Fighting The Queen’s Cup, August 12 2009, Sanam Luang, Bangkok

I’m not goal oriented in the traditional sense. I don’t choose a destination and determine how to get there.  The process bores and aggravates me.  Rather, I choose a path and get stoked about where it may lead.  If opportunities arise that may illicit some standard goal setting, then I work with them as they occur.  To me, traditional goal setting is over planning and stale and best used as a resource to draw upon, not a standard way of living.  Is this the best way to go about things?  No clue but I didn’t question it until reading a sports psych book that stresses the importance of implementing goals in your training regime. Daily, weekly, monthly and long-term. I thought I’d give it a go and instantly thought, yeah, one day I’d like to fight either the Queen or King’s Cup.  This was a little over a month ago.  As I’d never stepped into the ring to fight, I decided to aim to get on the card in the next year or two.  I reflected on it for that moment and let the sentiment fade.  I was more concerned with determining my daily and weekly goals, which meant working on my clinch and sparring muay thai rather than boxing – I’ve been sparring boxing sporadically for months and couldn’t remember the last time I had sparred muay thai seriously (ie. not randomly being slapped around by a few of the guys at the gym).

The whole process prompted me to reexamine the current state of my training and as a result I skipped to the outskirts of Bangkok for about three weeks to train at another gym where I was allowed in the ring. I believe it was my first or second day back when Big Boss passed by me, paused and with a sideward glance asked if I wanted to fight on the 12^th at my resting weight of 50 kg.  Being that it was the 6^th, I thought, sure, September 12^th would be great.  The week prior to my departure to the burbs, in a discussion I had over dinner with him, we agreed that I’d be ready to fight sometime in September.  It wasn’t until about an hour later that I realized he meant August 12^th – within six days,  on the Queen’s Birthday, at Sanam Luang, in short – The Queen’s Cup.  I realized this because one of the trainers was messing with me about it.

That night I did the math – half day of training on the 9^th (my gym only trains once on Sundays), press conference on the 10th, no training on the 11th, fighting on the 12^th – that gave me two solid days to prepare.  I was thankful I didn’t have to cut weight, but I was concerned about who I was fighting.  I asked a number of trainers to teach me how to fight taller chicks.  I’m 5’3 and at 50 kg I knew there was potential for me to fight someone about 5’7 – 5’8.  I was repeatedly told that I was fighting a Thai girl that was approximately my height, with no previous fights.  Despite not having a lot of confidence in the clinch and not working my kicks for a couple of weeks due to a flare up in an old injury, I thought, if I rely primarily on my hands, I may do alright.  The Thais generally concentrate on their legs, particularly when they’re starting out, and their hands typically are their weaker point at this time.  I mentally went over possible situations in the ring.  I wasn’t too worried about it.  My gym was confident in my capabilities, and I was really just happy to be there.  To have my first fight ever be in Bangkok at the Queen’s Cup was an honour married to the fact that Big Boss had offered to represent me the month prior.  Less than six months beforehand, when I first walked into the gym, I was told they never have and never will manage women.  The 12^th was a big day for me, win or lose – I felt like I had already won.  I was giddy and glowy and nothing could bring me down.  This included being introduced to my nightmare of an opponent at the press conference on the 10^th.

Call it intuition, call it an appreciation for divine comedy, call it whatever you’d like but as soon as I saw her, I knew we were stepping into that ring together.  I still don’t know your name, but if you are her and are reading this….are you under 6’?  For the rest of you, picture a Canadian runway model constructed of solid muscle.  This was no short Thai chick.  All I saw were pointy joints sprouting solid pieces of arms and legs and a head that seemed really, really far away.  The top of my cranium, I believe falls somewhere between her shoulders and chin.  Did someone pull inside my brain and steamroll the girl I never, ever wanted to fight?  I was up for pushing that comfort zone and appreciated the benefit of getting anything that may possibly screw with my brain out of the way for my first fight.  TV cameras and crowds don’t faze me, but not being able to close the distance does.

