Butterfly Fray

Teach

I haven't been posting here nearly as much as I'd intended. Not because I don't have experiences and stories to share, I do, but because my relationship with Muay Thai is intensely personal and I'm a (surprisingly) private person. I'm confronting uncomfortable or unpleasant parts of myself every day and it's difficult to fight that battle and then turn around and tell the world about it.

Scary, too.

Last night after finished class, I hung around for awhile to do some sets of tricep exercises and to watch N train with Chief. Someday, I strive to fight as well as that woman does. From my spot next to the ring, I could see the boxing class going on in the background.

In particular, I could see two girls who were obviously new to the class; they looked to be in their mid-twenties, cute girls with maybe thirty or forty extra pounds apiece. They were late to class so Chief drew my attention to them when he reminded them (loudly) that he'd told them to be on time. I watched them jackass around through the warm-ups, half heartedly jumping rope and pretending to jazzercise rather than shadowboxing properly, and I watched them giggle and bat ineffectually at their heavy bags during the first drill. At first I was annoyed, but then I looked at them more closely and realized something:

Those girls were letting the fear win. When I looked past the giggling, I realized that they were so terrified and self-conscious that they could barely breathe. I recognized in them the fear that I had so narrowly managed to conquer on my first day.

So I walked onto the floor, stood between them, and asked them if I could give them some advice. They both just sort of looked at me and nodded, wide-eyed.

My name's Amanda and I've been here about six months now. I don't know about you, but this is the hardest and scariest thing that I have ever done. They both nodded vehemently. But I'll let you in on a little secret: You don't have anything to be afraid of anything here. Here, the only thing that anyone will ever judge you for is not working as hard as you can. Nobody gives a shit how you look, or how much you sweat, or whether or not you want to pass out twenty seconds into the first round. If you're working as hard as you can, that's enough.

Every single person in this gym had a first day, and every single person in this gym has days when they feel like the clumsiest and weakest person on the planet. When I walked in here on my first day I was forty pounds heavier and Chief had to explain the proper form for a hook to me three times. Today I accidentally punched myself in the face and completely ate it when my partner parried a kick and knocked me off balance. But nobody cared, because I'm working hard.

So seriously girls, just lay into those bags. Imagine it's every guy who's ever broken your heart or every boss you've ever hated, just get low and beat the crap out of it. Put your ass into it! If we've got 'em, we might as well use 'em, right? Relax, have fun. Go for it! Don't let the fear win.

The girls looked much relieved when I'd finished talking and sure enough, they hit the bags with a little more gusto after that.

When I got back over to the ring, Chief thanked me too.

As I was driving home, I decided that I should take my own advice and not let fear silence my voice on this blog. Stay tuned for more posting.

Progress

Chief doesn't ask me about my weight very often. As long as I'm losing it steadily and gaining both strength and balance the numbers aren't very important to him, but about a month ago he stopped as we were stepping into the ring and asked me how much I'd lost. He had that impish glint in his eye that invariably spells trouble an interesting new challenge for me, so I answered "about 30 pounds" with some trepidation. He nodded and produced what looked like a boating life vest. When he strapped me into it, I realized that it was a weight vest.

A 30lb weight vest.

Holy crap.

We did two rounds of pad work while I was wearing it and I thought I was going to die. I moved so slowly and my shoulders ached from having to throw punches while weighed down. I could not believe that I was carrying that much extra weight around just a few months ago. When he finally took the vest off me, I felt as lithe and graceful as a ballerina and I was astounded at how much more quickly I could move.

Chief has always said that he doesn't care how much I weigh, only that I can move well and strike with force. This, then, was an object lesson in both how far I've come, and how far I have left to go.

Ever so slowly, every so surely, I'm making progress.

Multitasking

Tonight I watched in awe as N simultaneously sparred with Chief and kept track of the last few minutes of an auction on eBay; the rounds were timed so that she'd be resting during the all-important final minute. She won her last round and the (gorgeous, vintage) coat on which she was bidding.

This woman is my hero.

