words of wisdom from Professor Traven

Today I had a very impactful conversation with Traven. "Good morning", he said. "Good morning!" I said, "it's Friday. Are you excited it's Friday?" "I am excited every day," he said earnestly. "You can do what you want to do on any day- Monday, Friday, it doesn't matter which day."

An excellent point.

we've come a long way, baby

A Japanese schoolgirl is getting a shot at pro baseball. Finally we're starting to see some equality.



"Eri Yoshida, seen here, a 16-year-old schoolgirl with a mean knuckleball has been selected as the first woman ever to play alongside the men in Japanese professional baseball."







http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20081117/sp_wl_afp/lifestylejapansportsbaseball_081117063048

As a kid I desperately wanted to play baseball. I wanted to play center field for the Mets. Every night I oiled my glove, tucked a ball inside it, and put it under my pillow. My dad was a little league coach. He'd take me out in the yard and we'd work on fundamentals. We worked on getting behind the glove. Not being afraid of the ball. Dealing with it when a grounder runs up your glove and hits you in the face. Getting under fly balls. We'd go to the field sometimes and I'd shag balls or work on hitting.
I didn't get to play baseball at all. Not once. Not ever. They told me, "Girls don't play baseball. You can play softball." I despise softball. Softball is a hideous bastardization of a beautiful sport. The ball is too big, as if to say the players are stupid and need a bigger object. There's no stealing. There's a general lack of craft. The sportsmanship was awful. The other girls were nasty toward each other and me. There was no cooperation. Outfielders refused to hit the cutoff because of their ego problems. So even if balls were fielded well, they dribbled in messily to the infield, and we missed getting outs. The other girls didn't want to spend extra time working. They wanted to spend the extra time gossiping and talking about who they liked or didn't like.

The only time I got to work on anything worthwhile was with my dad. He never told me that I wouldn't get to play because I was a girl. He never told me that fundamentals didn't matter because I could just wear my hair cute. If he thought I might cry he'd tell me to suck it up. There was no quitting. There was no complaining. Too bad I never got to use any of that. I played softball for about 6 years and then realized one day that it wasn't a temporary thing. I'd never get to play baseball. I had no interest in playing girls' fast-pitch softball anymore. I quit. After 9th grade, I never played again.


Baseball wasn't a singular incident. I wanted to play ice hockey. They told me no. Girls don't play hockey. I got to take figure skating instead. I quit after a year. Every time I wanted to play a "boys" sport, they'd give me some lame substitute or tell me I'd hurt my breasts. Yes, I'm serious. I was 8 years old when I wanted to play hockey. I didn't have breasts. I pointed this out to the skating manager and she just looked uncomfortable.

Good for you, Eri Yoshida. I hope you redefine baseball as we know it.

For those of you who have daughters, I have a little bit of humble advice. If your girl wants to take a sport, and some stupid coach discriminates against her for being female, you should seriously consider legal action. We cannot continue to tolerate oppression. This is 2008 and we still have to struggle to get a shot at equality.

when life hands you lemons...

Sometimes things don't go the way you want them to. I've recently thought a lot about wins and losses, and how the way you handle them really indicates the substance of your person. I'm lucky to have a lot of supportive people in my life, and that has really had an effect on me.

One of the reasons that nerves get bad is you think about disappointing people you care about. In moments of panic you think that maybe no one will care about you anymore if you make mistakes. In the future it will help me a lot to look back and think about how everyone treated me after I had a loss. I've had a lot of positive interactions with people and gotten a lot of valuable information about how the people that matter to me think about these things.

I'm also lucky to have a bunch of fighters in my life. It makes a big difference when you talk to someone who understands what it's like, and remembers being in difficult situations and dealing with setbacks. It makes a big difference when you go into the gym on the following Monday and your friends tell you, "It looked like your nerves got you. It's okay. That happens to everyone. You just have to put it down to experience and go on to the next one." That puts it into perspective. No one hates you for having a bad performance. It is actually not a big deal at all. And, even more than that, everyone is proud of you for taking the fight. Everyone is proud of you for not punking out and taking some excuse to cancel. Everyone thinks that you have heart for getting into the ring when the crowd and the lights and the pressure made you feel like you're having a panic attack. At Unit 2, we have a lot of really experienced MMA fighters. These guys have the opportunity to look down on me, but they don't. It feels really good when a well-known fighter goes out of his way to talk to you, an amateur, to tell you that you did well and sometimes things don't go your way; to congratulate you on getting in there.

Of course, there are always gonna be the armchair fighters who want to give you critiques and suggestions, advice and so on. And they seem to think that what you do is pretty easy, and you should have made quick work of it. And you should have done this, and used that, and on and on. And they advise you about how you should train for the next one, and come up with "solutions" to your "problems." How can you take all this criticism seriously when you know that this person has never taken a fight and probably never will? It simply doesn't matter.

I have a friend who is a pro fighter- he's been on television, sometimes people in public have recognized him. This guy is humble as anyone. "I put my pants on just like everyone else," he says. He recently advised me on other people saying negative things. He was very frank. "Some people are fighters, and they're gonna understand what you have to go through. As far as the other people- fuck them and what they think." I didn't realize how much you have to subscribe to that until this last fight. I have been showered with support from other fighters. I've received emails from other fighters' coaches. Sunday my inbox was full of positive messages, and my phone was overflowing with text messages from people telling me that they're proud of me.

I've been taken to dinner and lunch and received a homemade pie. My friends from outside the gym (gyms, that is) are overjoyed that I can finally go out and eat with them.

I'd also like to add that having a humble nature and genuinely caring about other people seems to go a really long way in how others treat you when life hands you lemons. Sometimes people win, but no one's really all that happy about it because they lack qualities that endear them to others. They talk trash, or illustrate poor sportsmanship, and because of that, it means less to people when they do well. The fighters that I really admire personally are those that are more down-to-earth and genuine.

The more I get to be around positive people the more it helps me deal with nerves. If you choke, it will not be the end of the world. Everyone will not hate you for it. It will not be a big deal. You will do better next time. And you will get to eat homemade pumpkin pie.

