanted to distinguish some of my personal feelings about the nature of fighting and this particular combat from what I've observed about this event in my capacity here as a researcher. Just before the fight, I described some of the rituals involved with Muay Thai here in Thailand, and I would now like to examine them again with reference to my own experience, and in light of my original hypothesis for this project.

Some may have actually forgotten this, and so I will explain for you and for those just joining us that my original purpose in making this voyage was to examine martial arts as cultural objects which are expressive of the history and values of the people who created them. In the past, I've made the comparison to language, which, through its evolution in a culture, changes to reflect that culture. For a simple example, linguists and historians often examine how many words there were for a certain idea or phenomenon in a society in order to get an impression of how much that thing was talked about or emphasized. It's a bit simplistic to explain that way of course, but changes like these, collected over time, constitute a dynamic history of a culture that continues to change, and in fact affect the present by the habits made in the past.

I still think that this analogy to language is appropriate, and I would like to draw attention to a certain duality inherent in the phenomenon of both. If we consider martial arts (and, I hope it's evident, I include in the art of Muay Thai all of the traditions and ceremonies which accompany its practice) as a sort of language, then we must consider that Muay Thai, for example, in its conscious implementation by its practitioners, bears features of which not all of its practitioners are conscious. For example, not all of my trainers are religious, certainly not all of the students are, but it is still accepted by them that one does not enter the ring between the ropes when wearing the Mongkon. Similarly, very few Thai boxers still practice Muay Boran, which was the old military art from which the sport of Muay Thai has evolved, and so many fighters are unaware that some techniques that they practice have their roots in the deflection of spears and clubs, Buddhist ideas of which body parts are sacred, or even the accommodation of nearby elephants. This ignorance does not affect their ability to effectively practice Muay Thai, just as one does not have to be an etymologist to speak a language, but it is relevant that in practicing Muay Thai, these fighters are representing a long evolution of which they may be only partially conscious.

This duality is notable on its own, but it becomes particularly interesting when one considers that Muay Thai, as a competitive sport, is constantly changing to meet the needs of ever-varying styles and competitors. Any competitive activity will necessarily be in a constant state of change, as new competitors seek to dislodge old champions with new ideas, but Muay Thai is such an integral part of Thai culture that changes come from other directions as well. King Naresuan in 1584 saw that Muay Thai became required training for every soldier in the Thai army, and practiced it himself. Royal interest and influence in Muay Thai has continued ever since, such as king Prachao Sua, AKA the Tiger King, who supposedly loved Muay Thai so much that he sometimes fought incognito in village contests.

In other words, in addition to the inevitable practical and aesthetic changes made over the course of centuries, the monarchy has directly acted to affect the course of Muay Thai's evolution as well, tying it still more closely to the Thai culture in particular, as opposed to just a sport with its own history. The monarchy has also greatly affected the practical habits of Muay Thai by the organization of several official Muay Thai stadiums, such as the famous Lumpini stadium in Bangkok, which have added requirements and limitations on technique and equipment for competition.

Muay Thai, then, is a means for the preservation of many ancient traditions and beliefs, despite the fact that many practitioners are unconscious of that which they act to preserve. In addition, Muay Thai, as a living form of expression, is constantly changing in practice and in ceremony to affect the shifting beliefs and priorities of the Thai people and government. Thus, the martial art acts at once to maintain the old and incorporate the new, and paradoxically sustains tradition through constant change.

It is somewhat difficult to frame this argument with so few specifics, but perhaps this will be an undertaking to pursue in earnest upon my return. For now, doubtful as I am of the general interest in a catalog of the many techniques of Muay Thai and their cultural/historical significance, I will suffice to say that to me, this venture has already been incredibly enlightening, and I consider it essential to the true study of the art. I consider the difference between studying learning the same techniques in America, and coming to learn Muay Thai here, to be more or less analogous to the difference between being able to pronounce a word, and knowing what that word means.

The Fight

When I walked out of the ring, I was covered in sweat, my left leg was throbbing sullenly, and my arms hung like curtains that I couldn't summon enough wind to move. I oozed through the ropes, and a few people clapped me on the back as I tottered down the three steps to the ground. I nodded and smiled my way through the crowd as people politely complimented me on my defeat, and their respects slipped into my body like novacaine around a toothache that was irritating but according to the professionals wouldn't require surgery.

I was a little disappointed and somewhat frustrated as I left the party to shower and change clothes, but overall I just couldn't shake the feeling that the whole affair had just been rather anti-climactic. I wasn't pleased that I had lost, but it certainly wasn't an embarrassing defeat, or one of which I would have to be ashamed for the rest of my fighting career. I hadn't been knocked out, I had landed a few good shots of my own, and in fact I hadn't even sustained much damage, but I just felt that neither I nor my opponent had fought the fight that we could have.

