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Published: March 13th 2007
Sor Vorapin Gym 2
It's quiet. Too quiet...In my first (and more deserved) gap-year I travelled Southern Thailand with two post-uni guys from Chester, named Matty and Tim. Saturated with alcohol and tiring of the beach scene, we discussed a lot of potential ways to pass time doing something a little different than the standard, and one of the better suggestions at the time was to learn Muay Thai, AKA Thai kickboxing, at one of the many training camps around the country. In the end, unfortunately, I ended up going off to Australia to escape the deadly SARS virus, whilst Matty and Tim returned to England to become grown-ups, and so I never became the legendary Muay Thai warrior I might have been. However, four long and eventful years later, the idea still appealed to me and so with travel a few months off, all that was left to do was sell the idea of weeks spent eating frugally and training yourself into the ground to Jamie. He agreed before I even asked.
Muay Thai is the national sport of Thailand and is taught from a very young age - it is not rare for children to fight before they can properly converse or for a national
Skipping
Actual archive footage from the training scene in Rocky. Gotta have a montage... champion to be in his teens. As twenty two year-olds we had missed the boat slightly, but it was clear that there were still many camps which cater specifically to tourists wishing to gain some knowledge and ability in the sport. Having done some basic research, Jamie and I settled on Sor Vorapin, a relatively well-known gym with two locations in Bangkok, Thailand's capital city. The original plan was to spend a couple of weeks at the homestay camp outside the city centre (with the option for another two weeks of punishment, if needed) but it was the central gym located just off the backpacker haven of Khao San that we arrived at, tired and dirty, after a 19-hour bus journey and a couple more hours playing cards in a 24-hour McDonalds, which was the only place open at such an ungodly hour.
At this smaller, central gym, we found two middle-aged guys training with a Thai in the ring. Even allowing for their age and lack of fitness, it was instantly apparent that we were letting ourselves in for a tough, tough time. Both men looked absolutely beaten as they were forced to throw kick after kick at
The Bags
Just waiting to get hit... the pads of their trainer, with no let-up. After watching for a few more minutes, we managed to attract the trainer's attention and explain that we were battle-hardened warrior from the West, looking to train at the homestay camp, with a view to becoming champions of the universe. Directly we were instructed to wait for a cab which was called to take us to Sor Vorpain Gym 2 and, before long, we had begun our journey.
The homestay was, for lack of a better description, located in the middle of absolutely nowhere. We were dropped off by the cab at the foot of a long dirt track, which our escort set off along, beckoning us to follow him. From the dirt track, things become even stranger. We branched off along a narrow concrete walkway, suspended several feet above a stagnant swamp. The walkway met and crossed others which sprawled acoss the mire but we set off along it, unpeturbed, pausing often to allow mopeds laden with passengers to pass us (falling or being pushed into the swamp was a very real danger whenever a bike appeared, as the walkways were only a few feet across). Luckily Jamie and I
Bag Work
And there it is! Bang! Very good, but bags no hit back. are both blessed with extreme balance and coordination and so we reached our goal without any unwanted adventure: Sor Vorapin Gym 2!
A haven after the swamp, the gym proper was at the far end of a long grassy garden and consisted of a large boxing ring, an area with bags of various shapes and sizes and a large two-storey wodden building which housed the staff and student quarters. All of this would have been promising, had there been more than one person in the entire place. As it was, both Jamie and I were very much whelmed by what we saw, not to mention the terse welcome we received. It quickly became apparent that the camp was particularly quiet because it was Sunday, the weekly rest day. Still, not wanting to commit too quickly, we decided to sign up for just one week and go from there. The week cost us 6,000 Thai baht, roughly equivalent to 80 English pounds: this included our room, two meals a day and two training sessions a day - everything a growing boy needs. Things swiftly picked up when we met a young Scandanavian called Christian at the top of the stairs
Kick! Kick!
Jamie handing out some Law & Order, in the style of Chuck Norris. to the student quarters. He had been there some time and, although leaving the next day, was able to put our minds at ease, explaining that there were other students, they were just asleep or elsewhere, and that the Thais were generally quite "reserved" with newcomers. He was quick to reassure us that they became much more friendly after a few weeks. Excellent.
Training began in earnest the next morning and continued, unrelenting, for the next six days. As every days training was broadly similar, I will only describe the first.
We were woken at 6:30 am by Sven, a kickboxing Belgian security guard who lived in Switzerland and had been at the camp for several weeks and had taken on the role of general Alpha Male. Sven was six foot, deathly pale, bald, fit, and tattooed; he was also sociable if a little overbearing at times - best taken in small doses. Over the next quarter of an hour, a ragged crowd assembled on the concrete floor of the gym, ready for the morning run. Aside from myself, Jamie and Sven, there was:
Norman: an 18 year old German who was particularly stoic and didn't say
Knee! Knee!