The great teachers in my life

This week I had the opportunity to help with a project Unit 2 does at Hamilton Holmes Elementary School. One of their second grade classes has had exemplary attendance, and so they earned a special gym class session with us, the instructors from Unit 2. We teach them basic punches and kicks, and some basic Jiu Jitsu techniques as well. They are a great bunch of kids, and I enjoyed working with them. The energy of second graders can sometimes be overwhelming, but my theory is to treat them like I wanted to be treated when I was in second grade. That seemed to work well.

Two of the students in the class are autistic. It is mild autism, not what you would have seen in the 80's movie "Rain Man," but it is nevertheless a challenge in these kids' lives. I paid particular attention to making sure they felt included in the class. I'm sure they spend plenty of time being ostracized, and that sucks.

Thank you again, Mrs. Cheryl Perry. Mrs. Perry was my second grade teacher, and she made a huge difference in my life. She believed in me. She may have been the first person I ever met who believed in me. I'll never forget her and what she said to me one day. Let me take you back on a journey with me. I was new to the elementary school in a small suburb of Birmingham, Alabama. Most of the kids were caucasian, and they all sounded unintelligible to me. I couldn't understand them or communicate with them. "Hee haw gee jaw yaw!" They would exclaim (or such was my understanding of their verbal expressions.) They seemed to exclaim "Yaw!" a lot. (I later discovered this southern salutation is Y'all, or a contraction of You All.) They seemed to argue a lot, didn't seem to believe in manners, and were mean to the kids who were other colors. I felt like I was in a cage with apes. I was constantly confused and hurt by my attempts to interact with them. One day it finally came to a head. After recess, all the kids in the class gathered around the front door of the school to go back to class. They were gibbering unintelligibly and jumping around, swinging at each other and yelling. The principal came out and proclaimed that no one would be allowed back in the school until everyone was quiet. He sounded like a hillbilly too. He was yelling too, and he sounded like all the little hillbillies. It hit me all at once- this is the person who's in charge, and he sounds just like one of them. I was scared shitless. I felt tiny and unprotected. I desperately tried not to cry as we finally filed back into class. I tried and tried, but tears ran down my face and I started to sob. Mrs. Perry asked me what was wrong in her calm soft voice. "I'm scared!" I said. "I want to go home!" Mrs. Perry looked right into my eyes and said, "I need your help. I need you to help me with something. Can you do that?" I didn't know. I was obviously tiny and weak. How could I help anyone? "I'm sad today," Mrs. Perry said. "My grandmother died, and I miss her. I need you to help me be strong. Can you help me?" I thought about it. "Yes." I decided. I can help. I can be strong.

Thank you, Mrs. Perry. You were the first person who believed in me. You were the first person who told me I could be strong. Because of you, I decided I would never be afraid of anyone, ever again. There were times in my life when your voice in my head, your words that day when I was 6 years old, got me through some horrible shit that I thought would break me.



Mrs. Perry's voice came back to me during my trip to Hamilton Holmes Elementary. One of the young autistic kids in the class was obviously having a hard time participating. He'd try his best, but all the noise and activity was overwhelming to him, and he'd go curl up on the floor behind a trash can in the fetal position and wait for his fear to be manageable. Then he'd try to come back and join the class. Then someone cut in line, and I could see that he was upset. Sure, it's no big deal to adults- sometimes we think that what children deal with doesn't matter. That's wrong. I could see that his sense of justice was betrayed. He curled up and began to sob softly. "What's wrong?" I asked him. He mumbled toward the floor that someone has cut in line and it wasn't fair. "It's okay, "I said, " I know it isn't fair. But we can get back in line." He shook his head. No way. He didn't want to go back over there. It was hard enough before he knew people were going to be cutting in line. I sat down next to him. I rememebered what Mrs. Perry said to me. "I need you to help me." I said to him. He looked at me curiously. I felt like I could see into his soul. Help? Me? But I'm just little. "Yes, you can help me!" I said, "I don't know anyone here. I'm new here. Can you help me go back over to the class?" I held out my hand. Sniffling, he grabbed into it. That was a particularly touching moment given that most autistic kids don't like to be touched. He latched onto my hand and marched back over to the class. "We'll stand in line together," I said. He took a deep breath and smiled a little.

My friend Walker Atrice, who was also a great teacher, once told me that I could influence people, that I could inspire them. I think about him often, but especially when I have the opportunity to reach someone like that. Walker made me feel like I have a purpose in life, a divine purpose. He told me that God gave me a gift, and I can share it with others. I'll never forget that talk. Because of him, I'm not afraid to step into the ring. He's my guardian angel and he'll be there with me this Saturday.

My coach, Chike Lindsay-Ajudua will be cornering me this Saturday. With him in my corner I can't fail. He's been one of the great teachers in my life too. His unwavering belief in me has made all the difference. He's always been optimistic about my abilities. And he's not an optimistic person. He doesn't operate on feelings. He operates on logic. It's the main reason I always feel I can believe him. Lots of people will tell you lots of superlatives about how you're gonna do. He gives it to you real. Asking him isn't like asking a person, it's like asking a calculator. You never feel like he's bullshitting you to get some result. If he says you're going to do well, then it's factual. That day in the weight room at the old gym he said, "You can do it. I believe in you." I decided since he calculates everything like a chess computer, he must be right. (If he didn't think I could do it, I'd expect a piece of paper to print out of one of this facial orifices saying 'does not compute' or 'error' or just a bunch of 8's.)

I've been blessed with great teachers in my life. When people ask me if I'm ready for the fight this Saturday, I usually make some kind of joke like, "I'm ready to eat a bowl of pasta, that's for damned sure." The truth is, I know I'm ready, because these utterly valuable people in my life have told me I can do it.



"If I have seen farther than others, it is because I have stood on the shoulders of giants."
-Isaac Newton

I did not have pie

I decided to Halloween this year even though I can't eat candy. I just want everyone to know how serious I am about making weight. I did not eat pie.

So what? You may say. Big deal, pie. You can buy it at the supermarket anytime.

No, no, no. I mean, the real deal pie. Two friends that invited me over for Halloween are healthy eaters and baked a pumpkin pie from scratch. From an actual pumpkin; a baked pumpkin. Everyone was raving about how great the pie was. I did not have pie. I am going to make weight without any drama, last minute hullabaloo or to-do. No one will have to be disappointed in me for not getting it right.

