Sityodtong North Shore Part 1: "The Other Side"

“The Other Side”

                As mentioned in my previous post, my quest for summer training led me to Sityodtong North Shore, a Muay Thai/MMA gym in Beverly, Massachusetts. Given the rest of my martial arts background and heavily traditional attitude toward training, it might come as a surprise that my search ended there. Yet reviewing my advice in “Finding a School”, I believe it makes perfect sense. To begin with, the realm of competitive fighting is a largely foreign one to me (not to mention nearly any style from outside Korea or Japan). By training in competitive arts with cultural roots in Thailand and the United States, I would be stepping outside my comfort zone in a number of ways, both technically and culturally, and thus expanding my horizons and broadening my knowledge more than I might have by starting up at yet another Karate or Soo Bahk Do school. That being said, my fondness for such arts is great, but my interest in training for the brief period of a summer is more exploratory than pleasure-seeking. Most of all, perhaps, training at an MMA gym would allow me to truly put my money where my mouth is. After loads of talk about how ultimately all arts teach the same principles, and that martial artists must learn to bridge the cultural and social gaps between arts to promote a more cohesive and constructive community, I have done little to learn from martial artists on “the other side” and teach them in turn.
                Though in college and the last few years I befriended several students of Brazilian Jiujutsu and MMA, and indeed had the opportunity both to exchange knowledge and engage in no small amount of friendly sparring bouts, I have yet to visit a school and receive formal training in any competitive martial art. What I call the “other side” (that is, other than the more traditional arts in which I have primarily trained) consists of the more recently-developed fighting sports which developed in the last few decades, popularized by such venues as UFC, Pride, etc. These “Mixed martial arts” (MMA) are based primarily on a fusion of Western boxing, Muay Thai, and Brazilian Jiujutsu, and bear little outward resemblance to the traditional martial arts popularized in the West years before. Many traditional martial artists scoff at the mixed martial arts for their differences in outward appearances; matches play out in cages rather than rings, fighters dress in 21^st-century style with under armor (or go shirtless to display their tattoo collection) and shorts covered in brand names, scantily clad women carry signs with the names of rounds, etc. Rather than the small, good-natured, soft-spoken stereotype of the traditional master, the stereotypical MMA fighter is the man martial arts were designed to defend against; brawny, athletic, aggressive, and mean. It has long been my opinion that these outward appearances are giving the wrong impression, and that, at their core, the mixed martial arts are not far at all from the traditional martial arts in which they take root. Nevertheless, most critics of MMA are focused only on the differences and not the similarities between these and their own doctrines.

                Through the proliferation of these differences, a rift of fear and discomfort has formed between traditional and mixed martial artists, leaving both sides sorely isolated and in many ways ignorant. Traditional martial artists may fear the “ruthless” and almost sadistic attitudes they attribute to mixed martial artists, while mixed martial artists resent condescending assertions by traditionalists that they are mere brutes who know nothing of real martial arts. The mixed martial artists in turn will label traditionalists as soft men who wouldn’t last a second in the street, while the traditionalists counter by insisting that rules and regulations make MMA fighters careless, imprecise, and ineffective in life-or-death situations. And so on it goes.

                Having been initially frustrated by the attitudes of high school classmates (all fans of UFC) and their view that traditional martial arts were unrealistic and fanciful, I met many of my first sincere acquaintances in the mixed martial arts with a chip on my shoulder. It was not long, however, before both of my fears were assuaged; I found these friends respectful and talented martial artists (not to mention great people), and further, I found that my training in traditional arts carried with it many of the same principles as their own, and surpassed their skills in as many ways as it fell short of them. After a few years of scattered and friendly sparring rounds, pad lessons, and jiujutsu workshops, I began to feel a tenuous grasp of the techniques and culture of “the other side”, but knew if I were to truly cross the gap and attempt to promote greater unity in the martial arts, I would need some serious professional training. It was time for me to dive in and see if my beliefs stood up to reality.