Self-explanatory. much (or train much) for the few days he was there with us.
Jody & Graham: a couple of nice South Africans.
Finch: a extrovert Irishman with a long blonde ponytail and a penchant for good/shit/Dad-type jokes.
As the week went on it became clear that the lack of a social outlet would be what would turn us against training for a long period of time, but it must be said that having Finch around was a great help - he was a good guy and a lot of fun. He also explained to me his theory on women, called "The Blind Mans Rose", which he had developed over his 33 years. It was long, rambling and bittersweet, but I forgot the gist of it so I've got to work it out for myself now. Which is a shame.
Our morning run took us to a quiet city block a few minutes from the camp, which substituted as a running track. Seven laps and half an hour later we returned to Vorapin... to skip. Well, everyone else skipped while I tried to learn. Rhythm? Coordination? Balance, even? It was tough. I quickly gave in and swapped
to bouncing on a giant tractor wheel which lay on its side near the punching bags. Apparently this was a legitimate excersise and it beat the hell out of skipping as far as I was concerned. Once everyone was properly warmed up the trainers took over, guiding us through a pretty intense stretching session. This went on for another 20 minutes or so, during which I discovered many muscles I never knew I had (or didn't have) - pretty exciting. And then it was into the ring, to begin the training for real.
A typical session at Sor Vorapin was divided between one-on-one training and solitary work on the punch/kick bags and pads. When working with a trainer you were pushed to your limit. Jabs, hooks, elbows, knees, kicks - all sorts of combinations were shouted out by the Thai instructor and you were expected to rain the corresponding blows upon his pads without letting up for around five minutes straight. This was not easy. However, when you weren't with a trainer, you were very much left to your own devices - no one pushed you to work any harder than you wanted to. The pros and cons of
Press-Ups
"Blue, how come there's no ice in my lemonade? Drop down and you give me 10. Now!" this situation are obvious but I was glad of it after many a tough session in the ring. Training ended with another stretching session and situps. Many, many situps. The standard joke was for a trainer to call for 1,000 of them, which never got tired. Unlike us.
After morning training there was food. The resident cook made a particular effort to put different dishes on the table every day but I can tell you that after two hours of physical punishment (the only true description), almost anything tastes good. Except boiled cabbage which was crap the first time I given it and never, ever got more appetising. Having feasted and showered we were on freetime until the afternoon session at three, where we did it all over again.
So that was the training. I feel I should say a little about the trainers, for they were obviously an important factor. There were three main trainers, with two or three others who came in intermitantly. Perhaps the most memorable was Andy, a 20-something man-boy who would consistantly make animal noises and often asked Norman if he would have boom-boom with him. Andy had developed the ability to imitate
House Of Pain
Everybody in the house come on. Note Sven the killer albino monk in the foreground. the local dogs so well that they would begin howling when he did. This was very funny, as Andy well knew: it was his best card and he played it often. What a joker. Santana was the senior trainer and always looked pretty morose, while Monkey Boy (as we liked to call him) took great pleasure in jabbing you with the pads in any areas you were foolish enough to leave unprotected.
The other trainers were all friendly and, again, big kids at heart. Half way through our week a few more students also turned up. Two Brits, James and Paul and eight Czechs. The Czechs were all kickboxers from a gym in their home country, crossing Thailand on a Muay Thai tour. They were lead by a huge ex-national team kickboxer called Jan who, although scary-looking, was pretty friendly for a Natural Born Killer.
The majority of the week was spent training but one highlight of note was a trip to one of the two national Muay Thai stadiums, to watch the real thing. The tickets were expensive as we had to pay tourist prices, but the night included around ten fights, beginning with lesser bouts between
Big Time Muay Thai
Ratchadamnoen Stadium, Bangkok. KOs rule OK. children, and culminating with exposive brawls between the more experienced fighters. It is often said that Muay Thai fights do not often end with knockouts, but we were treated to many, including a particularly vicious roundhouse kick to the head, which left one poor Thai "totally owned''.
After one week of training Jamie and I were agreed that:
1) The training, though good for fitness, had too little focus on technique. It all depended on the trainer but although some were genuinely helpful, I always had the feeling that others weren't that interested in letting you know when you were doing something wrong.
2) Training five hours a day, six days a week is pretty unsustainable. Unless you're training for a goal - a fight for example, or to lose weight - you're training for the sake of it, until your body gives up. Two hours a day would be more than enough, especially with more focus on technique.
3) As much as we were enjoying learning Muay Thai, we couldnt justify spending the time doing it, when there was so much else to do and see in the time we have to travel in.
And so, after saying fond farewells to Fitch, Sven, and the others, we left the camp and headed back into deepest, darkest Bangkok, to sample Khao San road, the legendary backpacker haven.
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"You're my boy, Blue! You're my boy"