"permanent"

I got some pretty odd questions from a new kickboxing student the other day. She saw from our bulletin board that I have a fight coming up on the 8th and decided to throw some crazy questions out there. My favorite was " do you do drugs before you fight?"

Huh?

No, seriously, what???

Drugs like steroids? (yeah, I'm obviously juicing. You can tell from my enormous muscles.) Drugs like heroin? I really just had no idea what she was asking me. So I tried to cover all bases. "I'm natural. I haven't even had any caffeine in about 4 years," I said. "Oh, really? Do fighters usually use caffeine before fights?" Sigh. This woman was just trying not to understand. She went on.

"Have you ever fought with an injury before?" "Of course," I said. I figure most have. She expressed her disturbance in a dramatic fashion. "Aren't you worried it will be permanent?" I was baffled. I didn't know what she meant at all. "Aren't you worried the damage will be permanent?" "No, " I said. I'm still baffled by this, what I can only think of as a weak mentality built for making excuses. Permanent? How can any injury be permanent? I'm mortal. That means I die. That means nothing having to do with my body is permanent. Do I have injuries? Sure. Illnesses, pain, all these things. Of course. Some of these things will probably be with me all my life. That's part of living. I can't imagine a life where you try futilely to preserve your body as though it were your first dollar. I can't imagine the fear you cultivate when you believe that injury is a terrible, terrible thing to be avoided at all costs because it will ruin your body permanently. I think if I had to make the choice I'd rather die now than live that way. How can you possibly have any enjoyment?

I'd also like to point out this woman is overweight and enjoys what I can only describe as grossly unhealthy foodstuffs. Of course, it would be socially frowned upon if I returned her judgmental attitude by asking if she was worried her diet would cause" permanent" damage.

So, we all make our choices. We all use our bodies for something that causes them to degrade. As for me, I'd rather go out doing something I have great regard for and great enjoyment of than to go out with a whimper, sitting on my sofa watching Desperate Housewives and eating Cheetos.

I still love the clinch

I'm fighting at Wild Bill's on November 8th. Everything's confirmed. I owe big ups to Jeff Boudreaux who helped me get in touch with David Oblas, the promoter for Wild Bill's. Jeff has been an enormous help in getting everything in order. Otherwise, I would have had yet another cancellation and probably wouldn't have found out until pretty close to the fact.

I'll be fighting International Rules. This is not my decision. I love the clinch. I love knees. What can I say?- it's hard to find opponents. Don't get me wrong, I still plan on making it a great fight, and you guys will enjoy watching it. Just don't take it personally when you yell out "knee! knee!" and I ignore you. Just yell out something else instead.

Kaitlin Young

I like watching these 3 Kaitlin Young fights. She ko'd all 3 of her opponents in this tournament.

I have to be honest, I wasn't really inclined to watch at first. I felt like it was probably going to be a bunch of grabbing and bad clinching and apefisted punching. But Kaitlin Young is a real Muay Thai technician. You'll notice that none of these 3 matches goes to the ground.

She throws some really nice knees in the first bout.

Awesome head kicks, and she beats a girl who has substantially more experience.

I like how Kaitlin doesn't try to look all tough and dude-like, and she's not all covered with tattoos. Neither does she slather herself with makeup and try to look cute. She just looks like a regular girl. The girl next door, perhaps. The girl next door who kicks you in the head.

remember Punchy?

I never understood why this guy's hair looked like antlers. Maybe it was a hat. Either way, when I was a kid we always used to ask each other "How'd you like a nice Hawaiian Punch?" and then we'd punch each other. Kind of like a Hertz Donut. And if you don't remember that, I'd be glad to give you one. : )

my dome

I've recently been reading a lot on the internet about concussions, and their long-term effects. It's been suggested by many in the medical community that every time you get a concussion, that makes it easier for you to get a concussion next time.

I refuse to get on board with this. My skullpiece does not accrue damage, it simply becomes well seasoned, like a good cast-iron skillet. That's right, my head is like a skillet. It is only because I haven't been hit in the head enough that I sometimes forget where my keys are, or people's names, or how to get home from the North Avenue rail station. Have you ever tried to make cornbread in a halfway seasoned cast iron skillet? It sticks and falls apart, and lacks flavor.

Ok, ok, so- some of you naysayers may side with the medical community; modern technology, advancements in medicine, and so on. Need I remind you that there was a time when leeches were used as medical instruments, bloodletting was commonplace, and patients were told to ingest mercury? Maybe it's possible that we just don't know enough about this brain-skillet relationship yet. I intend to press on with my personal research.

It's not "stand-up," it's Muay Thai

I'd like to take a minute to discuss one of the big irritations in my life. I spend a great deal of my time in the gym, and I think it's about time that people from other areas of study give Muay Thai its due respect.

It's not "stand-up." "Stand-up" is a part of mixed martial arts, not Muay Thai. When you come to Muay Thai class, that's what you're practicing- Muay Thai. It's not "stand-up class." It's not Mooey Thai, May Thai or Mai Tai. Not Tae Bo, either.

There. I said it. I'm not sorry.

And just so you know, a Mai Tai comes with a little umbrella and cherries.

The best flavor of Gatorade

I have come to the conclusion that Gatorade Fierce Melon is the best flavor. I had my first Fierce Melon after training yesterday, and it was so refreshing that I felt like it should be served in a coconut with a little umbrella.

Previously my favorites were Berry Rain and AM Tropical Mango.

I'm not saying I don't like those other flavors anymore. Fierce Melon is hardly ever available anyway. I couldn't find any at the supermarket. I bought the last one at the gym and now there aren't any more.

Some bicycling site says testers prefer "more pedestrian flavors."

What's the Big Deal about Ivan Calderon??

So, I keep reading all this blowup about Ivan Calderon, how he's supposed to be this great prodigy of boxing and whatnot. Of course, I want to get excited about this guy, so I look up some of his fights online. Waaaay disappointing. The first article I read described him as moving so fast the camera can't catch him, having super impressive head movement, and being uber-elusive. Well, watch for yourself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34ffwLmqOec

At about 6:20 he grabs around Cazares' legs and looks like he's trying for a takedown. Embarassing. As far as his *amazing* elusive skills, I guess I don't get it. To me it looks like his opponent is moving him around the ring like the hands of a clock.