I went back to my gym, asked a number of questions and tried to concentrate on what I was going to do.  I was told to avoid the clinch due to our height difference, and I tried to think of ways to get close to her so I could land body shots without eating some elbows and knees. I knew what I had to do, but the question was…could I do it?  I suspected she would wait and use her legs to keep me at a distance.  Her reach was insanely long, and even if I could get a hold of a leg…could I get close enough to sweep the supporting one?  I’d still have to be wary of her arms…basically I’d have to rely on moves I’d never tried.

The night of the 12th came and a crew of us made our way over to Sanam Luang.  I was pretty hyped – I love crowds. Thousands of people happy celebrating Mother’s Day and The Queen’s Birthday simultaneously.  Fireworks. Bands.  Squirly kids everywhere.  I had a few hours to kill, so after I changed into my gear, we hit the bleachers to check out the fights preceding mine.  There were a ton of people, so off to the top we went.  I remember thinking briefly, are the floorboards secure?  Something seemed wonky about them but I quickly put it out of my mind.

Twenty minutes later I was falling through them.

I remember women screaming, I remember wood passing before my eyes and I remember falling slowly to the ground beneath me.  Ten feet?  Twelve feet?  I don’t know, but when I landed, I was on my back, supported by the chair I was thankfully sitting in.  One of my trainers was partially lying on me, there were people screaming behind me, to my left others were crushed on top of one another and over to my right – a few inches, a half foot, a foot?  I don’t remember, but there was a broken support piece of metal. Had I been over just a little bit, I suspect I could have been anything from sliced to impaled.  It was moving so I kept my eye on it.  I wasn’t going to get cut.

Screaming. Crying. The voices of those unknown. A little boy to my left.   Tiny black eyes filled with confusion and terror peering into mine. In Thai I told him it was going to be okay and I repeated the sentiment to my trainer as I squeezed his shoulder. I could feel the tension in his body against mine.  At the time, I had no idea his leg had been ripped open.  Someone kept shouting for everyone to remain still – from my position, I was unaware that people were being trampled. I concentrated partially on the swaying piece of metal and partially on my immediate surroundings, including the floorboards above.  I was concerned they would collapse.  Danger above, a threat to the right, uncertainty all around….I heard a familiar voice call my name.  I looked up.  On a supporting piece of platform crouched Malaipet.   His hand was outstretched offering to pull me out of the debris.

When I began writing for MMT I decided to keep identities out of my work.  I don’t believe it’s my right to relay that information – I’m not a journalist and my writings aren’t meant to be gossip pieces, however in this case, I’m making an exception.  I sincerely hope I’m not overreaching any boundary.  I’ve read enough smack about Malaipet online, that my intent is to balance something, somewhere. This person, among others who came to my aid, deserve many thanks.  For the others, you have been omitted for the reasons above, but you know who you are.  If you’re questioning it, don’t.

Malaipet was too far away and I wasn’t secure in my surroundings. I didn’t want to move until I was certain it was safe to do so.  I have no idea how long I laid there or how I crawled out.  I do remember the image of the friend who was massaging my shoulders fighting to remain conscious. At the time I had no idea she had been thumped in the head and trampled.  A member of the Finland team offered his assistance as I walked out from the debris, through some broken support beams and back towards the fighters’ area virtually untouched.  There is a gap in my memory. I don’t remember how I got from that point to where the medics were, but I remember standing, surrounded by my crew, trying to aid both my trainer and my friend as they were being attended to side by side.  My trainer received a number of stitches to his leg; my friend was veering in and out of consciousness. She was repeating that she couldn’t feel her fingers and her toes.  There were flashes everywhere.  Cameras were popping like crazy. In time my trainer was able to stand, but he was out of commission.  My friend was securely strapped in a stretcher and enroute to a nearby hospital.

Two thirds of my corner were taken out in one shot.

I had about an hour, in retrospect possibly up to two, to prepare to fight.  The one remaining trainer was wandering around – I still have no idea where his head was at, or what he endured.  He was also on the bleachers when they collapsed.  Thankfully two Portuguese fighters took control. If it wasn’t for them, I don’t know what would have transpired. They asked where my handwraps, oil, etc. were.  I told them the one trainer had them.  They said he didn’t.  At the time, I had no idea my gear was in that ambulance alongside my friend.  I thought my trainers, who had ensured they would take care of me, completely hadn’t.  That didn’t sit well with me but I tried to keep it inside.  My brain flashed to the night before, when I had been shown the wai kru for five minutes by people who were pist on whiskey.

