Low Kicks and Life Lessons: Discovering Muay Thai in my Thirties

Wearing My Black Eye Like a Badge of Honor

“What the hell happened to you?” asked a surprised teenage girl upon entering my 10th grade English classroom. 

She was referring to the freshly swollen, blackish-purple eye that I was sporting after a sparring session the previous Saturday. 

“I got in a fight,” I responded.

After pausing long enough to let her wonder whether or not I was serious, I assured her that I was not spending my weekends participating in some underground fight club. Throughout the day, I got a variation of the same question from many colleagues and students. Like any true middle-aged dad, I repeated the same joke each time, eliciting a small chuckle here and there. The reactions that mattered, however, would come later that night. It was “Back to School Night,” during which time the school filled with hundreds of parents and I hosted my students’ families for a small presentation and Q&A. I imagined the questions and concerns that would go through their minds upon seeing my battle wound. It wasn’t a great time to show off a shiner, but if I’m completely honest, I loved the black eye. Besides making me seem tough to a bunch of impossible-to-impress teens, it was a great conversation starter that served as a natural segue into discussing my recent obsession: muay Thai. 

Ninja Aspirations

My interest in muay Thai no doubt seemed random to those who had known me for any meaningful period of time. I was always a laid back, slightly lazy guy who played guitar and read graphic novels, with no interest in anything remotely athletic (much less combat sports). I spent my free time hanging out at the library, not the gym. In reality, though, I was in a way revisiting a long abandoned obsession of my childhood. From a young age I had a fascination with Karate. The family VCR was essentially a constant rotation of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie and 3 Ninjas. There was also the occasional viewing of the live action Ninja Turtles movies and The Karate Kid. At my dad’s house on the weekends, I could get away with watching another of my favorites, Mortal Kombat, which was way to edgy for my mom. Unfortunately, this infatuation never translated to me taking lessons, other than a free trial Tae-Kwon-Do class with the neighbor kid and a Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Karate Club instructional video that I rented from Blockbuster once. Being raised by a single mother working two jobs meant no time or money for Karate lessons. I filled the ninja void with other phases, until music eventually became my passion and took up most of my time and attention. Over time, the intrigue of “The Empty Hand” faded and I gave up on my ninja dreams without ever experiencing the thrill of hand-to-hand combat.

Baptized By Sweat

Fast forward to 2021 when Covid was at its peak. The band I had been playing with pre-pandemic–my main emotional outlet–no longer existed. I was stuck in my basement working online all day while doing my best to help take care of our two-year-old and new baby. Not only was this all taking a toll on my mental health, but I was more out of shape than ever. I finally decided I needed to take action. I started thinking about how to tackle the issue when a vague memory, tucked away in the back corner of my brain, emerged just enough to catch my attention: Karate. I began flirting with the idea of taking classes and even looked into some local dojos. I loved the notion of living out my childhood dream, but ultimately determined that the thirty-year-old overweight version of myself wearing a Gi and doing Kata probably wasn’t going to fulfil the ninja fantasy of a seven-year-old me.

After a lot of research, I ended up at what was advertised as a boxing gym. I walked into a room full of heavy bags hanging in uniform rows. People neatly laid out their water bottles, towels, and boxing gloves in front of the bag they wished to claim, without speaking or interacting. It was a stark contrast to the organized chaos that I would encounter in the muay Thai gyms of my future. Suddenly, loud music began playing and the instructor walked to the front of the room wearing a tee-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a headset microphone straight out of a 90s group fitness video. The nice girl at the counter showed me how to wrap my hands and I quickly threw on some gloves and proceeded to wildly pound on a bag as Rage Against the Machine blasted over the speakers. Microphone Man shouted instructions and motivational cliches while I pushed myself beyond what I thought I was physically capable of doing, hoping to spare myself the complete embarrassment of having to quit midway through this thing. A few fit girls in sports bras took pictures and videos for instagram in the front row, while I hung in the back, sopping wet and gasping for air. The workout totally kicked my butt, but in a strange way it felt amazing. My body had been cleansed– baptized by sweat. In my exhausted euphoria, I signed up for a membership and started going once a week. 

