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