For all three rounds, Craig (my opponent) had stayed mostly out of my reach, and when I came after him, he retreated, often dropping a quick outside leg-kick on his way out. Some of these kicks I checked, more I didn't, and I realized that I have a bad habit of ignoring strikes that I don't expect will do much damage, despite the fact that whether or not they hurt, they still make their way onto the judges' cards. It was these counter-kicks which did the only real damage of the fight, and which guaranteed Craig the win, and in fact were probably the most exciting part of the fight. We clashed in earnest very few times, and he usually retreated quickly, more than once leaving me swinging for the fences in unsuccessful attempts to land a solid blow. I was very frustrated by his strategy, and I wish then and now that he had been more willing to directly engage as I had expected him to, but I have to give him credit for developing a successful strategy that neutralized my height and my reach, and sticking to it.

All of that said, I consider the whole experience of the fight to be extraordinarily valuable, both from a personal perspective and an academic one. Personally, I now feel a substantial difference in my bearing and confidence, and I think it comes as a simple result of withstanding the consciously directed violence of another person. Certainly, my fight could have been more ferocious, but I expect that a certain moment in it will remain fixed in my memory for a long time, somewhere between my first kiss and when I received my black belt.

The moment was after Phatet, one of my closest trainers here and one of my corner-men for the fight, poured the last of a cup of water over my head between rounds, patted my shoulder, and stepped out of the ring. I stood up, heard the bell, met Craig in the middle of the ring, kicked, was blocked, felt the counter land hard across my left thigh, and I darted forward with a jab followed closely by a quick, simple combination. Craig fell back immediately, bounced off the ropes, threw a loose jab that I dodged, and then turned and retreated a few more steps. All told, this clash is hardly an unusual one in the course of a fight, but I remember, as I saw him retreat again, ducking back quickly to avoid my hands, that he was afraid of me. I don't mean that he was cowardly, or unable to face his fear, but that this man, this trained fighter, didn't want to be in range of my limbs an instant longer than he had to be. He wasn't giving up the fight by any means, but he was afraid of me, and I knew, with a sort of frosty effervescence, that he should be.

As I mentioned, I've been frustrated by the result of the fight, but overall I just feel that it wasn't what it could have been. I certainly had a respectful fear of Craig's capacity in the fight as well, and I failed to push hard enough through the match to disrupt his well thought-out game plan. I am frustrated, I am disappointed, but there remains that abiding sense that I have now stood against exactly the type of person who has intimidated me in the past. Craig is stronger than me, he is more aggressive by nature, he places more value on public displays of strength and masculinity (he flexed for the crowd and fondled the ring girls between each round). I always knew that I would be afraid when I had to face a man like that violently, which is to say in an environment and with standards which he so values, but there's something that makes my shoulders sit higher when I remember that of course I was afraid, but after the first round, so was he.

In My Corner

Those of you following this scrupulously will be aware that this Saturday, which is to say two days from the composition of this post, I will have my first competitive fight. A little over an hour ago, I found out that my opponent is to be a man named Craig, who arrived at the camp around the same time I did, and has been at the periphery of my experience for the past several weeks. I've spoken to him since I saw the matchings, and he's as good-natured as I would hope for him to be, and I have good expectations for a clean, challenging fight.

For the fighters and martial artists who read this, I suppose it's also relevant to mention that I outweigh Craig by about 5 kilos, though he's clearly much stronger. He has broad shoulders and a stout frame, his arms are large and much more muscular than mine, though I stand several inches taller than him, giving me a significant reach advantage. I don't know what his background is, but I take our boxing skills to be roughly equal, though it has been a long time since I sparred with him.

I am somewhat encouraged by the fact that very rarely do the trainers allow us to kick during sparring, and so hopefully my strong background with lower-body techniques will be another point in my favor. I have to say, however, that Craig is, by his bearing, the veteran of more than one street fight, and I heard him once explaining to someone that he has been to prison back in England (though I don't know how many times) for some extended term, and I must presume that that stay was hardly untroubled. All told, he is a daunting opponent, and one that I consider to be at my level, not significantly above or below. All signs point to a hard fight, though I remain cautiously optimistic.

I spoke to my mother yesterday, who perhaps unsurprisingly seems confused about the need for me to participate in something like this, and apparently would prefer that I avoided it entirely. In response to a similar reaction which I anticipate from some of my readers, I feel that perhaps I should explain.