Ivan Calderon vs. Nelson Dieppa part 1: (there are about 7 parts, and most of them look the same.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGhJ8PFKoTM

I am still unimpressed. I mean, this guy is supposed to have a ridiculously large number of titles, and this fight is just plain boring to me. I think Dieppa has way better head movement. Plus Calderon's jab doesn't look exciting to me. And just in case you're thinking, "awww, that cute little boy is boxing. He's so young, and so talented for one so young." Think again. Dude is 33 years old. Seriously.

Women's Muay Thai program at Unit 2

I am starting a Women's Muay Thai program at Unit 2. It will be a basic to intermediate class. Focus will be on technique, using Thai pads, and developing relationships with training partners. Any sparring will be light contact. There will be plenty of new students in this class and it will be strictly supervised.

The class starts this Saturday, and will be every Saturday at 1pm. This is a ladies only class. This is a great opportunity for women who have wanted to try Muay Thai but are nervous about the potential for injury, or women who are currently training and need to find more female training partners or want to work in a women-only environment. Brand new students are welcome. This is the only women's Muay Thai program currently in Atlanta.

For any questions, concerns or directions to the gym feel free to email me.

IKF World Classic, side notes and epilogue

I wanted to squeeze in a few other cool things that didn't make it into my blog previously. I saw some pretty cool things, and there were some low-lights as well.

In the division one lower than mine, in the 120-130 division, I got to see a really skilled female fighter named Jessica Gladstone. She is a student of Trevor Smandych. You may remember seeing him on The Contender Asia. Jessica is really fun to watch. Both she and Trevor were really awesome to meet, totally humble and nice people.

The World Center Resort had a food court. This is an awesome convenience and is one more thing that made the venue really great.

I only have one complaint about the tournament; the refs were terrible. They seemed to have no idea what the rules are for Muay Thai matches. Sometimes they would break the clinch at some arbitrary time when the fighters were still working. They were not diligent about fouls. This was bad for two reasons; a.) they allowed fouls to happen, endangering fighters. b.) It was easy for some fighters' cornermen to take advantage of this lack of knowledge. One fat kid was obviously losing his fight in the clinch. Each time he'd get clinched, take a bunch of knees to the belly, and then fall down. His corner started screaming at the ref that his opponent was pulling his head down, and that you're not allowed to pull your opponent's head down. Meanwhile, the fat kid was trying to do some sort of takedown on his opponent by wrapping his leg behind the other guy's leg and then sliding down it like a stripper pole. The ref didn't say anything about that, because he clearly didn't know it was illegal, and because he was arguing with the fat kid's corner. The refs also had attitude problems. Some of them were rude, and some of them were pushovers. Some of them seemed to play favorites with the opponents. Some of them were just inexplicably obnoxious. When I got an 8-count in my second match, the ref looked at me like I was disgusting. "Do you want to keep fighting, or not?" he asked in a heavily sarcastic tone. These people need to bone up on their subjects, because it is not a job that should be taken lightly.

I had a Choco Taco after the tournament was over. I can't remember if I've had one before, and liked it, and that's why I wanted one, or if I'd never had one before and that's why I wanted it. Either way, during your next post-fight culinary debauchery, I suggest you start with a Choco Taco.

I also got myself a 40 after I got home. A 40-ounce Orangina, that is! Damn, that soda is good. I only know of one better, and that is Pink Ting. They don't come in 40's that I know of. I'd been craving Orangina since way before the tournament. I had it with chicken and broccoli, and potatoes. Oh, yeah. I love potatoes. And just in case you're starting to think I'm some sort of goody-two-shoes who doesn't know how to party, I also had a delicious Woodchuck.

If you live in the Atlanta area and you haven't been to Fat Matt's bbq joint, you are wasting your life. Get on over there. I had about 4 glasses of their homemade lemonade and a half slab of ribs (which, sadly, I couldn't finish.) No one looked at me funny for having my face busted up.

And, finally, I got to hang out with Meghan and Creed Perry from mmawesome.com. Check out their website! They have a lot of cool stuff there. They were nice enough to interview me today, and I'll let everyone know when that gets posted.

IKF World Classic, part 3

Sunday morning George and Andre got to the venue first, and called us later to let us know about fight postings so we could sleep later. That was much appreciated. We got to sleep in, and we had the hotel's continental breakfast. I had stayed in Kevin's room, since he had a double occupancy room and we all agreed it would be easier if I stayed with the group. It was a lot like sharing a room with your kid brother. His energy and constant excitability were a good distraction that kept me from thinking too much about the coming match and overanalyzing too much. I couldn't have asked for a better group to spend time with on the trip. Everyone was positive, there was no squabbling or ego problems, no one whined or fussed. It was like being on vacation with a group of friends; a vacation where you also get to punch people.

A lot of the Saturday bouts had to be moved to Sunday. The organizers had underestimated the amount of time the matches would take, and how many of them there were. Saturday night bouts went on until 11 pm, and then they decided to move the rest to Sunday. This was probably disadvantageous for some competitors, who would end up having two bouts pretty close together. My second match, the championship bout, would be against the winner of a match between Chantelle Cameron, a Brit with an undefeated record, and Jamie Bradley, last year's champion. I got to watch the match. It was soon very, very obvious that Jamie Bradley had gotten quite lucky last year (when she only had one competitor) and that she was way outclassed by Chantelle Cameron. Jamie Bradley is one of the worst women fighters I have ever seen. Her fight strategy seemed to be comprised of running toward her opponent windmilling punches wildly and throwing in the occasional spastic leg kick. I'm relieved that I didn't have to fight her. I would just as soon have let someone try to run me over with a wheelbarrow in the ring. I hate dealing with people like that and I simply can't understand why they try to participate in a beautiful, skillful sport and totally shirk technique. It's ugly. Anyway, I could see that Chantelle was skilled technically, and I was already excited by getting in the ring with her.

