MUAY THAI IS NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED
I Survived My First Muay Thai Fight Thanks to a Trainer’s Profound Words
They kept me from ending up in a bloody pulp on the canvas
I was lying face-up on the mat, manhandled by two younger Thais nearly half my size.
An entire tub of gasoline-like herbal boxing liniment had been rubbed into my muscles, leaving them ablaze.
I felt like an oiled-up combustion engine.
Its distinct scent blended naturally with the tropical humidity, heralding the ancient bloodsport to come.
My cornermen massaged, kneaded, pulled, and flapped my oily limbs like some farm animal.
For a moment, I imagined being primed and basted for a pyre in some ritualistic feast — where I would be the main entrée.
My head trainer, Boy, went to town on my belly with little regard to my nociceptors. I was unsure if he was rummaging through my organs for my chi or rearranging them to achieve feng shui.
He would later explain that he tried to speed up my digestion, believing my gut was crammed with undigested food — a fair analysis, considering the abdominal frog sounds.
