It seemed easier to go to the club each day to train after that, as I felt my game getting better, especially the jiu-jitsu portion. When it came to striking, my leg kicks were accelerating at a steady rate. They had good power and snap. I was starting to contemplate competition, but there was a lot that needed work, from my non-existent conditioning to technique and speed, but I was definitely getting the itch to compete. One of the trainers, Rob Haynes, was doing well in his MMA fights. He was a monster of a man, standing 6' 3" with a muscular build as a successful heavyweight. He had a European face, lanky hair, and a world of experience as a judo and jiu-jitsu champion. I would also learn the hard way that he had very heavy hands. I was lucky that in a sense he took me under his wing when we trained at the same times. He pushed me to my limits, and I have always been thankful for that.
He had the warrior mentality in the gym. “Train hard, wear your heart on your sleeve, and never give up.” This was beginning to be the only way I knew how to train, thanks to guys like Rob. Every time I came home after training with Rob, I knew I had just come back from war, which was really toughening me up mentally and physically. I guess the grind from work coupled with the rigorous training was good for my mind.
Mentally, I felt good, but as for my conditioning, I honestly did not know what to expect. With some of the other amateurs I felt I could hold my own, while with some of the more experienced fighters I would get dazed and roughed up. I spoke to Milton, and he said that I might as well give competition a try, and just as casually as that, I had a fight to prepare for against an unknown opponent at a card that would take place in Grand Bend, Ontario, forty-five minutes from London, and a hotspot in the summer because of its beautiful beaches. I remember going home that day and thinking ”What the hell did I get myself into?” I figured that everyone starts somewhere just like this, and then I started visualizing the fight in my head, and it felt great. My partner ended up dropping out due to a back injury, which I later learned was a common occurrence in the fight business; to have cards change at the drop of a dime.
I would get my chance a short time later, and yet again I had no idea what I was doing when preparing or what I was getting myself into. I did the same thing leading up to the fights, only by now I had lost some weight, and I was feeling good at 216 pounds as a heavyweight. This time, my fight would be at the MAS Thai Boxing gym, and it would be unsanctioned, unlike the previous event where my bout was canceled. There would be a referee, but they just dubbed it as “hard-sparring.” Some of the coaches were showing me moves that I was trying to integrate into my technique so that they would become natural reflexes instead of having to think so much during the fight.
Some of the coaches were not always around, and we had a rotation of some new trainers in the gym. They all had different styles and techniques, and I did not notice that I was beginning to get overloaded with all of the information. So, instead of working and building my fundamentals, I was good at nothing and working on everything. I still felt confident; I thought that I was unbreakable, and all I needed was that opening in a fight and I would get my knockout through my natural power. I was still a little inconsistent with my training due to my 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,