In the future, I'm going to avoid reading anything about my opponents. It's too much of a head trip. I knew that she was a 19-year-old British prodigy, undefeated, and that when she and I stepped into the ring, her record was 7-0. My corner later said that I gave her too much credit; too much respect. I was torn between my assessment of what I had read, and what she looked like. Chantelle Cameron looks like anyone's baby sister. She isn't all that muscular. She just looks like a regular sweet girl. I watched her warming up for our bout. She didn't look scary at all. She looked like she might be getting ready to go to the shopping mall for a smoothie or something. She had a sweet, friendly face. Shadowboxing and doing padwork, she seemed easy and relaxed. I am probably not the first person to underestimate her based on her looks.

The first thing I remember about the fight is getting dropped in the first round. Her punches hit me like a Mack truck. I still can't believe that she hit so hard. As I blacked out from the first punches in her combination, I felt punches land on the back of my head, right at the top of the neck. That's bad. That's how you get brain damage. When I got back up for the 8-count, I told the ref. I couldn't believe I was having to do this asshole's job for him. It's not my opponent's job to look out for my welfare. There's a reason that punching on the back of the head is illegal. It's not like I'm complaining about sportsmanship, or trying to get extra time. I couldn't believe what this jerk said to me. "Well, stop running away," he said snidely. I hope this jackass gets punched on the back of the head and can't remember who his children are. The nerve of him being rude to one of the competitors when he's supposed to be officiating. Being incompetent is bad enough. Don't salt it with asinine comments.
I can remember two things working out well for me in this fight; the inside leg kick/straight right, and the clinch. If I'd been smarter I'd have kept her in the clinch. I could see that my knees were doing some damage, and that it was getting easier to pull her head down. But I was getting weak on the outside from being punched in the head. I was woozy and the room seemed to spin gently. Whenever I tried to work in, she delivered crushing pushkicks to my sternum. I felt like my chest was caving in. In my corner at the end of the round, George swabbed my nose with a towel. Seriously? My nose is bleeding? My left eye felt like hamburger. I couldn't believe that a girl was hitting me so hard. There's no way I was giving up. This was the best fight ever! I wanted it to last and last. I didn't care about winning or losing anymore. For the first time, I could sense the crowd around us, yelling and cheering. For brief moments I had crystal clarity. I could see the pushkick coming. I parried. Damn. Too low. I'd missed and it was another crushing blow to the breastbone. We clinched, and it was a battle of wills. I pulled her head down and threw knees to the stomach. I felt her weaken. She came back with the left knee to my ribs. Time compressed and stretched in unpredictable patterns.
After some period of time, the end of the third round came. I went to my corner. George said, "You wanted the best? That was the best. And now you leave it all in the ring. It's done." "How does my hair look?" I joked as he pulled my gear off. "Not good," George smiled.

Going back to the middle of the ring, I bowed to and hugged my opponent, and then bowed to her corner. I want to mention that Chantelle's trainer is a woman also. Her trainer seemed polite, clever and personable. As they announced Chantelle as the winner and gave her the belt, I didn't feel sad or disappointed. I felt like I'd stood up for 3 rounds with the IKF World Lightweight Champion. Would I do some things differently? Probably. Did I make mistakes? Sure. But I went the distance, and I got to test myself against a highly skilled opponent that I have a lot of regard for. How can I feel bad about that?

IKF World Classic, part 2

The next day when I got to the venue, I met up with Amir, Brittney, Kevin, and Andre. (from the left, Andre, Amir, and Kevin. Brittney was too hot for the camera! I hope she forgives me for not having her photo in my blog.) Andre is George’s son. I didn’t really know what to expect from George. He had a great reputation but I didn’t know what his personality was like. He had been described to me by a few people as a Silverback. A Silverback is a huge, Alpha-male gorilla whose seniority is indicated by the silver fur on his back. George has a silver streak in his hair. A Silverback will tear the face off any in the pack who act up. That is pretty much George in a nutshell. He won’t tolerate any bullshit. George is very reserved, he doesn’t bully or carry on; but when something needs to be done, George talks, and people listen.

Wikipedia says, “Silverbacks are the strong, dominant troop leaders. Each typically leads a troop (group size ranges from 5 to 30) and is in the center of the troop’s attention, making all the decisions, mediating conflicts, determining the movements of the group, leading the others to feeding sites and taking responsibility for the safety and well-being of the troop.”

When I met George, I was a little nervous. Amir, Brittney, Kevin and Andre were all personable and I could tell I’d like them right away. I met George, introduced myself, and he said, “Shit, I didn’t know we were going to have to take care of you too.” I called Chike. “I don’t think this is going well,” I said, “is George always like this when he meets people?” George is skeptical of you at first, but if you show him that you are not going to waste his time, that you are earnest, he will go out of his way for you.

I spent most of the day eating, drinking gatorade, and napping in the warmup area. It was cold in the hotel. Every time I’d wake up I was nervous again because I didn’t know which fight was on and when I would be up. I was 45th. After a while, I didn’t want to eat anything, but I had a chicken sandwich in the food court with the rest of the group. I should have eaten more. When I got my gloves on for my first bout, I was starving.

I had a bad case of nerves. Last fight I was sick as hell, felt horrible and weak, and it went pretty badly. George kept telling me not to think about how it went last time. Gary Mack, the sports psychologist, says that pressure only exists in the future or the past; not in the present. If you are feeling pressure, it's because you are thinking about the past or the future, and not on the task at hand. I tried to keep thinking about that. Then I would think about how disappointed Chike would be if I had to call him up and say I'd lost, and I felt like puking. Then I would think about what I was supposed to do. Then I would just try to clear my mind. George kept reassuring me and helping me get my mind right. Having George tell you it will be alright is like having your dad tell you that when you are 2. You just believe him. He's confident. No nervous energy comes off him. He is relaxed. He is going to help you do this.

My first opponent was Liz Viramontes. I knew from the site postings that she had dropped down from the 140-150 class. I was expecting to see some kind of giant ape-woman, who had cut down to 150, and then cut down to 140. (It later turned out that she just really hates dieting and walks at 145, the same weight as me.)