The Visit

                 It was this feeling (along with my desire to improve my long-range striking, spacing and timing, clinch-work, knee-strikes and left-lead kicks) which found me leaving a flustered message on an answering machine at 4:30pm the day before my last post, just after sitting through a lengthy recording of “The Voice of UFC” promoting the school and instructor to a background of hard rock. I shakily left my name and phone number, mentioning that I was interested in attending a free trial class in the next week, then hung up and headed home from work. Not long thereafter I received a call from the school and scheduled a free trial class for Tuesday the 8^th.

                Days passed quickly in my anticipation, and I soon found myself following a host of black-and-white signs advertising Muay Thai toward the rear entrance of two story building on a back street in Beverly. Hands nearly shaking with the heady excitement of an entirely new school and style, I climbed a flight of concrete steps and pushed the doors ajar, then started immediately up the nearby stairs to the training hall.  I was greeted during my ascent by the sonorous impacts of feet and shins against heavy bags, the echoing stomp of feet on the floor above, and the hissing, well-practiced exhalations of martial artists executing their techniques. Above it all, a youthful, masculine voice rang out with surprising clarity, explaining movements and techniques with unmistakable energy and the sort of earnest confidence one expects from a fighter who has tested their skills in a ring. My gut tensed nervously at the thunderous impacts echoing in the ceiling above, but before I had the chance to fear or hesitate I almost laughingly realized the familiarity of the situation.

                Eight years ago I had the same reaction as I ascended four flights of rickety wooden stairs to the top of an old brick building in Watertown, MA, where I was visiting Shobu Aikido of Boston, now my alma mater of the martial arts. I could still recall cringing and wincing at the sounds of men twice my size colliding bodily with the floor above as they were effortlessly cast about by my future teacher. It took a surprising amount of courage to finish that last flight of stairs, yet when I reached the top, I entered a world which would change my life thereafter.

                By the time I had pushed that fond memory from my head, I had reached the top of a new flight of stairs, and was standing dumbly as I stared through the wire cage at the mat before me and thirstily (though somewhat unconsciously) drank in the beginner’s Muay Thai class as it drew to a close. Coming momentarily to my senses, I checked behind the front desk, and, finding no one, quietly took a seat to watch the rest of the lesson. As usual, my attention was drawn immediately to the instructor; a young man, not more than a decade or two my senior, with a solid, athletic build, short-cropped brown hair, and a magnetic, encouraging vigor to his voice. He spoke plainly and clearly while a room-full of fighters in tank-tops, under armor, and MMA shorts watched transfixed; their concentration drawn by his slow, precise, and effortless demonstrations. There was an honest, casual, and undeniable authority in his demeanor, and it was respected unequivocally by the surrounding students.
                Coming from a more classical background, I was momentarily confused by the apparent youth of the instructor, and, accustomed as I am to meeting hardened, bearded old men when I’m introduced to the head of a school, was convinced that perhaps an assistant teacher had taken his turn with the beginner’s class. Watching the teacher’s movements, however, I began to have other suspicions. The instructor moved with the sort of loose, easy relaxation characteristic of a thoroughly competent martial artist, his strikes precise and gentle for demonstration, yet showing ominous, explosive yet skillfully restrained power to the trained eye. I was soon told at the front desk that this was in fact head instructor (or in Thai, Kru, translating to “coach” or “teacher”) Neil LeGallo, a former Muay Thai fighter who had trained in Thailand under famed Kru Toy Sityodtong Sriwaralak and renowned MMA trainer Mark Dellagrotte.

                The beginner’s class ended with several sessions of light “play” sparring (some of which, I noted in a combination of excitement and moderate fear, didn’t seem too playful) followed by conditioning exercises including chin-ups, push-ups, and sit-ups in lengthy sets. I hastily introduced myself to Kru Neil, who quickly and efficiently explained to me the workings of the school and specifics of the style and provided me with loaner boxing gloves and shinguards for the upcoming advanced class. He explained that he had chosen to start me in the advanced class in order to ensure that I got more personal attention from himself and senior students.