Best Compliment Ever

My gym is just off a busy street in a popular section of town; it's surrounded by bars, restaurants, and stores so there are always a lot of people out and about. Tonight as I was walking from the parking structure, I came across two douchebags guys who had clearly been enjoying a pint or twelve at the pub on the corner. I was about three steps from the entrance to the gym when the bandanna on my head inexplicably set them off. They stumbled in front of me and blocked my path.

Guy 1: Dude, she looks like a farmer.
Guy 2: Hehehehehehehehehehe. Yeah.
Guy 1: (A lot of words that essentially amounted to: Smack talk, smack talk, smack talk, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, blah, blah, blah)
Me: Waiting patiently for them to stumble on so I can go work out.
Guy 2: Noticing the sign above the doorway while his buddy yammers away Dude, dude, dude! DUDE! She's going into the BOXING gym!

And with that they both shut their mouths and walked away like shoplifters dodging a cop.

Yeah, I was just as confused as you are.

I relayed the story to one of the pro fighters while I was warming up and he looked very vexed. If that ever happens again he said just yell and you know thirty guys will be up those stairs in a heartbeat. I must have looked a little confused because he continued with a wink Girl, don't you know you're one of us now?

Best. Compliment. Ever.

Take It To The Limit

My quads are so sore that I'm walking like a robot and hanging on to the railing for dear life every time I go down a flight of stairs. I've been crawling out of my chair every 30 minutes or so to stretch (my officemates are a little puzzled) but it has done very little to unlock the rocks that have taken up residence where my nice, supple muscles used to be. This could make training slightly difficult, especially since tonight I'm in for 90 minutes of one-on-one time with Chief.

We've hit our crazy season at work and my boss had a minor meltdown about my leaving in time to get to class, so for the time being I've switched to twice-weekly private sessions with Chief. Ultimately this is a good thing, but his sessions are far more difficult than his classes.

Chief: I always feel like my classes are harder because we do a lot of jumpsquats and burpees. I don't usually make anyone do those in session.
Me: True, but I still think the sessions are harder because they're tailored to my weak points. At least in class, there are some things that come a *little* more easily.
Chief: Heh. Guess I never thought about it that way. Put your gloves on.

Anyone who knows me will not be surprised to learn that, in a lot of ways, the mental aspect of Muay Thai is far more challenging to me than the physical; Chief is after me constantly to get out of my head, to stop thinking and analyzing and just do. The thing I struggle with the most is pressing myself to work not only to my limit, but also just a smidgeon beyond until the limit itself has moved.

Left to my own devices, I'll see my limit coming up ahead and stop a nice safe distance from it. I don't know when I learned to do that and I don't know what I'm afraid will happen if I get there, but some deep-seated instinct stomps on the brakes as soon as that line comes into view. It's like I'm willing to give up 95%, but for some reason I'm clinging desperately to that last 5%. Looking back, I see that this has been a pattern repeated in every area of my life for some time now.

Chief realized this about me roughly 10 minutes into our very first session (before I realized it about myself, truthfully) and has been trying to coax me a little bit closer to my limit ever since; I've fought him every step of the way. Because the man has the kindness and patience of a saint, he just keeps pushing me forward while completely ignoring whatever protestations I've offered. His standard response, delivered invariably with an impish grin, is Do I care? No, I don't care. Begin.

I've now been studying long enough that my session on Monday night was much more of a "standard" session - alternate rounds of strike drills and conditioning drills rather than short drills interspersed with basic technique explanations. Let me tell you: 90 minutes of striking and conditioning is no joke, especially when the holidays have kept you away from the gym for a couple of weeks - I was "done" less than 45 minutes in.

Here's the thing: During a private session, there's nowhere to hide. Even though the classes at our gym are usually less than ten people and Chief has eyes in the back of his head, I can still slow down or pause for a brief minute here and there. Not so when it's just the two of us, and doubly not so when we're the only two people in the entire gym. I have to keep going until I'm physically incapable of doing so; there are no other options.

Monday night was the first night that I cried at the gym.