Soon, I was in the best shape I had been in for years and addicted to the high of pushing my body to its limits. I always left the gym wanting more, so I was surprised when after a couple of months I suddenly found it hard to motivate myself to go. I felt great and the physical challenge was no longer killing me, so why the drastic change in attitude? The workout was simply getting stale. At first it had been new and exciting and continued to draw me in, but now it was just the same cardio exercises with unhinged bag beating sprinkled in. A week after I started my membership, I had taken a private lesson from one of the only people on staff with actual boxing experience. In the forty-five minute lesson, she taught me how to properly throw punches and some very basic footwork. Since then, I hadn’t actually learned a single thing. My body was transforming, but my mind was not stimulated; I was running on a hamster wheel. I went back to the drawing board.

My Foray Into the Art of Eight Limbs

MUAY THAI. BRAZILIAN JIU JITSU. KIDS MARTIAL ARTS. I read the sign on the front door one last time before I walked inside the gym. Here we go again, I thought, dreading the thought of starting from square one in a new environment, and not exactly sure what to expect. At least this time I came with a gas tank and the ability to throw a punch, I reassured myself. I noticed a rack full of shoes by the door, so I followed suit and removed mine. I made my way to the mat where my trial muay Thai class was taking place and found a small Thai man, who greeted me by placing his palms together in front of his face and bowing. I said hello and gave an awkward pseudo bow in return. He introduced himself as Kru Chon and offered to help me wrap my hands. I told him I knew how and he flashed a smile. 

“Oh, great, you’re experienced!” 

I chuckled and warned him to not expect much from me. 

He offered another warm smile, patted me on the back and said, “No worries, let’s get started.” 

He addressed the class and we started our warmups. By the end of that first session, I was hooked and I’ve been training a few times a week now for the last four years (minus some periods of injury). I eventually learned that Kru Chon’s fighter name was “The Little Giant.” He received this name when he was a young fighter in Thailand because of the ferociousness with which he fought, despite his small stature.

Finding Beauty in Violence

Suddenly, I went from being under stimulated to having mountains of new information to take in. Not only was I learning new things in every class, but I was constantly watching YouTube videos and reading books about muay Thai and fighting. The more I learned, the more I realized I didn’t know. I was enjoying being around my fellow students, picking up on strategy and technique and soaking up general gym culture. I didn’t aspire to be anything more than a Weekend Warrior, but I was happy to experience on a micro scale what it’s like to be a fighter, without actually getting in a ring with someone whose sole objective is to injure me to the point that I’m lying unconscious on the canvas. Sure, there was the occasional guy who came in to exercise his desk job demons by trying to flatline those of us just wanting to get in a fun workout, but they were few and far between. The gym was chill and the vibes were good. I had found my tribe. While my actual skills were improving incredibly slowly due to my complete lack of natural athletic ability, it was enough for me to stay engaged and committed. That’s not to say I never got discouraged at my slow progress, but since I wasn’t planning on ever competing, I was quick to adopt the mantra that you don’t need to be good at something to enjoy it.

 Apart from participating in training, this new passion also opened to door to me becoming a fan of other combat sports, like MMA. I had always written off MMA as guys holding each other down and just trying to beat one another into a bloody pulp. While it does still carry a certain degree of savageness, I was able to start watching it through the lens of the strategy, training, and skill that goes into high level fights. I saw that MMA fights weren’t sanctioned street brawls with a audience, but rather elite athletes competing at an insanely high level. The competition just happened to be combat. My headphones now constantly played MMA podcasts and one or two Saturday nights a month were set aside for UFC fights. Another game changer came when One Championship made a deal with Amazon, opening the door for me to watch the current top muay Thai and kickboxing champions live on my TV on Friday nights, rather than scouring the internet for Youtube videos of past fights. While this newfound attraction to combat sports largely changed how I enjoyed spending my time and energy, the way muay Thai has impacted my life goes much deeper and is much more significant. To illustrate this, I want to highlight just a few experiences that represent some of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned on my journey thus far.     

