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.



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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.