I don't remember how the first part of the fight went, except for 2 things, which are both results of my having a terrible ref. First, I took about 5-6 knees to the groin. At the end of the round, I told the ref, and he ignored me. I told George, and he yelled at the ref. The ref tried to ignore him too. "HEY! Did you hear what I just said to you?" he roared at the ref. "Yes, sir," the ref cowered. He warned my opponent about low blows. Second, my opponent clinched me against the ropes at one point. I had inside position but I could not turn her no matter how hard I tried. "Get off the ropes!" George yelled. I realized that she had both gloves firmly around the top rope on either side of me. The stupid, incompetent referee was doing nothing about it. She finally let go when she realized what she was doing. Not a peep from the ref.

I remember George yelling at me to be first with knees. I guess I thought that meant I was doing a pretty bad job, and then my stomach felt like a stone. At the first interval, Amir told me we'd won that round. That made a huge difference for me. "Really?" I asked. I felt a shot of confidence. I would crush the next two rounds, I decided. During the warmup, George had said that my punching looked good, and decided we should use that to our advantage. "You don't punch like one of those cat-fighters," he said, illustrating what girls usually punch like by flailing his hands a little, "so when you get her in a corner, I want you to get ugly. Throw a lot of punches." That is what I tried my best to do. I tried to keep my opponent on the outside, but she was really, really aggressive. She really really wanted to beat me. Too bad I wanted to beat her more. We clinched and I threw knees as hard as I could. I could feel the life go out of her a little each time. She was making painful noises with each time I connected. It became easy to pull her head down. When the ref broke us, I threw straight punches. Blood dribbled from her nose but she refused to slow up any. Damn. What would it take to put this girl down? She was really taking a beating but refused to show it. I started to question myself a little. I connected with a hard 1-2. More blood. Then, the grand mistake. She started to show fatigue. She was breathing hard and loading up on all her strikes. She made a loud noise as she threw her right hook directly to my jaw. I felt nothing. Finally I was excited about what I was doing. It was fun. I wasn't worried about losing anymore. I rained straight punches onto her face. Blood squished out of her nose onto my right glove. I must have stopped to admire my work, because I heard George yell, "Don't stand there and look at it! Do it again!" At this point I was hoping for a knockout. I believe it was only because of her incredible fortitude that it didn't happen. She simply couldn't be stopped, despite her obvious midsection and facial injuries. When I went back to my corner after the final round, George told me we'd won. It felt surreal. When the ref raised my hand and they announced me as the winner, I felt like I would blubber like a big baby. It was simultaneously the best and one of the saddest moments of my life. I wanted to see Chike in my corner. I had to call him right away.


I have a ton of respect for this woman for the strength and heart she showed. I felt like I really earned my victory. After the match, as I watched other fights, a pretty young lady walked over and congratulated me. "That was actually a really good job," she said, with earnest respect. She seemed a little surprised that I had done a good job. I was confused, and thought that maybe she was from a lower weight class. I asked if she was in the 120-130 division. She looked taken aback. Had I guessed her weight too high? Then it dawned on me. "You're my opponent, Liz Viramontes!" I felt like a giant ass. "You look totally different now," I stammered, "I mean, you look like a regular hot girl. In the ring you looked pretty mean." It was true. When the ref had us touch gloves, I've never had anyone give me the evil eye like she did. It was particularly ballsy as she had to look up at me to do so. We chatted for a little while and she suggested we get drinks after the finals. I said that would be awesome. We never did get together since the fights went so long into the evening Sunday, but maybe someday we'll throw a few back.

My friends' fights! They all did superbly. Amir crushed a guy's leg with his right kick. I mean, this guy's leg was f'd up! When he went back to his corner you could see him trying not to stand on it. I wonder if he's been checked out by a doctor. I'll bet he has some ligament damage. In another match, he beat a guy who was pretty good, a guy named Daniel Kim. For some reason this guy seems familiar to me. I wonder if he was in WKA's. Amir did a little showboating just for fun. I though it was obvious he was just relaxing, having a good time. He wasn't trying to diss anyone. I guess some people took it differently. I think he feels bad about it now.

Andre looked good against his opponent. They were both aggressive and threw a lot of clean, hard shots. It was pretty much nonstop action.

Kevin, our little brother, had only been training for 4 months at the time of this tournament. He reminds me of the main character from Avatar: The Last Airbender. He is a good kid with a huge heart, and a lot of moxie. (Yes, I am old-timey.) His opponent found a hole in Kevin's game- his stance was narrow. He went for the sweep over and over. I mean, hard sweep. Each time Kevin's body smashed to the canvas he got himself back up and continued to bring his A-game. It was like watching a movie.

The coolest thing happened as we were leaving the venue.
Our group walked out, George at the head of the line, and we passed a bench. A young girl about 14-15 years old was smoking a cigarette. "That's not cute," he said, pointing at her cigarette. She put it out and apologized. (You see, this is the kind of reaction George gets. It's like you know he's right, and you can't argue with him.) As I started to pass by her, it came to me all of a sudden what my friend Walker said to me once before he passed away- "God gave you this gift, and now you have to share it with others. When you fight, you have to let your gift come out, because you never know how you could affect other people. You could inspire them." Its like I was in touch with his spirit or something for a minute, because I looked at her cigarette butt and said, "Don't mess up what god gave you." She looked at me for a minute and her eyes got big. "I saw you fight!" she said excitedly, "You're an excellent fighter. Really excellent!" I shook her hand and thanked her. It felt amazing. What Walker had told me felt really real at that moment. I hope I had some effect in her life.

next: part 3- the Sunday championship bouts

IKF World Classic, part 1

I'm going to write this blog in several parts. This trip was so awesome that it's going to make for a long blog.

I won second place in my division at the IKF World Classic, the women's Muay Thai lightweight division. I had two bouts, one on Saturday and one on Sunday. I'll start at the beginning.

Friday at about 3am I got up to catch my 5:40 am flight to Orlando through DC. I was determined to avoid having a horrible trip like Virginia again, so I tried my best to plan everything. I had failed to remember the Marta closes from 3-5. I had to call Rudy to give me a ride to the airport. I ended up getting there just in time to get on the flight.
I'd just like to mention that when I fly in the future I will fly with United again. They were totally helpful, polite, and the flight was really pleasant. Delta, on the trip back, were an obnoxious bunch of a-holes. Anyway, I made the connection in DC and went on to Orlando. Chike was going to try to fly in later that evening. When I landed in Orlando, I took the city bus to my hotel.