Intro to Getting Punched in the Face 

“Everyone’s a champion on the pads.” -Georges St. Pierre 

After getting some experience under my belt, I was feeling confident and decided it was time to take things up a notch and go to a Saturday sparring session. I quickly understood the point Bruce Lee had made when he said that boards don’t hit back. Instead of slowly drilling the same combination on repeat with a cooperative partner, I was being viciously attacked (or so I believed). When the first jab connected with my face, I felt a jolt of electricity coming off of my partner’s glove, sending a shock through my body and commanding my full attention. From that point on, every time I went to throw a punch, I had one come right back at my face, usually followed by another one or two in a combination. At some point I gave up on offense. I shelled up, holding my gloves in front of my face and raising my shin to avoid kicks, merely hoping to survive the round. I adopted this strategy for the next forty-five minutes until the universe showed mercy on me and the coach announced that we were finished. After months of working hard and seeming to gain a lot of skill, I ended up looking like an absolute fool. I drove home dejected and embarrassed, wondering why I had bothered to show up. 

Ready to Throw Down

I was out shopping for clothes with my wife in a small strip mall one cold night in January. We exited a store holding hands and smiling, enjoying the rare occasion that we were alone with no kids. Before entering another store on the strip, I left her on the sidewalk for a brief moment and walked into the parking lot to drop our bag of purchases in the car. She was alone no more than a few minutes when I turned and saw that a group of three teenage boys had shown up out of no where. One of them was forcefully putting his arm around her, holding up his phone to take a selfie or video while his friends looked on and laughed. As she spun to try and escape him, he moved with her, not saying anything but laughing and still holding his phone up for what I assume was some Tik-Tok video or something. 

As much as I love to poke fun at the “I see red” guys on social media, I must admit that in this moment I understood exactly what they mean. I was holding a drink in my hand that I had grabbed from the car, which I promptly slammed into the pavement in a blind rage as I rushed toward my wife. When the guy saw me, the smile from his face disappeared. He lowered his phone and took several steps back. I reached my wife and found myself standing in between the teenager and his friends. In that moment, my anger subsided and I went into defense mode, surveying my surroundings to assess what my next move would be. The guy who had been harassing my wife seemed like he wanted to take off running, but he couldn’t go far without separating from his friends. He was maybe ten steps in front of us on the sidewalk now and turned to face me. I kept my eyes on him while glancing at the two slowly approaching friends in my peripheral. I started to work out what would happen if we were attacked. If I focused on the harrasser, I realized, the other guys could easily blindside me. I would need to take care of those two first. I switched my attention to the pair approaching me on the left, took a step toward them to put more space between them and my wife, and stood in a defensive position. At that point, things were moving in slow motion. I was cool and collected, calmly formulating my plan. When the first one reaches me, I thought, I’ll throw a cross as hard as I can and follow it with a low kick. If the punch doesn’t connect or isn’t strong enough to drop him, the low kick will hopefully slow him down, at which point I’ll try to circle around him and his friend so that they are all in front of me as my wife runs to the car. Luckily, none of that happened. When I turned towards the two friends, they walked around us, met up with the other friend, and took off. They weren’t looking for a fight, they were just some punk kids with nothing better to do than bother people. If that hadn’t been the case, I wondered, would my plan have worked? Highly doubtful. Could I have taken on three teenage boys if they wanted to attack me? Absolutely not. But I wasn’t scared. I certainly didn’t want to fight; I wanted to be out of the situation and counted myself lucky that’s what ultimately happened. But I was ready to throw down if I needed to. 

My Knee Shouldn’t Look Like That

I debated going to sparring that day, wanting to keep my body free of bruises or aches before the approaching half marathon for which I had diligently trained. I ultimately headed to the gym, figuring I would be okay if I just made it clear I was only looking for a light, technical session. 

“Go easy on my legs please, I have a race next week,” I repeated each round as I rotated partners. 

I made it through the hour with no issues and got ready to cool down, when the coach announced, “let’s go one more.” 