On one level, I am not being in any way facetious or insincere when I say that a fair part of my interest is academic. My purpose here is to study the way in which Muay Thai relates to Thai culture and history, and an official and organized Muay Thai fight is rich in both. Before the fight, both combatants enter the ring much in the style of Western boxers, following a presumably grandiose announcement from an official, including the notable parts of a fighter's record, along with their country of origin. Once both parties are present, a traditional piece of music beings to play, referred to as Pi Muay, on an instrument which somewhat resembles a clarinet. As the music plays, both fighters proceed in a dance called the Wai Kru, which begins by walking around the ring three times and bowing/saluting in some fashion at each of the corners, and after a minute or two of formulaic dancing, finishes with whatever personal touches the fighter wishes to add.

Technically speaking, the laps around the ring are not actually a part of the Wai Kru, but are referred to as "sealing the ring," as they seal the ring from evil spirits by walking with one hand on the ropes, and stopping to pray at each corner. The Wai Kru itself has a certain series of proscribed movements, but these are more convention than ceremony, which is to say that many/most fighters alter or even abbreviate this part. The dance itself, in whatever form it takes, is actually very important, however, as "Wai" means "bow" and "Kru means "teacher," the dance is the fighter's opportunity to show respect and thanks to his or her trainers and teachers. In other words, the dance may be and usually is adapted to personal taste, but should never be excluded.

Below is a link to a video of this dance as performed by Nazee, one of my trainers, and the man with whom I have been taking private lessons in preparation for the fight. He proceeds through the dance almost entirely according to conventional practice, but the main personal touch is right at the end and is in fact Nazee's trademark. Before going back to his corner, he mimes drawing and firing an arrow at his opponent, stepping forward, surveying the damage, and concluding that the other fighter's future is grim. Much, much more about Nazee to come.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCX41E9J5yM

During all of this, the fighters wear a headpiece called the Mongkon, which in years long past was a towel or a cloth twisted tightly around the prayers and good wishes of the fighter's trainers, friends and family. Today, the Mongkon still represents the same thing, though one is usually re-used by a gym or a group, and it does not usually contain the written prayers anymore. Sometimes the fighters enter the arena with the Mongkon already in place, but while wearing this, the fighter will never duck between the ropes to enter the ring, but will instead enter only over the top rope to show respect for the prayers, and to symbolize that God and prayer are above all things.

In the last week, Nazee has been teaching me this dance, and while he is somewhat critical of my funk, and insists that I move more to the music, I think that I'm at least getting enough of a handle on it so that I won't embarrass myself or him on Saturday.

In addition to studying the cultural/historical aspects of this ceremony firsthand, a great deal of my motivation is social. About a month ago, I mentioned Dang, the head trainer in the beginner classes, and the fact that he started fighting when he was still a small child. Though I was aware at the time that his case was hardly atypical, I have discovered since then that without exception, the trainers at the gym have all entered the ring several dozens of times at least, giving them a fight record as long as most professional boxers in the Western world. For some time, I have felt that my utter lack of experience in serious combat with a trained opponent is something unimaginable to the Thais here, and in fact could become a source of alienation. I don't mean that they would think of me as weak or cowardly, but rather that they would (and in fact do already to some extent) question my motivation in training Muay Thai without ever thinking to apply it.

Most of the trainers have in fact fought far more than any western boxers would in two lifetimes, and they still continue to compete. I feel that I should warn everyone who could be reading this while running or operating heavy machinery to pause for a moment before I impart this next piece of information, as the average professional boxing carrer is usually thought to be around 50-80 fights in a lifetime. Nazee, my personal trainer pictured in the video above, will fight at Patong Stadium here in Phuket in two weeks. This will be his 382nd fight. Three hundred and eighty-second fight.

Surrounded by people like this, it is easy to see that fighting in the ring is such a quintessential part of the characters of the trainers here, that I know that I am expected to enter the ring and test my own skills. Just as I was pushed to advance from the beginner mats, and again from the intermediate area, my trainers (particularly Nazee and Phatet, who I consider to be the most talented and helpful of the advanced trainers) have been subtly encouraging me to step up to the level of a Muay Thai fighter, and not just an American with a hobby.

Add to this the fact that as a lifetime martial artist, actual combat is something that has always lurked at the back of my mind as a silent challenge from the world. It has always seemed to me that to conduct oneself with legitimacy in the arts that I have chosen to study, one must be able to apply them to a hostile opponent. I've waited this long because I believe that there is also a great value in perfecting technique for its own sake, even if it be in a vacuum, but a large part of the aesthetic value of martial arts is their power, and it's time I tested my own.

