You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Thailand’ category.
Oh God, have signed up for a week’s Muay Thai training at a famous (read: hardcore) gym. Sor Vorapin’s trainers have each had 250+ fights. We’ll be living with them 24/7. Brilliant: we’re gonna get killed.
Day 0: Grunt – slap
Taxi takes us to the middle of nowheresville outside Bangkok to Sor Vorapin gym. Senses heightened by nerves, I’m on overload. Pleased to see the gates open onto a pretty planted garden, but there’s no escaping the huge boxing ring and stench of stale sweat. A quick scan; everyone in sight has a killer six pack and an equally frightening look in their eye as they pummel the practice pads. Most concerning of all are the the rhythmic sounds of flesh / leather smacking and the groans of male exertion: grunt – slap – grunt – slap – grunt – slap – grunt – slap..
Just as we’re considering backing out, chief trainer Kai – who has the same build as a young Frank Bruno (aren’t Thai fighters small!?!) – beckons us with a huge grin and waves a massive paw.
This is it: testosterone HQ. Neil has visibly paled.
Day 1: The Regime
06.30 Up and stretching
07.00 Run 4km. Far far too fast in rising temperatures and 95% humidity
08.00 Warm up in the style of army boot camp, ie squats, push ups and assorted evils.
08.30 Training. Learning the moves and drilling until muscles scream.
10.00 Relax. Shower and brunch.
11.00 Thermometer touching 35 degrees. Try to sleep in fan-assisted (oven) room.
15.00 Warm up with speedy skipping till every pore streams sweat.
15.20 Training. Relentless practice 1:1 with trainer; spar with partner; or beat a punch bag up alone. Slacking immediately rewarded with push ups/squats/situps.
18.00 Relax. Shower and dinner.
21.00 Bed. Note: staying up to drink filthy thai whisky with the team is actively encouraged.
Repeat above for as many days as you can stand it.
Day 2: Alone.
Students and teachers + attractive blonde
The two other women here – one of whom was a fighter – have gone.
It’s just me and the boys now, most of whom are 18-26 yrs and super-fit. Notables include the Spanish bouncer, who’s actually in his early 30s so doesn’t fit the mold, and is without doubt the biggest man I have ever seen. Seriously, his thigh is the size of my waist. One punch from him would be like being hit by a train. Impressively, a champion fighter has also joined us as he does final preparations before defending his belt. Forget blocking hits or trying to outrun, best option would be to plead for your sorry life in one of the five languages he speaks.*
*Sorry, they aren’t all stupid, there’s even a buff concert pianist here. Hilarious. You just couldn’t make this stuff up…
Day 3: Not the face!
Thank crumbs that Sor Vorapin insist you spend two weeks with them before they’ll even consider letting you actually fight.
Only day three and my arms and legs are covered in bruises from repeatedly smashing leather pads. What would a packed glove do to my face?
Something’s working though; call out ‘jab/hook/elbow/uppercut/knee/kick’ and I spring into action like a woman possessed. Hope Neil doesn’t talk in his sleep.. My reverse elbow in particular is getting praise. Repeated kicks are also under control – step aerobics with power behind it.
Day 4: zzzzzz
From the beginning I have been woken several times each night by a painful turn in bed. Only ameliorated by 20 mins of serious stretches to loosen tired muscles. Crummy old body also needs an extra half hour of stretching every morning.
Exhausted.
Day 5: RIP Snoop.
Boxing stereotype #128 confirmed: one must train to dreadful gangsta rap. Ahh, dear 50 Cent, he’s singing about guns, ‘hos’ and banging all night. See what he did there with the lyrics? Clever sausage with his misogynist bullsh*t. Unaccountably, 50 Cent’s cds ended up a teensy bit more scratched on my watch. And Snoop Dog, well, he got slam-dunked. What? My brain was melting. I had to do it.
During training my language is foul. I hurt everywhere.
Day 6: Rocky VII
Yeeeesssss, we’ve finished our final training session (day 7 is always a day of rest, so don’t think we’re slacking) !!!!!
Neil packing a punch!
It’s official. Muay thai works. I can now pack a reasonable punch and have noticeably hardened up my soft body, shaving a couple of inches off my waist in six days. At the same time Neil has put on considerable muscle that even the other guys noticed. Incredible.
Of course, am yellow/brown/ grey from bruising, have no skin on my toes (from swivelling), can barely reach down to touch my knees due to the strange lump on my back, and haven’t slept a whole night all week, but no pain no gain right? And what beautiful excruciating pain.
Respect is due to boxers of all shapes and sizes. It’s tough, real tough. Nepal shmepal. That wasn’t pain. This is. We’re off to the spa.
Gutted; ten days isn’t enough to see Laos, a country which brings a whole new meaning to s l o w travel with it’s decrepit road network and lack of public transport. A month would be a more realistic timescale in which to explore.
So, off to Thailand instead: home to gorgeous beaches and full moon parties. Not for us the legendary 18-30 party scene, something far more punishing awaits: we’re joining a Muay Thai boxing camp (gulp).
We gotta get out of this place... 