round I finished him with a series of head kicks. I was in the worst shape of my life, I was overweight. But some guys are like that. I was a nervous fighter, my business was based on my reputation. For some guys, it’s better if they don’t even know. They’re just training hard and sleeping well, and then you tell ’em: ‘the fight’s today.’ I didn’t have time to think about it, to scenario the fight to death. When a fighter has too much time to think about it, he actually clutters his thoughts.”
Mark recounts seeing this with the older Thai trainers, something I’d seen as well. “The retired champions, I’d see them drinking and smoking and not training. But they could take fights and stay so relaxed because they had so much experience. I saw one retired champ who was horribly out of shape take a big fight, and by the fifth round he was putting on an old-school clinic—spinning elbows, climbing up on the guy. I could relate to that now. If you got no pressure, nothing to lose, and you’re mentally content, you can fight and not get tired, stay within your parameters.
“I learned a lot about the mental game from the Thais. I think the biggest thing about what they do is they’re very proud of the art, of their camp. They have the utmost respect for muay Thai. It’s really the one thing they claim as theirs. The only reason Thailand has always been free is that muay Thai has always been around to protect it. When you have something you hold dear, you consider sacred, it’s harder to take it from you. For the kids who fight, it becomes about business much later on, but they always have that base pride to rely on.”
On the other side of the country, at the Fairtex muay Thai gym in San Francisco, I spoke to an old-school Thai fighter named Jongsanan, the “Wooden Man.” He’d earned that nickname because he took so much damage and never seemed hurt; when opponents kicked him he seemed made of wood. Jongsanan is a decent-sized Thai but still short, with a big round head, battered doughy face, and heavy scars over his eyes. He was smiling, enjoying himself, his mind sharp and his grasp of English good, even though his accent is thick, and he speaks in a soft Thai burble. His real name is Anucha Chaiyasen, “Noom” to his friends, but to me he was Jongsanan. He was a little bored with me, but still happy and pleasant with that natural Thai goodness and warmth that is so refreshing. He had been a two-time Lumpini champion and an ISKA welterweight champion, among other things. He was a Fairtex lifer, brought to San Francisco to help anchor the gym in America. He spoke quickly and laughed all the time at himself.
“I’m really quiet. I’m not mean or an asshole. I listen to my trainer. That’s it. My trainer tells me one thing, I do one thing. If he tells me two things, I do two things.” He grinned and shook his head. That’s it. In Thailand, that’s the mental game. It’s not complicated.
“I am slow. In the gym they call me big head, balloon head. Twenty years ago in the camp they call me balloon, at Bang Pli.” Bang Pli Fairtex was the same camp I had spent six months at, back in 2000.
“My first trainer, Molit, was the big trainer for me. He brought me up and took care of me. When I was at the top it was different. ‘Jongsanan’ becomes my style. ‘Forward, don’t show pain.’
“It all comes down to my trainer. If you don’t listen to them you out. Because of gambling. They control you, to be wooden man. I don’t want to be wooden man, I want to be a smart guy.” Here he makes the arm gestures of a muay Thai fighter with a shifty, smooth style. “But my trainer control me, and Philip [the owner of the camp] behind me, too. He wants strong fighters, good fighters that are aggressive and strong. Every trainer has a different technique of looking at the body, to teach him how to be a forward fighter, or a technical fighter. Or fast fighter, or heavy punch, or leg kick, it
Mark recounts seeing this with the older Thai trainers, something I’d seen as well. “The retired champions, I’d see them drinking and smoking and not training. But they could take fights and stay so relaxed because they had so much experience. I saw one retired champ who was horribly out of shape take a big fight, and by the fifth round he was putting on an old-school clinic—spinning elbows, climbing up on the guy. I could relate to that now. If you got no pressure, nothing to lose, and you’re mentally content, you can fight and not get tired, stay within your parameters.
“I learned a lot about the mental game from the Thais. I think the biggest thing about what they do is they’re very proud of the art, of their camp. They have the utmost respect for muay Thai. It’s really the one thing they claim as theirs. The only reason Thailand has always been free is that muay Thai has always been around to protect it. When you have something you hold dear, you consider sacred, it’s harder to take it from you. For the kids who fight, it becomes about business much later on, but they always have that base pride to rely on.”
On the other side of the country, at the Fairtex muay Thai gym in San Francisco, I spoke to an old-school Thai fighter named Jongsanan, the “Wooden Man.” He’d earned that nickname because he took so much damage and never seemed hurt; when opponents kicked him he seemed made of wood. Jongsanan is a decent-sized Thai but still short, with a big round head, battered doughy face, and heavy scars over his eyes. He was smiling, enjoying himself, his mind sharp and his grasp of English good, even though his accent is thick, and he speaks in a soft Thai burble. His real name is Anucha Chaiyasen, “Noom” to his friends, but to me he was Jongsanan. He was a little bored with me, but still happy and pleasant with that natural Thai goodness and warmth that is so refreshing. He had been a two-time Lumpini champion and an ISKA welterweight champion, among other things. He was a Fairtex lifer, brought to San Francisco to help anchor the gym in America. He spoke quickly and laughed all the time at himself.
“I’m really quiet. I’m not mean or an asshole. I listen to my trainer. That’s it. My trainer tells me one thing, I do one thing. If he tells me two things, I do two things.” He grinned and shook his head. That’s it. In Thailand, that’s the mental game. It’s not complicated.
“I am slow. In the gym they call me big head, balloon head. Twenty years ago in the camp they call me balloon, at Bang Pli.” Bang Pli Fairtex was the same camp I had spent six months at, back in 2000.
“My first trainer, Molit, was the big trainer for me. He brought me up and took care of me. When I was at the top it was different. ‘Jongsanan’ becomes my style. ‘Forward, don’t show pain.’
“It all comes down to my trainer. If you don’t listen to them you out. Because of gambling. They control you, to be wooden man. I don’t want to be wooden man, I want to be a smart guy.” Here he makes the arm gestures of a muay Thai fighter with a shifty, smooth style. “But my trainer control me, and Philip [the owner of the camp] behind me, too. He wants strong fighters, good fighters that are aggressive and strong. Every trainer has a different technique of looking at the body, to teach him how to be a forward fighter, or a technical fighter. Or fast fighter, or heavy punch, or leg kick, it
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