The fall sucked, but it didn’t get under my skin.  My friend being carted off in the ambulance was disturbing, but I knew it wasn’t the time to dwell.  Whatever happened with that situation was out of my control. All I could do was concentrate on the present and hit the hospital after the fight.  However, the notion that my trainers aka guys I hang out with didn’t look after me after they said they would…it hit me hard.  I felt I was going in the ring completely unprepared and I was pissed they didn’t have my back.

The Portuguese along with the trainer that could walk scraped up whatever gear they could find.  I was told we didn’t have enough, but we made due with what we had available.  I suspect a lot of what we used were scraps left by other fighters.  They massaged me and one of the Portuguese stressed the importance of shadow boxing before I stepped into that ring.  I refused to do it.  I knew time was of essence and I wanted to listen to music and get my head on straight.  I needed to get my heart in check.  I needed time alone to focus and balance and prepare for the ring.  If my head wasn’t straight, my body wouldn’t follow, no matter how warm it was.

One of the fighters finally convinced me to work technique with him.  I was wearing flip flops and they were aggravating as the brickwork on ground was uneven.  The last thing I wanted was a twisted ankle.  I kicked them off, then felt sharp pieces of whatever under my feet.  I went back to the flip flops, threw a weak kick and felt the anger rise within me.  So I barked at him, didn’t tell him what the real issue was, felt guilty about it and went to find some peace in my four hundred baht counterfeit Ipod shuffle.

As I was trying to lighten the heaviness within me, I turned to my left to witness my opponent, who I hadn’t seen until approximately ten minutes prior, shadow boxing .  She was throwing a lot of downward elbows.  Wonderful.

I tried to remain positive as I entered the ring without a mongkon.  To me, the wai kru is a sacred, beautiful and integral part of the process; mine was rudimentary and crude at best.  It wasn’t the wai kru I imagined doing and resigned by being satisfied that I remembered how to do it at all.  I couldn’t ignore the part of me that wondered if everyone told me to walk around the ring in the wrong direction the night before.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that the people I trusted weren’t on the same page as I was until the buzzer squawked and it was time for me to fight.  I was originally told I was fighting four three minute rounds, but sometime after the fall I was told it was three two minute rounds. Sweet.

What can I say about the fight?  My opponent kicked surprisingly high. High meaning consistent kicks to my left temple and teeps to my sternum.  I couldn’t close the distance.  I tried everything I was told, but I felt that she did as suspected; she just waited until I came within reach and used her legs to keep me away.  I lost on points, I suspect a lot of points, but it was alright.  Whoever had the esteem of winning didn’t matter as much as expected, it became a detail to me and the fight was just part of the process.  This is just a moment on the path I was talking about….I still don’t know the destination…

I stepped out of the ring to learn that my friend wasn’t injured and was on her way from the hospital.  My trainer was sitting in a chair with a goofy grin.  No casualties, no long-term injuries.  I was incredibly happy.  Thankful for the opportunity to fight the Queen’s Cup, thankful for the opportunity to fight the opponent I never wanted to meet in the ring, thankful for the Portugese fighters who came to my aid (thank-you for the mongkon, it’s beautiful) and thankful, that despite everything that had happened, I’m still looking forward to stepping into that ring again.

What surprised me the most about the entire process was my mental game in the ring.  I was neither nervous nor angry – the surge of adrenalin never came, or if it did, it was momentarily.  I don’t remember it.  If anything, the whole fight felt like a math problem I couldn’t solve…it was six minutes of me thinking…wtf?  And wanting to doodle on the back of my exam paper (mess around and have fun with it).  This wasn’t the headspace I was expecting and in retrospect am wondering should survival mode have come into gear, if that would have been more to my benefit.  I have no idea why it never came.  After reviewing the video of my fight, I believe I was thrown something in the neighbourhood of twelve kicks to the left side of my skull – once catching a foot to my cheekbone…you’d think something fierce would arise, but it didn’t.  For those of you experienced fighters out there – has this happened to you?  Any thoughts?  I’m surprised by my reaction to my fight and am curious about your experiences.  This is an element I don’t read about often on muay thai sites.  I read more about the physical.