About halfway through an exercise designed to strengthen both my balance and the muscles in the back of my legs, my legs felt like they were on fire and my arms were shaking from holding myself up. I dropped my leg in defeat and Chief simply asked me Did you hear the bell? Of course, I hadn't. But I'd seen that limit coming and I was doing everything in my power not to get any closer to it. When Chief came over to adjust my position so that I could begin again, to get my knee just a fraction of an inch higher, I simply dissolved into tears. Tears of anger at him for making me do it, tears of frustration at myself for not being able to do it "perfectly", tears of exhaustion, tears of pain, tears of fear. So I cried, and I clenched my fists around the bag, and I kept going until that stupid bell rang, goddamnit.

I have seen the limit. I have surpassed it. And I have survived! (Apart from the quad muscles, anyway.)

Onward, then, because that line just keeps moving farther and farther out.

Poster Girl

There was a photographer at the gym yesterday, taking pictures of some of the boxers and mixed martial artists. I was about twenty minutes into my session with Chief when we had this conversation:

Chief: You know, we've trained a lot of people here, helped a lot of people change their bodies and lives, but I've never had the presence of mind to document any of their journeys from beginning to end.
Me: Oh?
Chief: Would you mind if we documented you? You've made so much progress just in the last month, I'd like to keep a visual record as you continue training.
Me: Um... sure.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I became my gym's poster girl for change. Clearly, I'll do pretty much anything Chief tells me to do.

It's rare that I let anyone photograph me below the waist, but yesterday I stood smiling for full-body shots while I was sweaty, in workout clothes, and wearing no make-up. I declined to look at the pictures, I just didn't want to set myself up for that mental battle, but we'll take new photos periodically so I'm curious to see what story they tell in a few months.

Hurts So Good

One of the advantages to Chief taking a personal interest in each of his students is that he spends extra time with each of us whenever possible. A quiet afternoon or a lag between classes always translates into one more sparring drill, or a few minutes of posture work, or a discussion about theory and technique.

The gym was almost empty this afternoon because of the holiday, so my 90-minute session with Chief lasted for 135. We spent a lot of time working with the thai pads - today was the first day that I was allowed to add kicks into the pad work (I'd only ever kicked the heavy bag before), which means that it was also the first day that he kicked me. Ow. I have a lovely bruise on the outside of my left thigh, and I'm a lot quicker to get my legs up to guard now than I was this morning.

Since I need a little time to recover from the two minute rounds with Chief, they were interspersed with the following:

• 5 sets of crunches, 100 of each of 5 types of crunches per set. Yes people, I did 2500 crunches. And that's not including the ones he made me do when I missed a strike, or forgot a combination.
• 50 "girl" push-ups. Hey, at least I didn't have to do any of these.
• Approximately 150 squats. I lost count when I had to do a drill that involved 4 squats, 4 guards / kicks with my right leg, 4 more squats, and then 4 guards / kicks with my left leg. I was too busy trying not to fall over to count.
• 4 1-minute rounds of tricep isolation with the cable weight set to 30lbs.
• 100-ish bridge exercises.
• 1 round of this evil exercise that involves lying on your back at the base of a heavy bag and reaching your legs up to touch the right side, left side, and center of the bag. I have to admit, there was a moment at the end when I thought I was going to puke.

I was absolutely wrecked by the end of the session. My arms and hands were so tired that I could barely grip the pen to sign his book. Since I couldn't see the clock during most of my drills, I didn't know the time and was disappointed in myself for being so tired after only 90 minutes. I felt much better when I realized that I'd been going for 45 extra minutes! Apparently Chief wanted to test the limits of my stamina because he's never seen someone "as big as [I am] with such incredible endurance." I reminded him that the only advantage of being one hundred pounds overweight is that just walking down the hall is resistance training - I have to cart these hundred extra pounds with me wherever I go. Plus, there's that whole marathon thing that I did last year.

Tonight, though, I feel every single one of those extra pounds because holy crap am I sore. It was sort of a blessing when my dinner plans got canceled at the last minute because I'm not entirely sure that I would have been able to walk after sitting at a table for more than an hour. 

Still, I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything in the world.

I love that I am using all of my muscles and working my body to its limits; I feel connected both to myself and to some strength beyond myself - the strength that keeps me striking when my arms and legs are shaking with exhaustion. I love the satisfying THOCK sound that the pads make when I strike well, and the sound of Chief yelling when I've landed something perfectly. I love the people at the gym, and the camaraderie of which I already feel a part. I love the challenge, and the constant drive to be better, faster, stronger, to find those limits and kick my way right through them.