Two days ago, I asked Chris if he would be my corner-man for the fight, and help me warm up and get focused on the night of. He was honored, and agreed instantly, and I'll be very glad to have him there. While perhaps not as terrified as I had always expected to be at this prospect, I admit that I am rather apprehensive about the whole event, and as Chris is my oldest and closest friend here at the camp, I expect him to be a very helpful and reassuring presence. I am also confident that he is well suited to the responsibilities that will await him in this, as he is not only an insatiable aficionado of combat sports, and so well versed in the preparation and care of fighters, but also he is the veteran of a significant prison sentence, served mostly in Texas penitentiaries, in which he once had to fight a man to save his own life.



At this moment, sitting on my bed alone in my room, it seems that I have come to be very far away from my life back home. I am still very much glad to be here, and I am excited for the fight on Saturday, but as I read back over this post, thinking of how personable I've become with these hard-knuckled men of necessity, with their shotgun biceps and backs and stomachs made of iron and knotted rope, I admit that part of me very much wants to read a book, and then talk about it with someone who has weak shins.

Back to Basics

First off, I should apologize for my long silence, and offer a few words of explanation. I appreciate that some of you have even gone so far as to ask about the progress of my next post, as I am always flattered that there are people following this closely, and I will certainly try to get back into the habit of regular publication.

To sum up the last two weeks or so, I will say that right now, seated in my room on my bed, I am as close as I have really come in some time to again being lord and master of my particular circumstances. The allied insurgents of a large-scale technological failure, a brief trip out of town to visit a friend, the foreign and rebellious contraption in the corner of my room, and my own mild ineptitude at surviving on this side of the Pacific have all made fair bids at the overthrow of my kingdom, and while unsuccessful, have caused a great deal of strife amongst the baronies. Even now, my computer has an entirely new and entirely empty hard drive, my guitar is adjusting to some new strings that have yet to be broken in, and my stomach is shuddering through aftershocks. It's been a long two weeks.

The communists began their muttering last Wednesday, when I awoke to find that my computer had stopped responding to all commands. I rebooted it, attempting to negotiate, but all it showed me was a blinking icon of a folder with a question mark inside of it. The fact that nothing was coming onto the screen certainly irritated me, but in hindsight I think it was the question mark which really provoked my wrath. When it comes to my appliances, I can tolerate some idiosyncrasy, and in fact can even turn a blind eye to a certain amount of inconsistency or sloth, but I will not brook insolence in a computer. In the end, I placed the contraption under arrest, found it guilty of taunting me with the question of whether or not it had a hard drive, and turned it over to a repair shop in town for sentencing. Some days later, they informed me that sadly, it had shown no remorse for its actions, and would have to be lobotomized. Unfortunately, my Empire can show no mercy to insurgents.

The procedure took several days, but now my computer has been returned with an entirely new mind. I was actually charged no small amount for this service, and the attendant at the shop gave me her best Nurse Ratchett smile as she said that in fact the storage space had been upgraded, though no data was able to be transferred from the previous incarnation. Fortunately (and somewhat morbidly), she also gave me the old hard drive in case I could find someone able to extract the data once I return home.

In the intervening days between the computer's trial and execution, I was fortunately able to occupy myself in pursuits other than the contemplation of my 80 gigabytes of treachery by taking a trip to Bangkok. As at least a few readers of this are aware, a good friend of mine named Rachel DeCuir has recently arrived in this country, and has begun a much more extended stay for the purpose of teaching English in a rural school as part of the Fulbright program. Previous to their diffusion amongst their various provinces, however, the Fulbright scholars are all staying in Bangkok for a short orientation program so that they can have some help learning the language and customs. Remembering my own feelings of isolation and discouragement upon my arrival in this distant land, I thought that perhaps a friendly face would be welcome.

I took the bus to Bangkok, and we departed on Friday evening. This being the second time that I had traveled to the city in this manner, I was somewhat better prepared for all the small irritations that accompany the 13-hour ride, and I did my best to pass most of the night in comfortable oblivion. I arrived at the Bangkok bus station around 7:00 AM, with the sun only timidly occupying the Eastern horizon, still balking at the dense clouds of smog with their leather jackets, slicked-back hair, and hard, greasy knuckles that promised a long fight for dominance of the Bangkok sky.

I took a taxi to what has become my preferred place of lodging in that otherwise unfortunate metropolis, and stayed just long enough to drop off my backpack and brush my teeth. Slinging my guitar-case over my shoulder, I strode out of the hotel and, following the directions given over the phone by Rachel's roommate, I was soon facing the recessed front of Suksitnives International House.

