Feat first
By Alexander Reynolds
(Filed: 24/08/2005)

Alexander Reynolds, aged 35, plans to step into a Thai kick-boxing ring for his debut pro fight. Fun or folly?

Muay Thai is a devastating martial art and a gruelling sport. Why would any sane 35-year-old man - with all of his own, expensively maintained, teeth - take it up? And not only take it up as a hobby but also, following an offer from the Don King of Bangkok, sign up for a professional bout?

Alexander Reynolds learns a lesson the hard way

I have been lying awake asking myself those very questions. Because very soon I will take on a Thai middleweight in a big-time, fee-paying professional fight at the Pink Panther in Patpong, Thailand.

Muay Thai kick-boxing has been big in Britain since the late 1980s, when the film Kickboxer, starring Jean-Claude Van Damme, inspired legions of wannabe pugilists to get into the ring. Jean-Claude inspired me, too. I started training at the age of 18, at the Bob Breen Academy in London. Breen's stable produced many a thoroughbred, including Winston Fraser, the British light-heavyweight champion. I trained there, on and off, for 15 years. For fun.

When my wife was posted to Thailand, I got excited by the prospect of training in the country that gave birth to kick-boxing. Admittedly, I was a little long in the tooth, but I started looking around for somewhere I could get to the heart of Muay Thai.

It is a serious sport. Kick-boxers jab, cross, hook and upper-cut, just like Western boxers; but they also front-kick, round-kick, knee, elbow and wrestle. No wonder it is called "the art of eight limbs". As well as strength, it requires great flexibility, timing and nimble footwork. I became so flexible in my London days that one night at a party, dared by friends, I did the splits for the ballerina Darcy Bussell. She said she was impressed.

Bouts are five three-minute rounds. Punches are considered the soft shots. Kicks are used to close the gap in a fight. Bone-crunching knee and elbow combinations deliver a knockout. A shot from an elbow always cuts.

What I needed was a good place to train. I found Rompo Gym, a corrugated hut in a car park. It has two full-sized rings, a dozen punch-bags, and makes my London club look like Buckingham Palace. The roof leaks, the lavatory doesn't flush, the shower is a bin full of water and cockroaches, and rats run in when the street floods. But fighters from all over the world train here and they match the Thais kick for kick.

There are six giants from Dagestan, all world champions, a posse from France and a few Britons. Most are champions in their own country or of Europe, or former world title-holders looking to get their crown back. I couldn't believe my luck. With so much talent around me, I would be instantly inspired back to ring shape.

Instantly? Not quite. Training is a full-time job. Fighters run six miles every morning, practise on an array of punch-bags and, if they are trying to make the weight for a bout, finish the night with another run. You start with a thorough head-to-toe warm-up - body bends and limb rotations. Five minutes of skipping or shadow-boxing follow.

Then you do dynamic stretches - leg raises, back arches, knees and kicks. Then five rounds with a trainer on thick, foam-filled leather pads. All the trainers know your weaknesses and test out reflexes by occasionally whacking you with combinations of punches and kicks. The heat saps energy and fighters sip water between rounds to stave off dehydration. If it rains, water drips from the roof on to the canvas and it gets slippery.

All the trainers at Rompo are ex-champs and look in good shape for guys well into middle age. One of my trainers is 60 and can still kick like a horse. After all, this is the school of hard knocks. I am no model pupil. I keep forgetting to block round-kicks with my shin and am constantly being shouted at. I even acquire a new nickname. "Hey, Whisky," they yell. "Block kick."

The average session burns 800 calories an hour. You may have bruises, but if you are looking for a hard cardiovascular work-out, this is it. After a few months of training, I lost two stone.

Last week, Ajarn Pek, Bangkok's Don King, approached me. "How much you weigh?" I told him 73kg. "You want fight?" he replied. "I need fighter for Pink Panther."

I know the Pink Panther. Madison Square Garden it ain't. It is a pole-dancing bar in the middle of seedy Patpong. But what the heck. Even Bruce Lee had to start somewhere.

I asked Shuki, my Israeli pal and a world champ, what he thought. Shuki was positive. "Eighty per cent chance you win. If you want, we can go there." The usual drill for a fighter new to the Bangkok scene is to have three bouts at the Pink Panther before going for bigger fights.

I asked if I would be paid. I would. What was the size of my purse? "Four hundred baht." About £5. Just enough for a round in the Embassy bar or eight chickens in Klong Toey market, or a new pair of boxing shorts. But then, how often does a chap get an offer from Mr Pek?

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