                Before I knew it, I was clumsily shadowboxing while trying my best to pick out the most advanced students of the class. They were easy to spot, with similarly relaxed, crisp punches and an easy bounce to their stance which I later learned was called a “stock”. I spent no small amount of time imitating the way they moved and studying what made their movements different from others around them. My year of informal training with college classmate and competitive Chinese boxing fighter Tommy Xu paid off immensely here, as I found myself throwing hooks and jabs with relative ease and conscientiously kept a guard hand at my chin at all times.

                This particular class emphasized technique. The format was consequently very similar to a standard Aikido class and thus comfortingly familiar. Kru Neil would demonstrate a technique a few times with greater emphasis on form than on power--explaining the purpose and application--then would break the group into pairs to alternate practicing the technique. At the end of each demonstration, he would ask the group “Does everyone understand?” and students would answer loudly in unison “Kup Poom!” and wai, or bow, before breaking off. Partners switched roles after a few minutes, each in turn both attacking to receive the technique  and performing the technique when attacked. Music traditionally played during Muay Thai matches (the actual name escapes me) blared in the background and gave the training a bouncing, energetic and infectious rhythm which starkly contrasted the relative serenity of a traditional Aikido or Karate school.
That night, all techniques began with a “pass” movement, which I likened to the irimi-tenkan movement of Aikido. The pass involved deflecting an opponent’s jab while stepping slightly forward and swinging the rear leg behind, thus passing to the outside of the opponent’s guard and pivoting around the strike, ending in a position here a jab could be fired in return. Throughout the night, we practiced following the pass with jabs, crosses, knees, leg kicks, and a number of combinations.

                After several rounds of techniques practice, we dispersed for play-sparring. Having had sparse opportunities for sparring in the past (the majority were with members of the martial arts club at my college and during my summer at The WestHaven Academy of Karate in 2010), I was thrilled at the opportunity to really work on my footwork and timing, not to mention to dive head-first into what I consider an integral part of real martial arts training. I noticed immediately that I defaulted to a combination of my Karate training in Tang Soo Do and Shorinji when the pressured by my opponents, constantly having to restrain illegal backfists and side kicks. At the same time, I was far too accustomed to kicking above the waist, and was repeatedly reprimanded to kick lower, while simultaneously neglecting to avoid kicks directed at my thighs (a mistake I paid for while walking sand dunes the rest of the week).

                Already ragged from my inefficient, jumpy, and energetically wasteful sparring style, I soon found myself pumping out chin-ups for the final portion of the class; the same mix of conditioning I had seen at the end of the last class. Having trained largely at traditional schools, I have rarely done such conditioning as part of a class, but instead have always done it in my spare time. The sense of camaraderie and fellowship which I found in struggling alongside other students was surprisingly encouraging. After chin-ups, pushups, and a set of 50 sit-ups, the class ended with applause as students began to disperse, bowing, high-fiving, and hugging (more in the style of “bro-grab” than anything else) those they had worked and sparred with throughout the class. The attitude and feeling was as gracious and satisfying as the conclusion to any traditional class I have ever attended. As Sensei William Gleason (the head instructor at Shobu Aikido of Boston, my first and foremost teacher) said of his own teacher’s perspective, it is not so much the formality but the attitude that matters, and if someone is sincere, even if they bow only the slightest bit, what is meant by it is clear and the purpose of the gesture is fulfilled.