I know that Rachel was glad to see an old friend in what is otherwise so callous and disheartening a place, and the feeling was mutual. We spent the next couple of days in general exploration of Bangkok, and actually covered a significant amount of relevant ground, traveling by canal, seeing the area of the Royal Palace and many surrounding monuments, becoming proficient in the Skytrain transit system, and having several small adventures along the way. Though I still possess a strong general distaste for Bangkok, I will say that my perception of it did improve through our wanderings, and all the while it was extremely refreshing to converse with a personality that would never be found amongst the juiced-up muscles and peacock struts of the students at Tiger Muay Thai.

In fact, being with Rachel, and going out as we did one night with the other Fulbright scholars, made me again very conscious of the particular strain of narcissism which infests the camp like a fungus. Unfortunately, I see it almost everywhere, and, like most fungi which adheres to humans, it is rather contagious. Every time I step out of my door, I see it mouldering the biceps and battered chins of most of the Westerners here, and I smell it's dank odor in the breath of people who actually begin sentences (not an exaggeration) with the phrase, "Yeah, you know, that's the awesome thing about me..."
I think that the worst thing about it is that it creates an environment in which competition is so omnipresent that it's hard not to start thinking that you're better than everyone because you aren't as competitive as they are. The whole thing is paradoxical and painfully ridiculous, but even spending a couple of days away from it helped me to be able to laugh about it more than just getting exasperated. What's more, it was nice to be around people who were actually interested in the cultural roots that I'm trying to trace, people who read books without the words "EXPLOSION," "ULTIMATE," or "POWERHOUSE" in the title, people who are looking to learn more in Thailand than how to fight during the days and separate the ladyboys from "the good ones" in the evenings. Good to get out of camp I guess, and just play some music for a while.
On that note, I did bring my guitar with me to Bangkok this time, and I was glad that I did. This was the first time since I've put any significant effort into learning that instrument that I've carried it with me on any serious venture, and it makes the whole experience much more picturesque, charming and generally enjoyable.

In the past two months or so, I have come to consider my guitar to be a sort of court-jester in my Kingdom of Comfortable Circumstances, though perhaps one that was selected by one of my more adventurous secretaries after a several day drinking binge. My court jester, you will understand, is unfortunately a terribly fresh arrival from the distant land of Ibanez, and as of yet he (for somehow I've gained the impression that it is male) shares a language with no one in the realm, least of all me. Nonetheless, every day we meet, sit down to peer over some strange scratchings and tablature from his homeland, and I shake his hand and he does his best to be entertaining. So far, we have both been generally well-meaning and studious, and we had been making some progress on basic grammar (to be, to have, subject-verb inversion to form a question, contractions, etc.), but a great deal of our conversation remains halting and broken, the pauses marked by strange buzzing noises. Recently, however, he seems to be harboring some distinctly Soviet tendencies, and has rather stopped cooperating. Personally, I suspect some sedition by the Laptop before its sentence was carried out, but unfortunately I have no proof.

Whatever the cause, many of the strings have been refusing to stay in tune, and sometimes it just sounds a bit off, particularly when trying to play new songs. I've spoken to it about this, quite sternly I might add, but as I possess only a failing electronic tuner, the translation equipment is as limited as my ability to make sense of it. I'm sure that there is an answer here, and that soon enough my jester and I will be conversational in our awkward, discordant way, but at the moment it feels as if we were discussing present tense conjugations of "to be" and I am suddenly asked to understand the subjunctive. Yesterday I sat down to inquire about a talk I had with Glen Hansard, and my jester practically spit in my face. That evening, I changed his strings out of spite.

Finally, after I returned from Bangkok, I gained yet another reason to detest that city and almost everything that comes from it. For part of my last day there, and for the four days immediately following my return, I experienced physical discomfort unrivaled by anything to which the trainers here have yet subjected me. I had a fever, joint pain, skin sensitivity, nauseousness, and serious bowel complications that do not need to be detailed. Needless to say, I did no training in that interval, and spent it mostly cooped up in my room, sleeping, watching movies, grumbling at my blankly complacent and empty-headed computer, and arguing with my court-jester.

The causes of that terrible illness are still unknown to me for certain, but I have two primary suspects. The first is actually the more shocking of the two, and one that I never saw coming. Both of the full days that I spent in Bangkok were dappled with rain, and on one day, I was actually caught out in a light drizzle for a short time. I have since been informed that the pollution in that accursed city is so abominable that if one is rained on, then, having the characteristically weak immune system of an American, it is important to shower immediately, or risk becoming ill. The second culprit (pictured below) is perhaps less shocking, and is simply my own fault for being a bit too adventurous with my meals in a questionable market setting.


