Sityodtong North Shore Part 2: A Machismo Sport

In one of last month’s posts, Sityodtong Part 1: The Other Side, I explained my choice of a competitive martial arts school as a summer training venue and described my first impressions as I began training. Now that I have had more time to sink my teeth into Muay Thai, from its attitude to techniques and  principles, I would like to revisit  it for further reflection. While in my first post I focused on the similarities between Muay Thai and other styles I have practiced, my goal for this post is to dwell on differences; it is these differences, after all, that make styles distinct and valuable, and are the source of the diversity which strengthens the modern world of martial arts.

Perhaps one of the most obvious and enjoyable differences between sport Muay Thai and the more traditional styles I have studied is simply the attitude. The Muay Thai/MMA mindset at Sityodtong is unabashedly competitive and confrontational; a far cry from the strictly formalized behavior practiced in a Karate or Aikido dojo or idealized by Taoist monks writing on Gungfu. As showcased by the decorated walk-out shirts, colorful MMA shorts, and expensive sparring gear abundantly spread across a floor-full of students, there is considerably less emphasis on humility, uniformity, and discipline than what one might find training at a traditional school.

One senior student and top-ranked regional kickboxer, after coaching me in a few rounds of sparring in the gym’s ring, described the Muay Thai attitude as one of “Machismo”, explaining the aggressiveness of proponents and the style of competitive fighting, which focuses heavily on hard blows to wear down or knock out an opponent. To use his words, “A guy swings at you, you don’t run away, you take it and hit him right back even harder. You play dangerously with range so that your weapons are always ready to smash him down in front of you.” Indeed, as I learned by sparring with higher level students, standing squarely before me with chins dipped, gloved hands lifted, and feet poised to deliver a crippling leg kick, Muay Thai is not an art for the faint of heart; a practitioner must face their opponent dead on and be ready to win an exchange of blows at any cost. Naturally, there is just as much precision, technique, spacing, and mental game as any other fighting sport, but from a cultural standpoint, the Muay Thai ethos is an assertive one.

I soon discovered just how infectious this machismo attitude could be. At the end of my first month of training, I decided to stick around after my first hour of training for an advanced/intermediate class absolutely loaded with senior students. I struggled with some of the more complex material throughout the night—already exhausted from training earlier that evening—and was dead tired by the time it was time for sparring. I found myself standing before a fellow perhaps three or four years my junior and two or three inches taller than me. He had black, short-cropped hair and a lean build, opting to display an impressive collection of tribal tattoos rather than wear a shirt.

The buzzer sounded, indicating the start of the round, and we touched gloves and fell easily into our practiced stances, maneuvering and adjusting our distance as we tried to feel one another out with a few opening jabs and feints. Accustomed to the lighter contact rules of sparring in karate, I generally pulled my punches, shooting them inside my opponent’s guard but not letting them make heavy contact. In point sparring rules, one would bow to acknowledge such a blow, and the round would begin anew; but I soon noted my opponent was completely ignoring my punches; I would tap his nose,  chin, or solar plexus with a well-timed strike, only to have him showering me with hooks and uppercuts in response. Like a typical Karateka or Aikidoka trained in self defense, I would retreat out of range or pivot around my opponent to his weaker side and evade these salvos of wild blows, then re-enter on my own time. The tactic inevitably failed me in a cramped MMA gym, where I suddenly felt my back hit the wall, followed by a rush of stars as a gloved fist struck my jaw, sending my head bouncing back against the thankfully padded surface behind me.

I shook my head with a good-humored laugh as my opponent retreated a step,myself  perhaps unconsciously assuming (as would be the case in point sparring) that he had, in his enthusiasm, struck a bit too hard, and happily forgiving him. After touching his outstretched glove, I feinted a hook then penetrated his guard with a swift cross that cleanly pecked the tip of his nose; a transgression which he punished with another rush of alternating blows. Like I had been taught, I shot out my lead foot in a gentle, controlled pushing front kick (or thip) to stop his advance, but felt him run right through me and ignore the restrained contact. Raising my arms to cover, I was jarred by another heavy hook, then heard the fleshy smack of his shin impacting powerfully into the outside of my thigh, where an exposed nerve (the target of the leg kick, a fierce weapon for which the style is well known) caused my muscles to seize and flex involuntarily in shock.

“Phew!” I gasped in exasperation, hopping back from the action to rub at my leg with another tolerant chuckle, though by now I was growing indignant and frustrated. So caught up was I in the karate mindset of control and discipline that his forcefulness seemed like arrogance; how could he disrespect me so blatantly when I  made the concerted effort to control my own blows? My partner was oblivious to my plight, however, and made not the slightest indication of understanding that he was hitting too hard; on the contrary, he stared me down with an almost predatory intensity. My resentment and embarrassment grew as the situation repeated itself, and soon I sensed the welling of a sort of egocentric anger within me; the type every Buddhist, Taoist, or Zen martial artist strives to extinguish in the pursuit of greater enlightenment. Alarm bells were ringing in my head; voices of past teachers warning me to calm myself and forgive, but as a fierce cross knocked my cheek hard enough for me to wish I had purchased a mouth guard, those voices were lost in the rush of blood in my ears.          