I love this sport, and that's what keeps me going back for more.

Blind

A lot of people seem to be under the impression that since I'm so enthusiastic about Muay Thai, it must come easily to me.

Ahahahahahahahahahaha! Ahem.

Um, no.

Trust me people, this is the most mentally and physically challenging thing that I have ever done.

Yesterday it was all I could do not to cry as I watched myself shadowboxing in the mirror. Not because I was physically exhausted, but because I was fighting so hard against my own brain. I was supposed to be checking my form and making adjustments, but I couldn't see past my shaking legs and the sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging to my torso. Normally I'd take those things as signs of hard work, but yesterday they seemed to scream "WEAK! PATHETIC! UNWORTHY!" with every strike. I looked at the mat for as long as I could before Chief reminded me again that the answers aren't there.

As much as I hate to admit it, re-injuring my knee did at least as much damage to my psyche as it did to my lateral ligaments. It was a horrible, brutal reminder that my body is nowhere near as strong as I imagine it to be. I'm 30, I'm roughly 100lbs overweight, and although I've been active I haven't been athletic in 15 years or so. What the hell am I doing, training to compete in 18 months? What was I thinking, joining a private kickboxing gym?

You can probably guess how things spiraled downward after that.

I've dutifully continued to show up and work my ass off because I'm stubborn as all hell and because I refuse to continue to be my own worst enemy, but it's been difficult. Frustrating, and difficult.

My super-awesome chiropractor / physical therapist cleared me to jump and kick again as of Saturday, but I kept to my (comparatively) safe modifications.

Because I let my fear win.

I was afraid of hurting myself again, afraid that I wouldn't be able to execute the strikes, afraid of looking foolish (my roundhouses look a lot more like this than like this at the moment), afraid of proving that I can't do this, afraid of proving that I can. And the worst part is that I didn't even REALIZE it until  today when I found myself half-assing my way through the "Chopping Down The Tree" exercise. And that made me really angry. I am so goddamned tired of this cyclical battle with myself.

I wish I could say that I suddenly started roundhousing like a pro, or that I landed a series of flawless knee strikes that made my bag partner gasp in admiration, but what actually happened is a lot less spectacular. I hissed and panted my way through the rest of the class with a lot of determination and not quite as much balance. My legs burned, my arms shook, and sweat dripped off every part of my body. I can't say that what happened was pretty, but it was at least resolute.

I sprawled on the mat for awhile after class, not really looking at much of anything, trying to take some measure of pride in the fact that I'd at least given it my all. I wasn't having much success, honestly, when Chief came over to talk to me.

Chief: You're moving better.
Me: What?
Chief: I said - you're moving better. Especially today. You've been working hard and it's starting to pay off. You're getting more comfortable, your body is adapting, and the movements are becoming more natural.
Me: Oh, thanks.
Chief: I know you can't see it, but I can. Good job Amanda. Keep it up.

So apparently I am making progress, but I've been so wrapped up in my own drama that I've been completely blind to it. All that frustration, and anger, and mental anguish... what a waste of fucking time and energy.

Just one more reminder to look up, look out.

Welcome

Welcome to Butterfly Fray - the companion site to my main blog, Ordinary Extraordinary.

I created Butterfly Fray so that I would have a place to write solely about my Muay Thai training. So far I've only imported the posts from amandarin.net, but there's lots of good stuff coming.

Welcome to the fray!

Muy Tired

This evening, after getting our asses kicked by the Boxing instructor:

Me: I am going home to to take a shower, and go to bed.
She: I am going home to eat dinner; I'm SO hungry.
Me: Oh my god, last night I was starving after class but I had no food at home so I had to stop at Ralph's. I was wandering around the market in such a daze, I just wanted someone to hand me something so I could buy it and get home.
She: Oh yeah, I know those nights. Those are the nights when you don't even have the energy to microwave something - you just look at the label and think "I have to stir and recover? Now way, that's way too much work."