For those of you wondering, that is, in fact, grilled squid on a stick, though the inside was sadly and dangerously undercooked.


Anyhow, I recovered by the beginning of last weekend, and was able to go to class on Saturday. I have resumed training on my normal schedule, and in fact have taken a major step in my martial arts career. I don't mean to be dramatic by leaving this as a cliffhanger at the end of the post, and so I will furnish all basic details now, and go into a more extended explanation soon.

As of today, I have officially signed up and weighed in to compete in a full-contact Muay Thai fight this Saturday. Both combatants must wear 16oz. gloves and a mouthpiece; all punches, kicks, and knee strikes are legal, though points will only be given for recognized Muay Thai techniques. These fights are very short, and meant only to be a centerpiece to a barbecue and party that will last the whole evening, so each fight will be three rounds, each round lasting two or three minutes (TBA). I weighed in at 86 kilos (about 189 lbs.), and I will find out who my opponent is on Thursday, though I know that it will be another fighter from the camp. Think well of me that night my friends; I wish that so many of you were here.

Advanced

Yesterday I stood on the mats below the boxing ring, facing one of my more enthusiastic trainers. He had a regular Thai pad on each arm (I use the term “pad” loosely here), and my wrapped fists were clenched inside of black 16 oz. gloves. We faced each other in identical stances, though his bore about 13 fewer inches above it, and he held the pads up next to his head in a normal boxer’s position, regarding me expressionlessly from between them.

We circled each other slowly, bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm, and suddenly he gave a harsh, guttural cry and spun to the side, holding both pads together facing my right. I took the signal, and threw my already aching right leg toward the pads with as much legitimacy as I could give it; my shin and ankle thundered into the pads with a satisfying explosion, but before I had time to rejoice in the small patch of fluff which flew off of the pads in my direction, I felt a small ankle at the back of my left foot, and in a fraction of a second I was on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

As usual, a loud cry of “OOOOOHHHH-WAAAAAIIIIEEEE” echoed around the mats from the trainers nearby, and I lumbered back to my feet, nodding and smiling ruefully at my grinning opponent who was bouncing gleefully from side to side. I set my stance, regained my rhythm, and the moment my gloves came up to my chin, my trainer’s grin vanished, replaced again by blank, unyielding concentration, and the pads resumed their irregular orbit in front of him.

This scenario repeated itself over a dozen times, often requiring a long string of techniques from me before the heavily anticipated counterattack, when this man’s shins and forearms formed a complex drum line across my head, ribs and thighs. Sometimes I was able to respond; sometimes I managed to catch the counter-kick, or to at least raise my own shins to ‘block’ it, much as one places a stop-sign in front of a careening semi, but more often my stomach and jawbone grimly accommodated their foreign visitors.

When the whistle blew for the end of the final round, my trainer held the pads to his right one more time, uttering a loud cry in Thai which I took for encouragement. As I threw my shoulders and hips into the kick, my leg whipped around in defiance of all exhaustion, and as I felt the last reserves of my speed and ferocity course through my muscles, I just had time to see a tanned foot rising over the rim of my carelessly lowered left glove. There was a flash of light, and a second later, with no knowledge of how I had arrived, I found myself once again on my back, staring at the ceiling, and feeling a ringing numbness where the left side of my jaw should have been.

My trainer scampered over to me smiling, helped me up, and I grimaced, rubbing my jaw, and shrugged helplessly at him as if to say, “I’ll do better next time.”

He smiled broadly, and put both of his hands on my shoulders, staring up at me earnestly. “Haha, no. You ge keeked, do no feel bad. I know EVERY-thing.”
Laughing again, he released me, clapped me on the shoulder, and made the Thai gesture of thanks/respect before shaking my hand. This, I have found, is the regular story of the advanced class here at Tiger Muay Thai.

The trainer who I’ve described here (whose name I will make a priority to learn) is in fact already familiar to me. He, along with many other Thais, fluctuates back and forth between the beginner and advanced mats, and in fact is the same trainer who still leads the beginner class in the aforementioned ceremony of his own invention beginning with “WHAS YO NEM?!”

I have noticed a few other familiar faces as well, though it seems that some do stay exclusively in one area, as much to my regret, Dang has yet to make an appearance outside of his customary rounds. Their attitudes are much the same as well, and I have found the complete return to this jovial spirit of training extremely refreshing. My young friend’s bellowing introductions don’t take place here (being perhaps unnecessary, as at its heaviest day I’ve seen up to six people in the class including me), but there is unmistakably the same emphasis on personal relation.