                This idea reflects my initial suspicions about “the other side”, and pervaded my experience at Sityodtong. The differences perceived, criticized, and perhaps even feared by many traditional artists are primarily just on the surface. In essence, every part of the class resembled closely some form of training I had experienced at one time or another in traditional disciplines. Students were sincere, disciplined, and serious, while Kru Neil was insightful, open, and extremely helpful. Less blood had been spilled in two and a half hours practice than in an hour of training at some traditional schools I have attended. As I bowed off the mat and returned my borrowed sparring gear, I wasted no time in signing up for three months training (my job will end by the beginning of August) and purchasing a pair of shin guards and boxing gloves (both of whom I hope to put to further use after my training at Sityodtong) before I headed out the door. The delayed publishing of this post is due entirely to the frequency and intensity with which I have been training since my first day, and my experience has only grown more rewarding.  For fear of writing too long an article, I will follow this one with a second which will discuss in greater detail my training over the last few weeks and my experiences as a traditional martial artist in an MMA environment.
                To any martial artists in New England planning on visiting the North Shore for any length of time, Sityodtong is an essential stop. The facility is clean and crowded with top of the line equipment, the mat space crawling with experienced martial artists and dedicated students. The attitude in training is sincere and assiduous, and the techniques are practiced in a traditional manner meant to preserve the Thai heritage of the art while also demonstrating their utility in self defense and MMA competition. This summer is shaping up to be a fantastic training opportunity. Stay tuned for part 2 of Sityodtong North Shore.

Finding a School

After spending the last two weeks scouring the internet and badgering a host of local friends, I finally found a martial arts school to keep me busy for my summer on the North Shore. Not to be disappointing, but I don’t plan on getting into the details of my new training until I start classes next week. For now, I’m interested in discussing the process of school-searching itself. It was the ease and comfort with which I went about this task which inspired me to write this post, which I believe many martial artists—especially those who travel frequently or are interested in starting martial arts training in the first place—will find helpful. As I explained in my first post, though my lifestyle has required me to travel frequently in the past few years (I’m sure I’m not alone in this respect, especially among my peers in their 20’s and 30’s), I have tried to continue my progress by seeking out opportunities for training wherever I ended up. This has naturally required some flexibility and a great deal of commitment to finding schools in new locales, but has at the same time kept me from losing the skills and mindset developed in past training. In the process, I have become well versed at scouting out training opportunities, weighing options among styles and teachers, and ultimately deciding whether or not a particular school is worth the time and money for hard training; all difficult tasks faced more frequently by martial artists in today’s society, who may be forced to move from place to place due to career related, familial, or other circumstances. Even worse, many would-be martial artists, daunted by the same issues, are discouraged from ever beginning their studies.

In examining my own approach to these problems, I have outlined a sequence of steps which may be helpful to those interested in finding a school.


Step 1: Find out what’s out there

I’m a firm believer that reconnaissance is the most important and fundamental step in the search for a martial arts school (or style). Though this may seem intuitive, I know from experience that many martial artists, rather than looking simply at what might be available in their area, cling doggedly to the idea of training in one particular style or at one type of school and thus miss out on numerous opportunities for high-quality training in the mean time. By stubbornly insisting that they will train in only a given discipline, a martial artist narrows their horizons for progress and, if they are unable to find the “right” school or style, may stagnate their progress in training and experience a gradual atrophy of skills. This “Goldilocks” issue is one I encounter with surprising frequency in the martial arts community, and one with which I contended at the beginning of my journey.

Like a great many other martial artists, I was first drawn in by cinema; in particular the legendarily iconic Bruce Lee. After watching the disappointingly embellished biography “Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story”, a few TV specials, and two of Lee’s more famous films, I was utterly hooked on his unique “style”, and was buying every book I could find with his name on it (readers beware, there are ample books bearing his name which feature very little of his original work, or else very little of it in a useful format). Unable to find a Jeet Kune Do school in my area, I rather ambitiously set out to train myself, and spent hours studying video footage, reading books, watching movies, lifting weights, and flailing out punches and kicks whenever I had a spare moment.  Fortunately, I was eventually convinced to seek out professional instruction, and decided to visit a nearby Aikido school, which led me to where I am today.

Had I never decided to “lower my standards” and try something which wasn’t precisely the style I wanted, it is likely my progress in the martial arts would have come to a gradual halt, or at least been somehow crippled by my inability to find instruction. That sort of choosy attitude is the first obstacle which must be overcome in looking for a new school.

