My first fight in Thailand
How training with champions made me step into the ring
A Muay Thai fight is made of 5 rounds. Each round is 3 minutes. You might fight for a shorter period, if you knock out your opponent — or if they get to you first.
Now picture the arena. It’s hot and humid and cramped: just one of the buzzing boxing stadiums in Thailand. Locals and tourists are on their feet and shouting from their seats. In the ring, two fighters are standing in opposite corners — preparing to touch gloves and then exchange punches, kicks, knees, and elbows until one of them is down flat on the ground.
I was one of those fighters, 3 months ago.
Here’s the story behind it all.
Getting my Muay Thai mojo back
January 1, 2018. I got off the cab in Soi Taied: one of the capitals of Muay Thai boxing in Thailand. The moment that I arrived at my training camp, I was struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. I remembered discovering these magical grounds the year before when I came to train Thai boxing for the first time — but I’d been clueless back then about the experience that was ahead of me. This time around, I was excited and knew what was coming — or so I thought.
My first training session was a real shock to my body.
I hadn’t trained Muay Thai for a while. I had become accustomed to sitting in a chair in front of a laptop — not punching and kicking for countless repetitions. My trainers were quick to comment that I had forgotten everything. Halfway through that first session, I could barely breathe. I threw in the towel — literally and figuratively — and went back to my room to shower and sleep. I was deeply disappointed in myself.
But my lingering sense of failure lasted only 8 hours. The next morning, I woke up with a new determination to get my Muay Thai mojo back. I had always known that I had to put in hours to see results. Last year, it had taken me 30 days of training every day to even be able to land a proper right kick.
How long would it take this time? I had no idea. But I could try and picture myself, two months from now: a more skilled, confident, ready Thai boxer — and a stronger woman. It was a journey that was worth painfully waking up at dawn to train. Thai fighters know this the best out of all of us: there’s no shortcut to success.
Upping the intensity: joining a fighters’ gym
I was so determined to improve that I joined a professional fighters’ gym a week into my training. I wanted to experience how real fighters trained.
I got what I came for.
While my first camp was welcoming, this one was at best army-like. A regular day started at 6AM with an hour-long run with the fighters — followed by two hours of padwork, bag work and sparring. 11AM brought food on the communal table. (Fried fish most days for breakfast. Why not?) Our routine would resume at 4PM. This time, under the crushing afternoon sun.
However, I never dared to utter a word of complaint, because every fighter around me was an incredible role model. The youngest among them weren’t even ten years-old: they were training Muay Thai away from their family to prepare for their fighting career and try to make some earnings.
Every time that I felt weary, I’d look next to me and see them in the middle of their 201st kick, even if the trainer had asked for only 200. They never raised a fuss. The trainer wanted 200 knees on the heavy bag? They would go ahead. Another 3-mile run after an already exhausting training session? No problem. Today’s bruises were small in comparison to the dream of becoming a champion tomorrow.
Training in total immersion with these fighters taught me an eye-opening lesson: resilience isn’t a personal trait, but rather a skill that you can (and should) develop and sharpen. In the most challenging moments of our personal and professional lives, the simple decision to keep going might just be the key to making real progress.
So as the days went by, a thought that I’d never contemplated before crept its way into my mind: the thought of fighting myself. I had to do it.
From the gym to the ring: fighting for the very first time
When it comes to fighting, most people start off doing small inter-clubs. Then they graduate to amateur fights, which provides a semblance of protection in the form of shin guards and limited rules. But the biggest dream that every fighter dreams is to one day take part in a pro fight. In Thailand, promoters jump at the opportunity to match Thai fighters with farangs — or what they call foreigners.
I had never fought in my life. I had never really gotten punched in the face. I hadn’t even sparred that much up until then. It was madness that I was even contemplating the notion of fighting for the very first time in Thailand.
But I wanted to take the leap. I needed an end goal and it was important for me to put my skills to the test.
I remembered reading about how women tended to wait until they feel ‘perfectly ready’ to apply for a job — wanting to ‘tick all the boxes’ before interviewing. I wanted to show that sometimes we needed to fly before we could walk — and that flying wouldn’t necessarily always spell disaster for women.
So when my trainer said: “You fight? Next week?” I said yes. It was time.
The big day arrived.
I entered the back room of the stadium: a small, unadorned spot where the fighters were prepared. I got oiled up with Thai liniment oil. While I waited for my turn, I started shadow boxing. I got my first glimpse of my opponent in that room: a Thai girl, slightly younger and slightly bigger than me. I discovered later she had already fought 10 times.
Less than an hour later, it was time to step into the ring.
The bell rang. It was on.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous at all. As my trainer had wrapped my hands in the waiting room, I’d felt like there was no other place I needed to be. Now all of my training overtook any last-minute jitters, even as the first round was a slow start. We were both setting up simple combinations to test the opponent’s style. The Thais are renowned for using knees and elbows while Western fighters tend to rely more on punching power, and we were no exception to the rule. Her knees landed perfectly on my stomach. I retaliated with penetrating uppercuts. It was odd to hit an actual person — not a bag, not a pad. In the first few rounds, I was hesitant to throw my elbows. But by the time the third round started, I was no longer holding back.
The truth is that I had no real game plan going into the match: my trainers had explained that there was no need for one. Trust your body, they’d said. Your reflexes will take over and your body will go on autopilot. But midway through the match, my mind kicked in and it hit me that my opponent had been landing more points due to her more aggressive fighting style. I cannot lose this, I remember thinking while my trainer wiped out the buckets of sweat off my forehead. I had worked hard for this moment. It was not the time to be nice and compromising. It was not the time to nod and smile. It was the time to fight back.
I gave everything I had in the last two rounds. She was too strong for a knockout, but I landed a strong left hook. The already boisterous crowd burst into roars and shouted instructions at me in Thai that I couldn’t understand. That was when I realized that her mouth guard had flown out of her mouth — outside of the ring. My trainers were cheering. One of them was shouting at me: “Now… just defence!” If I could just keep my opponent at bay for the remaining 45 seconds of the fight, I would win.
The bell rang the end of the final round. I was bent over and gasping for breath, but the referee reached over and raised my hand.
I had won.
‘You have heart.’
During the car ride back to camp, I was restless. I couldn’t seem to quietly enjoy the victory. Instead, my perfectionist nature took over and I bombarded my trainers with questions through Google Translate: What could have I done differently? What aspects of my technique did I need to focus on to get better? Should I have kicked more?
Sure, I had won. But I was intensely aware of the steep learning curve ahead of me.
But my trainer didn’t deliver the post-fight retrospective I was looking for. He was smiling. “You have heart”, he said, instead. I shut up quickly to listen. ‘Having heart’ is a great compliment in Muay Thai culture. It means you’re giving everything you got. You’re going forward. You want to win more than anything else. You’re fighting with tenacity and courage.
“Just continue to have heart, and you will be a better fighter.”
It took a few minutes to sink in. Sometimes, grit and heart matter more than all the techniques that you can learn. I knew that I would need to hold on to my fighter’s attitude to progress further in boxing — and life. Especially since I would be flying back to London the following week: ready to return to my everyday routine and incredibly motivated from that point forward to take on new challenges in my professional life.
Want to find out more about Muay Thai? Need a hand planning your own training camp? Drop me a line: mathildeleo@gmail.com