For example, the trainers seem to have a pretty firm idea of what each of us is capable of performing, and assign some students mildly heavier or lighter workout numbers for certain exercises. Likewise, I have found myself remembering the styles of the particular trainers, knowing to whom I should address certain questions, and what amount and what manner of physical punishment will be dealt out by each one during the dreaded pad-work drills (described at the beginning).

What’s more, at this level, I have found that the trainers sometimes disagree on certain minutiae of the art. Far from being frustrating, it is actually interesting and encouraging to have conflicting corrections from different instructors, and while any of those attending or spectating always quickly yield to whoever is leading the lesson, I often see them after class, standing on the mats in small groups, demonstrating movements and speaking thoughtfully in Thai.

Overall, the trainers seem to worry a lot less about students slacking or not paying attention, or being in any way undisciplined. The students here, what few of us there are, seem to be distinctly less concerned with proving themselves against the others, or really with anything other than committing themselves to the training, and it strikes me that Dang’s beloved bamboo switch would have very little purpose. This is not entirely without exception of course, but I have already found the students in the advanced class to be very friendly and inviting, and I do not at all have the impression that anyone is comparing him- or herself to me (I say this, of course, bearing in mind the fact that I have once been mistaken on this account; despite that, I feel that I'm more on the mark this time).

Though I have been shaken somewhat by the recent social troubles involving my progression, I can say honestly that I am very happy to be in company with these people. I have met a young English girl named Karla who is in possession of both phenomenal boxing skills and a genial and approachable demeanor, and her boyfriend Adrian, who has actually grown up alternating homes between Bangkok and Manchester, and so speaks fluent Thai and has the mannerisms of the West with the comfort and ease of someone who is still at home.

In short, I have finally begun to find a few people to whom I actually relate somewhat, even if only on a casual level so far. I have already had interesting conversations about something other than sex or violence, and the forecast is good for many more.

Next time, I should really talk about Chris; I feel that he is a central character whose detailed description is long overdue.

Up and Down

For the past few days, I've just been kind of pissed off. Right when humanity was looking sunny, the Americans came along. It all begins with good news.

On Tuesday morning, I walked across camp to the intermediate mats at the same time I always do. The trainers were sitting and standing around the edges of the boxing ring, and I stepped up next to the base of it, depositing my bag and water bottle on the ground, and kicking off my sandals before I stepped onto the mats. I nodded up to the reclining Thais as I started stretching, and the head trainer shook his head at me and waved his hand. I paused, looking at him inquiringly, and he just pointed back through camp, saying simply, "Avanse."

I stared at him blankly, not knowing what he meant, and he nodded back the way I came, pointing again. "No mo tren here. Today you go avanse." Once I understood his meaning, I was pleasantly surprised, and immediately pressed my hands together under my chin in the Thai sign for thanks/respect. He nodded again, returned the gesture, and waved me off toward the advanced mats, returning to his companions. I picked up my things, and turned around to find that one of the nebulous, floating trainers who seem to have no fixed position had materialized behind me. He smiled simply at me, and led me away to the advanced area.

The class itself was conducted in very much the same pattern as the intermediate class, though obviously with significant differences in subject matter and intensity. I'll say a few words about the class in a later post, however, as I find it difficult enough to limit myself to reasonable verbosity on just one topic at a time.

In the few days since I was moved to the advanced class, I have been extremely frustrated by the reactions of my peers. I recognize that moving to this level of training is something of a change in social status; this is a demonstrable sign that I have attracted the attention of my trainers, and earned their respect, which is doubtless the most sought-after prize in the camp. What I did not recognize, however, was the intrusively competitive nature of many of my acquaintances here, and that their evident confusion, mixed with thinly veiled insults, would leave me thinking that I had seriously over-estimated the number of friends I've made.

Let us examine, as an exemplary case study, a young American man named Luke. Our arrivals at the beginning of September were within two days of each other, and up until this week, we've been on roughly the same training schedule. Overall, I know very little substantive information about Luke, but in the manner of fellow countrymen in foreign places, we have maintained something slightly above a friendly acquaintance through shared meals and random meetings around camp. Since Tuesday, however, things have been different.

Every time that I have seen Luke in the last four days has involved some mention of my placement in the advanced class, and a not-so-subtle comparison of my abilities to his. Of course, the first time I saw him after my promotion, he immediately congratulated me, but it was clearly forced, and he followed that nicety with a rather offensive (and inexplicable), "Huh, you know I never really saw you training much in intermediate. I guess advanced has been a pretty small class though, they probably want some new people."