The city bus in Orlando is pretty inefficient. They have one bus leaving every half hour or hour. I had to make two transfers, and it ended up taking me about 3 1/2 hours to get to my hotel. On the bus, a middle aged, overweight gentleman tried to help me with directions. He asked what I was in town for, and when I told him, he was very excited. He wanted to know if I liked Chuck Norris, and if I ever watched 'Walker: Texas Ranger.' I lied and said that I was not all that familiar with Chuck Norris. I wanted to be polite. He continued to ramble on for about 20 minutes about how he really likes kickboxing. He asked if I'd ever heard of Cathy somebody-or-other. No, I had not. "Well, she's a multi-time world champion in kickboxing." "American kickboxing?" I smiled patiently. "Yes, like we were talking about," he said. "No, I practice Muay Thai. I don't know anything about American kickboxing," I explained again. "Oh, I want to do that," he said, "it's Thai-nese instead of Chinese." Huh? Is this guy trying to be funny? He wasn't smiling. I decided to yawn a lot and pretend that I was napping. It didn't stop him from yammering and trying to peek down the front of my shirt. Ugh. I zipped up my hoodie and pretended to sleep.

The hotel, a Howard Johnson, was $40 a night, so I wasn't expecting a lot. I was pleasantly surprised. It was conveniently located about 5 miles from the venue, and walking distance to a Publix, a Walgreens, and come sort of entertainment strip. I believe it was called "Old Town." There were ferris wheels, bungee jumps, and some sort of slingshot machine. All in all, a pretty cool area. The hotel had a pool, nice clean rooms, hot hot water, cold blasting AC, and a convenience store and arcade in the lobby. Too bad I didn't get to enjoy all that a bit more. After checking in to the hotel, I asked for a cab to be there in an hour and got into my sauna suit. I felt like I was probably going to be a pound or two heavy. I'd felt really woozy on the plane and chugged a cup of orange juice. I think it was just from not getting sleep, and from the children screaming the entire flight. Anyway, I wanted to make sure I made weight on the first shot, so I got into my long-sleeved rashguard and sauna suit and started jumping rope outside. It was raining and not very hot. It took me about 10 minutes to start sweating. I got tired of being ogled by the weirdo staying in a room down the way, so I went in. (I've never seen someone so fascinated by the process of jumping rope. He had about a dozen questions.) I turned on the hot water and stuffed a towel under the door. Sweat started to pour off me. I talked to Chike briefly. Flights into Orlando were not looking good. He did not know when he would be able to get in. We were hoping that he would be there Saturday morning at the latest, in case I was fighting early. It was very uncertain now. I felt nervous and alone. I got dressed and went to the lobby for the cab.

I met the coolest cab driver I've ever met. His name was Max Gasaway. If you are in Orlando, you should use his cab company.

Quality Transportation
407-397-2000

He drives an older model white sedan with white leather interior. I was confused at first because it didn't look like a cab at all. As you follow this part of the story, you may be inclined to think, like I do, that he was some sort of hallucination or magical experience. In fact, I think he was my guardian angel. Max used to be a pro boxer. He is a white-haired, saintly gentleman with a mild way of speaking and a smiling face. I estimate his age to be between 60 and 70, but it is hard to tell. Anyway, he told me about how when he was young, they used to have a boxing club, and he saw Cassius Clay fight. "He used to be all arms and legs," Max said, "but he was always fast. Later they called him Muhammed Ali," he explained, unsure if I'd heard of him. Amazing. He wasn't telling me the story because he thought I'd be impressed by a big name. He was just telling me the story. In his young adulthood, Max hitchhiked out to California to find work, and wasn't able to find job, so he went pro. "I didn't think I'd be a pro boxer," he said, "I just needed the money. I had a pretty decent record." He won most of his fights by way of knockout. He had a special combination he liked to use on other orthodox fighters. "They always expect you to lead with the jab," he told me, "so I liked to lead with the straight right and surprise them. I put the left hook to the body behind it and then came back upstairs. That's how I got a lot of my knockouts." He went on to tell me all that he had learned about putting combinations together, using your speed and footwork, and the element of surprise. "They called me 'El Gato', The Cat," he recalled. I couldn't believe this amazing gentleman was sharing his hard-learned knowledge with me. I felt touched. He asked me when I was fighting and said that he really wanted to see me, but would probably have to work. The next day when I called for a cab, I walked out, and there was Max. "Amazing! I said. I'm so glad it's you. I'm starting to believe that you're my Clarence." (For those of you who haven't seen it, that's a reference to "It's a Wonderful Life" with Jimmy Stewart. It's a great film. Read the link and you'll get it.) He didn't charge me for the cab ride. We talked about technique a little more, and he asked me how it worked when you throw kicks as well. We talked about how I could probably use kicks in place of some of the punches in combinations he likes to use, and whether it would work out optimally. Dropping me off at the venue, he wished me luck. I felt sad leaving him. I know I will probably never see him again, but it is great to know that Max is out there, watching over people he meets.

Weigh-ins were tedious. Since there were over 260 fighters, it was taking a really long time. There was a line to get your paperwork, then the line for the scale, then the line for the medicals, then the line for the freebies (mouthguards and handwraps) and to get your pass. Everyone was there with their team shirts on, trying to look tough, with all their slogans on the back like "Team Thunder" and "Team KO" and "We're here to win" and "knockout: when you don't give your opponent the chance to tap out." Everywhere I looked there were t-shirts with skulls and death and blood, and there I was by myself, in my plain gray tank top. I don't need anyone. I wasn't trained to be pathetic and needy. I can do this on my own. I'm going to take my division. I kept repeating it to myself like a mantra. I missed my coach so badly. Everyone I spoke to was rattling on about their coaches' credentials and how impressive and great they were. Whatever. I kept picturing all their fat, old coaches trying to take on Chike. Ha. It made me feel like I had a secret weapon no one would know about. I took solace in that.
In the line for the paperwork, I met a young lady named Summer. Summer is 16 years old. She competes in full contact kickboxing. (This is American-style kickboxing, with the pants. You can kick above the waist. I am baffled by a set of rules that allow you to kick someone in the face but not in the leg.) She had been training for several years. I thought it was pretty damn cool that someone who is still basically a child is competing in something where you get punched in the face. It wasn't the Juniors division, either, where you wear a body pad. I enjoyed watching her bout against a 17 year old girl. They were both tough.