Martial arts were by necessity founded on a firm foundation of practical philosophy. On the battlefield, in a life or death situation, the only real concern is what does or does not work. There is no room for personal preference or individual flare, only the realities of physics, human physiology, and psychology. I think the same should apply for modern martial artists; their ultimate concern should not be whether they find a style they like or that suits them best; but only that they are able to train in martial art. If you are too particular about where you train or with whom, you will do very little real training. Being practically focused, the martial arts are concerned with the “essence” of things, being direct and straight to the point. A martial artist should thus be concerned first and foremost only with whether or not he or she is able to train at all, then worry about how to train. With this in mind, I recommend examining first the availability of martial arts nearby before becoming engrossed in what style or association one joins.

As a central point in my beliefs with regards to the martial arts, almost everyone has something to teach, so long as you are ready and willing to learn it. As a teacher of mine once waggishly put it, “There are no bad martial arts, just bad martial artists”. If you can find good training in any art, it will be better than bad training, or even no training, in your preferred style. Everyone has to start somewhere, so find what works and follow through with it; who knows when the opportunity may arise to practice your favorite style? If you are not waiting idly, you will have the skill and perspective to take full advantage when it comes.

I would advise students to peruse all schools within a reasonable commute, keeping in mind that frequent training is necessary for substantial progress, and that long commutes will complicate a hard training schedule.

Step 2: Find out what works for you

Though practicality is paramount, personal preference should ultimately decide which school or style you choose once you have established what will be available. Different arts work well for different types of people, in terms of body type, mental attitude, and philosophical or spiritual perspectives. For example, as a short-limbed, compact person, my body may be best suited for styles whose techniques focus around grappling and close-quarters fighting, which would take advantage of my low center of gravity  and make up for my lack of range. A taller fighter might be more naturally inclined toward the techniques of Tae Kwon Do, Savate, Muay Thai, or other styles emphasizing kicks and long-range fighting. This is not to say that any martial artist should feel that they cannot or should not study a given art due to their body type; I studied Tang Soo Do (a Korean art with an emphasis on kicking similar to Tae Kwon Do) for years and have found its techniques incredibly useful and applicable to my training.

In “Living the Martial Way”, the martial arts guidebook mentioned in my previous post, Forrest Morgan explains that all styles follow a central “doctrine” by which fighting is conceptually approached. In uncovering a style or discipline’s “martial doctrine", an interested student can gain an effective synopsis of the techniques he or she may learn in training. An example of a doctrine might be the idea of “using the longest to hit the closest”, described by Bruce Lee as a central concept in Jeet Kune Do (“The Way of the Intercepting Fist”). As part of this doctrine, the theoretical practitioner of Jeet Kune Do will attack the closest body target on the opponent’s body (ankle, hand, face, etc.) with the longest available weapon (usually the low side kick or lead finger jab), effectively keeping the opponent at a safe range while taking any available opportunity for attack.

Beginners would do best to seek styles whose martial doctrines seem intuitively appealing or natural to them or their body type; this will allow them to pick up on the style quickly and build a solid foundation for future training. More experienced martial artists, however, may wish to look for styles whose doctrines are far removed from those in which they have already trained in order to broaden their horizons (e.g. a wrestler taking up Wing Chun).

Martial arts styles and schools consist of a good deal more than their technical approach to fighting; they also reflect a specific worldview and philosophy which pervades the training. Students should carefully consider what they are looking for in their training when choosing a style to ensure that there will be a good match between their art and their specific needs. For example, competitive fighters will seek out schools teaching arts that are more conducive to fighting in controlled, rule-based and one-on-one environments, for example Brazilian Jiujitsu and various styles of boxing, while those interested primarily in self defense might prefer the more purely pragmatic, no-holds-barred approach of Krav Maga, Systema, or traditional Karate. Students looking more for a good workout and athletic endeavor would be better off with competitive combat sports, while those more interested in spiritual and personal development should look to traditional arts like Kung Fu, Tai Chi, Aikido, etc. Again, those who are just beginning their martial arts should start with whatever they are most comfortable with, while those who have been training for some time should seek to challenge themselves and reach outside their martial “comfort zone” to something unfamiliar.