To hell with enlightenment. I thought as I rolled my shoulders, looking up to my opponent as he awaited my return. I’ll knock him flat. Freed from the perspectives and opinions of past training, I closed quickly with my partner and landed a heavy jab on his gloves, hammering them again with a cross and following with a hook. He covered and ducked his head, taking the blows without surprise or indignation, and answered me with another punishing leg kick, the likes of which hit the same exact spot it had before and made bells ring all up and down my body. Rather than laugh it off, I gave a wrathful kiai and fired a round kick to his body with all the force I could muster. It caught off his tricep and sent him stumbling to my left; I pursued with an overtight hook and sloppy uppercut, then caught his gloves and shoved him hard when he tried to retort. I forced him into a covered retreat toward the caged wall of the gym where two of the trainers had been chatting, and the two of us were soon exchanging fierce blows to the head, body and legs. I attempted another ambitious hook, only to feel my head snap back from a fierce cross and yet another kick to the leg, which I simply took and answered with another brutal body kick. Before my partner could respond to my furious counter, I leaped into a diving thip which struck him in the solar plexus and sent him stumbling backward. The kick must have hurt him, because he pounded me mercilessly with body kicks and landed a solid hook on my kidneys.
        “Easy, guys! Calm down!” We both heard a trainer call from beside us, and responded with a scoffing chuckle in unison. “Jesus, they’re beating the f*** out of each other.” Said another, but we weren’t about to stop. Heart thudding and eyes stinging with sweat, I gave myself entirely to  the sheer aggression of the match, and faced heavy blows despite my fear and unfamiliarity. By the time the round bell had sounded, I was battered and exhausted, my opponent in notably better shape, but I felt rewarded by the experience. After years of rarely being solidly hit, I had become fearful of just taking a blow. It was humbling and empowering to face far less controlled technique and keep on swinging come out standing. Even so, the damage done by the blows was far more emotional than it was physical; my ego was the only thing hurt by my partner’s strikes, my body was shaken but fine.

Walking into the parking lot after class, I spotted my sparring partner, who smiled and complimented me on the bout. “How long have you been training here again?” he asked. “About three weeks.” I admitted with a shrug, noting how his eyebrows sunk with concern. “You’ve done some other stuff before this, huh?” “Yeah.” I laughed sheepishly with a nod. “I thought so… there I was thinking ‘I’ll go easy on this guy, he’s new’, and whang!” he jerked his head back as though he’d been struck hard on the chin. “Good stuff man, keep up the good work.” I wished him the same and thanked him for the great experience, then we both headed for home. While thirty minutes earlier we had clashed egos and shins on the mat, at the end of the day--just like on the tatami of a traditional dojo--there were no hard feelings but instead a mutual respect and camaraderie; we had both learned from the practice (though admittedly I had gained much more from it; he was an amateur MMA fighter with an impressive record).

The moral of the story is a familiar one mentioned frequently throughout eastern spiritual disciplines, and made famous by Bruce Lee; empty your cup. That is, you cannot truly learn from a new experience or idea when your mind is already filled with preconceived notions and lessons learned elsewhere. This concept is especially important for the modern day martial artist, who may (willingly or otherwise) end up taking up other styles of practice throughout his or her journey in the martial arts. While I had been well aware of the idea since I first began my study, I had applied it only to technical aspects of the arts. When I began karate, I did not practice Aikido, but worked to imitate the movements of my teachers and not view them solely through a lens of my past experience. Likewise, when I practiced Muay Thai, I did not let myself fall back on reflexive techniques from karate, Jeet Kune Do, or Aikido (many of these were illegal to boot), but practiced what I had been taught, despite how uncomfortable or awkward the movements may have been. This is an important first step toward emptying one’s cup and learning a new art. What I found to be more difficult and yet perhaps more important is to rid one’s self of the attitude of a past art when practicing a new one.

Thus, when I began my training in Muay Thai, I was simply an Aikidoka learning Muay Thai techniques. My goal, however, has been to be a Muay Thai practitioner practicing Muay Thai; to embody the art I am studying and immerse myself in it. I believe this is a key part of “emptying the cup” and easing the transition into a new art. Perhaps more importantly, it may mean the difference between learning a few techniques and gaining a lasting impression and sense of a system as a whole. Thus, if you're a traditionalist cross-training in a competitive martial art, don't over-complicate your training with the moral implications of your actions in the ring; give yourself to the practice. Likewise, if you come from a more sport-oriented background, don't turn your back on the rituals and ideas of a traditional discipline; bow like you mean it, take the words of your sensei or sifu seriously, and look to your senior students for an example. When training at a new school, a martial artist should think not only "when in Rome, do as the Romans do", but "think as the Romans think". By (at least temporarily) adopting the attitudes of a different discipline, a martial artist learns to view their art from a truly different perspective beyond technical detail.