I want to take a minute to talk about how awesome IKF is as a sanctioning body. This tournament was great. They treated us well. The venue, The Orlando World Center Marriott Resort, was huge and impressive. Our fights were held in a ballroom. We had ample warm-up room, which was roped off for us, as well as the staging area in an adjacent room, and the pit between the 2 rings. Announcements were made from an enormous stand at the head of the room, festooned with banners and posters and slogans. There were several vendors; Top Ten, a smoothie company, a kickboxing shoe company, and the big IKF table. There was a regular audience area and a VIP area with tables. Fighters were given all access and treated like valued performers instead of annoying persons who were in the way. In fact, after the weigh-ins, we were given a free buffet dinner. It was catered by the hotel. We had lasagna, salad, two kinds of rolls, and a variety of dessert items like tartlets and petit-fours. We had white tablecloths and candles even though most of us were in sweats. We were treated like VIPs. The hotel staff had impeccable manners. No one looked at us like we were a bunch of kids dressed in gym clothes who were just there to punch people. They treated us like sports professionals. Steve Fossum, the IKF president, gave us a speech after the dinner and told us about the prizes we would get. He told us that no matter what happened in the tournament, who won or lost, that we were all champions and that's why we deserved a buffet dinner. He talked about the difference between us, and other people who just talk about doing things. He said for us to give ourselves a round of applause. He encouraged us to use all the facilities in the resort complex, and especially the enormous pool.

On a side note, I also want to mention that in the rules meeting part of the talk, Steve Fossum acknowledged that he wants to make clear the rules for Muay Thai are different, and that there is a culture of the sport, and that he wants to preserve that. The man obviously cares about our sport and for that, and the way he treats Muay Thai practitioners, he has my great respect. I would also like to make note of the difference between the IKF World Classic, where we received this grand treatment, and the WKA Nationals in Virginia, which were held in some rinky dink batting-practice complex in an industrial park in Midlothian, Virginia. We paid $65 for entry fees for IKFs and got all this. We paid $55 for entry to WKAs, plus another $25 for medicals, and we got squat. (It was disorganized and dinky. When one of the competitors asked if we were allowed to perform Wai Kru, the head organizer had no idea what he was talking about.) I will probably have somebody or other gripe at me for dissing WKAs, but I don't care. If you'd been to IKFs, you'd agree with me.

After dinner, I decided to head back to my hotel room, pick up some snacks and breakfast supplies at the Publix, and go to bed early. I was in a great mood. I felt like someone important; someone who was going to do well. I got a call from Chike. He wasn't able to get on a flight to Orlando. I felt crushed like a soda can. Grow up. Fly out of the nest I kept telling myself. I must have kept him on the phone for an hour, just trying to keep my connection with him for as long as possible. I just didn't know what to do. All these issues flooded my mind. Who would help me get my gloves on? Who would corner me? Who would tell me what to do? What if I didn't feel well, or got nervous, or something came up, or I blanked out, or what if a comet crashed into the ring???? My mind was racing. I felt like a little kid lost in the grocery store. I was on the verge of tears as I screamed at myself internally. Don't be a coward. Stop being a baby. Suck it up. Do what you came here to do.
Chike had made some calls and found someone to help me. Our friend Amir was there, and George Allen was there. George Allen is an experienced trainer. Chike had me call Amir. "You'll be fine," said Amir, "we'll take care of you. You're in good hands. Nothing to worry about. We'll see you at the venue tomorrow. Just call and we'll meet up." I felt relieved. Relieved, but still incredibly sad. Chike talked to me for a while and helped me get my mind right, and I went to sleep.

next: Part 2: Saturday- I meet the group and we get ready for our fights

When you have the support of loved ones....

I'd like to thank a couple of the people in my life for supporting me in my preparations for IKFs. First, I'd like to introduce my friend Elise Humbert.

Yes, she is a pilot. Basically like Tom Cruise from Top Gun except a cute chick instead. Elise and I met at the gym I used to train at. She had to move to go to flight school. She has had to go through a ton of crap to get into flight school and to go through flight training, but she never gave up.

Here we are at the old gym. This photo was taken right before she moved. We had just finished doing padwork. Elise and I are about the same size, so we were well suited as training partners.

Elise is one of my basic sponsors. The thought didn't occur to me that my friends might buy sponsorship packages. When you are blessed with the kind of people I have in my life, sometimes they just surprise you with spontaneous acts of kindness and support.





I also want to talk about my coach for a minute. Everyone knows he's awesome, so what more could I say, right? Well, you may not have realized the significance of his next fight date when reading his blog. His fight is on the 26th. I'm in IKFs on the 19th. Yeah. That means that he's flying out to Florida to help me just days before his fight.
I have an unusual coach. Most people's trainers are retired from fighting. They rarely have conflicts like this. They rarely face a situation where they have to take time away from their own training to help their student. This may seem of little importance to the average person- a scheduling irritation and nothing more. That's hardly the case. Training for a fight is grueling work. You don't have "spare time." When you're not training, you're thinking about training, or studying, or planning for making weight, running, sitting in a sauna, or any variety of other things to get ready. Now add to that having to schedule someone else's training activities, helping them with nutritional issues, dealing with their injuries, dealing with their mental preparation, formulating strategy for them, not to mention the actual training time- holding pads, doing drills, and all the rest. I'm not sure that I would do it for someone else. I would have to care about their welfare and success a great deal. And I guess that's my point. Having a coach like that is everyone's dream. It makes an enormous difference in your life when someone believes in you to that extent. It changes you. It makes you powerful. And on that note, I'm going to get ready for the gym.

IKF World Classic

For the next 3 weeks I'll be continuing to train for the IKF World Classic. I'm currently training at Unit 2 Fitness, an excellent facility that I highly recommend. As always, I'll be under the expert instruction of my coach, IMTO Super Welterweight Champion Chike Lindsay-Ajudua.



digitalvicious.blogspot.com

I am also lucky to have the help of Unit 2's expert Muay Thai instructor, Camron Wiltshire.



WeAreAllOne.Tv

I am excited and looking forward to the tournament.