As Morgan explains (and here I wholeheartedly agree), the best way to learn about a style, from its martial doctrine to its general philosophy, is to read about it and talk to others who have practiced it. Books are widely available on a great variety of popular styles, not to mention countless websites and forums through which one can investigate a style of their choice. I strongly recommend doing at least a little background research (even Wikipedia can be surprisingly helpful) on available styles when given the chance to choose amongst training options.

Step 3: Visit and train!

Returning to a purely practical perspective, the only definitive way to tell if you will enjoy training at a specific school or in a specific art is to go try it out. Most schools welcome newcomers and will allow them (or require them) to watch a class or two before joining, and some offer a free trial class or period in which the student can get the full experience. Even if you have discovered that a specific style is available in your area and it is the perfect fit for your needs, it pays to check out the school before enrolling. Though they are not common, there are some “bad apples” out there, and such schools are best avoided when encountered. I have heard a variety of definitions of what makes a “good” and “bad” school, but in the interest of simplicity, I would advise students to use their gut instinct; meet the instructors, watch or take a class, speak with students outside the gym or training hall, and make a judgment based on what you discover. Bringing a friend along (especially one who has experience in the martial arts) for a second opinion is always a good idea.

You can’t learn to swim without ever getting in the water, and the same goes for martial arts; you’ll need to jump right in to really know what it is like. The most important part of starting a new art (whether it is your first or fourteenth) is to immerse yourself in the experience and take all it has to offer, then, after the fact, make a decision about whether or not it is for you. Finally, if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. It may take a few tries, but solid martial arts training is well worth the effort.

Step 4: Finish what you start

Many traditional martial arts (and, truthfully, the majority of combat sports as well) emphasize the development and importance of personal integrity, often referred to as sportsmanship or warrior spirit. Not only is this a highly desirable trait for improving one’s quality of life, it has great practical value for those interested in beginning or continuing their training in the martial arts.

The practical emphasis of martial arts separates them (or should separate them) from empty gratification and the pursuit of superficial rewards. The ultimate reasons for studying martial arts—self defense, personal development, physical and psychological health--are not shallow or empty  goals, but deep and meaningful ones. Martial artists of sincere attitude do not train for a pat on the back, a scored goal, or a quick promotion in rank, but to cultivate themselves as human beings as really make improvements, be they physical, mental, spiritual, skill-based, and so on.

With this in mind, I encourage those exploring martial arts to give each discipline and school they try a fair shot. Martial arts take commitment and determination, and real progress, though it can happen rapidly, is often difficult to perceive from the inside. Even if ranks aren’t being given out rapidly (or at all), and it is hard to perceive one’s own progress, deep changes can occur over time which will profoundly affect one’s practice (not to mention the rest of their life). While what a “fair shot” means will vary from case to case, I would advise students to devote at least two or three months to a discipline if time allows to really experience the training and begin to get some idea of what the journey will be like. If a school offers rankings and testing, I would suggest testing for at least one rank before making the decision that an art is not the right choice. It is a great shame when martial artists will great potential to benefit from their training miss a great opportunity due to petty discouragement early in the process. Thus, avoid this blunder and take the time to really devote yourself to training somewhere for a time before deciding to move on.

From a more traditional perspective, any student training at a martial arts school carries a certain obligation to sincerely pursue their training before deciding to stop. After all, the teacher is taking the time to instruct class; it is only right to allow time to hear what it is they are actually trying to convey before choosing to reject it. This sort of respect and integrity is a highly praised personal trait in the martial arts and will prevent hard feelings and resentment. Thus, it is best to devote some honest time and effort to any art, even if at first you think you don't like it, to allow time to see what develops. If after some time you still feel it isn't for you, you can at least move on confident you made the right choice in leaving.


This sequence outlines my general approach to finding schools, and has served me very well so far. I will be visiting my prospective summer training venue tomorrow night for a trial class and am already beside myself with excitement. As a brief sneak peak into next week's post (to be started after class tomorrow night), the school I will be visiting is Sityodtong North Shore, a Muay Thai/MMA gym in Beverly, Massachusetts.