I grabbed a partner and the buzzer went off to signal the beginning of the final round. I realized once we started that in my exhaustion, I had forgotten to give the heads up about going extra light on my legs. But I was sparring someone I’d worked with plenty of times before and we had a pretty good feel for one another, so I had no doubt I was safe.

I still remember vividly exactly what happened. I had stepped back into southpaw to dodge a kick, but went back a little too far, leaving my right leg sticking out awkwardly in front of me. My partner, probably noticing my imbalance, tried to sweep me by throwing a low kick with some heat on it. Unfortunately for me, he connected high, striking the side of my knee. I felt a pop and immediately fell to the ground, yelling in pain. I looked down and saw that my patella was not in the correct place. I don’t have much of a pain tolerance as it is, but this felt excruciating. The music playing on the speakers stopped and the loud grunts and sounds of skin meeting leather died out. The only sound in the entire gym was my screaming. Conveniently, there happened to be a physical therapist sparring that day. He rushed over and got to work pulling my shin guards off, laying me on my back, and trying to get my knee cap back in the right position. He worked as gently as possible, but the pain still intensified with every movement of my knee. After what could have been five minutes or half an hour–I literally have no idea–he said it just wasn’t moving and we should call an ambulance. While we waited, he kept working on it and I felt it slide into its groove just as the ambulance pulled up. I let out a loud sigh of relief. The pain was still intense and my knee had swollen up to the size of a softball, but everything was in its proper place. I went ahead to the ER, since the EMTs had already entered the gym and I’d need an X-ray anyways. The doctor examined me, looked at the X-rays, and told me to take it easy and I could be back in the gym in a month. I was a little bummed to miss a month of training in addition to my half marathon, but I was relieved that it wasn’t a big deal. The doctor also suggested I follow up with an orthopedic doctor just to be safe. When I did, I got a different story about my knee.

 “There’s definitely damage to the MCL. Hopefully there’s no pieces of cartilage floating around, or I’ll have to go in a take it out. Come see me next week after the MRI and we’ll have a better idea of your recovery timeline.” 

I couldn’t believe it. I imagined myself back on the couch, feeling down like it was 2021 again. Luckily, it turned out that I didn’t need surgery, but even with physical therapy twice a week and multiple follow up appointments with the orthopedic doctor, it was six months before I stepped foot in the gym again. I know it could’ve been so much worse, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t suck. However, as with everything, there were lessons to be learned.

Mental toughness is one of the first things I learned from muay Thai. As I began to push my body more and more, I learned that it’s often mental obstacles hold us back, rather than physical ones. My recovery period, however, taught me a new type of mental toughness. I wanted to get back in the gym ASAP. I wanted to go out for a run in the beautiful spring weather. But I was stuck with a big knee brace on that made me walk like The Penguin from Batman. Even once it came off and was replaced with a smaller brace that I could wear under my pant leg, I had to limit myself. If I tried too much, I risked further injury, which would result in a longer and more difficult recovery. Screw this, I thought. Screw muay Thai. I’m done. While this was my first big injury, I was constantly going home with bruises, velcro scrapes, swollen lips, jammed toes, rolled ankles, etc. What was the point? I got into the sport to take better care of my body and have fun. I was currently not doing either of those things. There were plenty of safer ways to stay in shape. I stuck with this decision for a while, but after some reflection determined that I couldn’t quit. Muay Thai is so much more than just a way to stay in shape, as I have outlined here. It had already transformed my life at that point and I needed to continue. I determined to get to know my body more than ever, learning the appropriate times to push myself and when to ease off. I attended my PT sessions and gave them my all. I worked on my knee at home every night until I had full range of motion. When the time was right, I went to an indoor track a few times a week to walk and jog in short bursts, and eventually I was back in the gym. I took it slow and it was a while before I got back to where I was at before the injury, but I’m still going strong. I hope that nothing like that ever happens again, but I now look back on those six months as a time of growth. I’m grateful for that, if not the minor suffering. 

Moving Forward