What bothers me most about my promotion, however, is not actually the jealous incredulity of those with whom I had trained before. In the company of everyone, it seems, whether or not I had trained with them before, the fact of being in the beginner or intermediate Muay Thai classes has become something of which one is obligated to be ashamed. Chris and I took a new arrival named Dave out to lunch yesterday to show him around town, and after Chris spent the first few minutes of the venture heckling me about my class change, Dave filled our lunch with obnoxious proclamations along the lines of, "I mean, I seriously can't believe they put me in the beginner class. I'm all like, 'dude, I know my training's been off and on, but don't put me with this bunch of pussies.'"

(As an aside, I should say that, to his credit, Chris seems to have been almost completely unfazed by my advancement this week, and while occasionally joking with me about it, he has provided my only real outlet for this frustration)

I would like to ignore Luke's change of attitude, and I would like to remind Dave (and all of the so many others) that the beginner class, or "this bunch of pussies," refers to, at one time or another, every person in the camp. Frankly, the notion that anyone's talents are being wasted as they stagnate under the oppressive, Philistine yoke of the beginner or intermediate trainers is very offensive, as is the realization that all of these comments are coming as an attempt to make their speakers feel that they might still be better fighters than I am, though they are unjustly imprisoned while I am shown undeserved favoritism. If I didn't think that arguing with them would make the alienation problem worse, I would explain to them that they may well be better fighters than me, and that I frankly couldn't care less, as I'm here to study an art form, not prove my masculinity by bouncing my skull off the hardened fists of unimpressed Thai men.

I should also point out that it has been almost entirely Americans who have thus displayed this shallow and competitive nature toward their friends. Maybe it's just a random coincidence, but the others I know, particularly the non-Westerners, seem to be less bothered by my promotion. Perhaps not surprising.

This is all the more frustrating for me as it runs so contrary to my own experience in the States. I don't mean that I'm any stranger to the hyper-competitive nonsense that is a large part of modern martial arts, but rather that I have been selective enough (and fortunate enough) to train only in gyms at which community and dignity are highly valued. At this point I feel it appropriate to mention Conway Mixed Martial Arts, the site of my physical education and intermittent employment in Conway, AR, and a place where I learned a great deal about the dignity of martial artists.

Anyone who has trained at Conway MMA knows that you won't get far as a stranger. I have spent the past four or five years cultivating a strong friendship with the Newton family, who owns and operates the school, and I consider many of its students to be personal friends. What's more, I have always felt that whatever success I earned on my own was an honor for the gym, and I know that I was far from the only one to feel this way. Each time I've been promoted, in whatever style or class, I have always met with encouragement and genuine congratulation, not suspicious stares and backhanded comments. After the first Jiu-Jitsu tournament in which I competed, I and everyone else from Conway MMA handed our medals to Joel after the whole thing was over, and they stayed on the wall in the school, never to be worn by any of us as far as I'm aware.

I think that the Thais understand that. While my last post now appears to me in something of a naive, rosy light, I do still sense a certain camaraderie among many of the students, and its presence is absolutely undiminished in the trainers. I'm encouraged by the office of the camp, in which walls and tables are filled with trophies and championship belts that the winners left there. Every fight picture and video I've seen always shows the Thais displaying some symbol of their training ground, and the art of Muay Thai traditionally features a pre-fight ceremony in which both combatants conduct a dance and a walk around the ring while adorned with physical symbols of the prayers and well-wishes of their trainers and family. I'm sure that these men are aware that many of their students consider promotion something personal, almost like a popularity contest, but they obviously pay so little heed that I can only be assured that they find it as ridiculous as I do. Following this, I plan to continue to try to flesh out what this bond is, though it may be more subtle than perhaps I had originally thought, particularly among us foreigners.

Back to the personal business, I guess what I mean to say is that this one goes out to the guys (and girls, Missy) back home. I know that many of you would love to be where I am, and several of you expressed your envy to me directly, but I especially appreciate that before I left, everyone came down, had pizza, shook my hand, and sent me off with smiles and good wishes. I think that after I come back, and after my financial situation is sorted out, I will make it my business to come back here, and to take at least one of you with me each time. My experience at Conway MMA has always been one of strong community and genuine friendship, where the stripes on your belt, or the notches in your gloves, are never as important as the respect you show on the mats. If only I could show these floundering, insecure peacocks that where I come from, we stand up straight, we don't talk shit, we do our best, and when one of us does well, we shake his hand, we clap him on the back, and we all do what we can to help him do even better.

Love.