One Life One Chance

by Luke Richmond

  Before setting off to find my accommodation I decide to have a walk through the camp to get my bearings. Directly behind the office as I moved inside was a boxing ring, raised up onto a metre-high platform, surrounded by a dozen men, all partnered off and sparring each other. Inside the ring were two other pairs doing the same with four Thai trainers moving through the group yelling commands and holding pads. The training area was covered by a tin roof with no walls, just a few banana trees and plants creating separation from the outside. It was sweltering hot and sweat was pouring from their shirtless bodies and pooling up on the floor around them. There was no air conditioning or fans, it was all open-air, and I was sweating simply walking through watching the group kicking, punching, throwing elbows and wrestling each other. I would find out later that this was the pro fighters training area. These guys trained and fought in Thailand all year round and took their Muay Thai very seriously.

  Further into the camp was the intermediate training area, it looked the same as the pro fighters’ ring at the front except this group were striving to get promoted to the professionals. Pro fighters could fight for the camp and earn the rewards that came along with winning fights. The rewards were nowhere near western standards but they could earn enough to live and train comfortably in Thailand. Close to the middle of the camp was a small restaurant that served the clients daily and behind that was the beginner training area. This was the biggest area and had the most trainers working with guys and girls to teach them the art of Thai kickboxing. There were toilets and shower blocks located in the middle of the camp and right at the back was a small weights gym for everybody to use.

  At the back left corner there was a small caged ring surrounded by another training area. This was the mixed martial arts section where Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and striking for cage fighting were taught. The men training in this area were all wearing long shorts and tight tops and were ferociously wrestling each other on the ground and not holding back with the intensity of their punches. I was blown away by this camp already; I could feel the energy of the place, smell the scent of sweat and Tiger Balm and hear the effort of everyone trying the improve themselves. I was intimidated yet excited to start my training, but first I needed water and sleep or I wasn’t going to last another hour.

  The front office had pointed me in the direction of Tony’s, a short walk away from the camp. The street was lined with a rubber tree plantation and jungle. Along the way to Tony’s were a few small Thai restaurants, some other bungalow accommodation and a pharmacy. I knew I had arrived at the right place when I saw the sign saying ‘Tony’s’ at the front and out walked a short Thai man with a pot belly yelling ‘Hello sir, I am Tony, you stay here, yes?’ I said ‘Absolutely’ and his face was all smiles. We negotiated a monthly rate of about 220 Australian dollars for a nice little bungalow with air conditioning, no TV and a rock-hard bed. Tony offered me some dinner, which I couldn’t refuse, and after a chicken fried rice, a pad thai and a belly full of water I retired to my bungalow for a cold shower and a much needed sleep. The following day would be day one of my training and my first step in a new direction.

  …

  I had a semi-restless night’s sleep while getting used to the solid bed and still cleaning out my system from the London toxins, and arrived at Tiger early the next morning. I purchased the Thai fighter starter pack from the front office, consisting of a mouthguard, hand wraps and boxing gloves, and made my way over to the beginner area for my first session. The class started at 7 am and the Thai trainers arrived and gathered all of the beginners together in a circle facing inwards. With no hello or welcome introduction the head trainer gave his command and the warm up began with the group running in a large circle left, then right, then left again. Doing various knee-up drills, side shuffles, push-ups, sit-ups and shadow boxing, we were twenty-five minutes into the class and still warming up.

  Sweat was pouring from my body and I was light-headed from the humidity. Finally the command was given to drink water and pair up. Rushing to my bottle I gulped down half of it and knew I had made a mistake in only bringing one. I was partnered up with a big European guy; no names were exchanged as I think those pleasantries were lost during fight training. For the next two hours we completed round after round of sparring, bag work, pad work and endless push-ups. I was out of water and sweat was cascading from my body onto the floor around me. Before starting the session I knew I wouldn’t perform to my best ability but I set myself the goal of just not giving up, no matter what.

  Two and a half hours into the session the command was given to stop, take off our gloves and complete 200 sit-ups and 200 more push-ups. I was totally exhausted and on the brink of collapse by the time I’d finished the sit-ups and had started on the push-ups. I noticed the push-ups of the other guys – in the military we had to get our chest to touch the ground and then return to a full locked-out arm position at the top for a push-up to count, here, I noticed most people were doing half reps. I knew this would make my sets easier but something in my head wouldn’t allow me to concede to half reps, even while doing 200. Throughout the session every punch I threw, every kick I landed and every drop of sweat that hit the floor was a small step in cleansing the shame of drink and drugs from myself. It wasn’t the police washing the filth from me this time, it was me.

  The reps were completed and the trainers had us back in our circle stretching down. When the final command was given for the end of the session we had been going for three hours. I was a zombie and staggered out, back towards my bungalow. How I was ever going to be able to do this again in the evening I didn’t know. I gulped down as much water as my belly would hold, showered, ate a huge lunch of fried rice, eggs, chicken breast and a coconut then collapsed into my bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  I woke up four hours later and my body felt like it had played back-to-back games of rugby, every single muscle fibre was sore. Just sitting up in bed was an effort and I had two hours before the 4 pm session was due to start, which I knew was going to be another gruelling three hours. I had to eat to get energy or I wasn’t going to make it, so sitting at Tony’s little restaurant I consumed rice, scrambled eggs, fruit salad, a protein shake and coffee. I felt slightly better after eating, and taking two big bottles of water with me I started the walk back to Tiger.

  The afternoon session was in the same format as the morning and I wasn’t feeling too bad until we had about an hour to go and I began to run out of energy; I was exhausted. My sit-ups and push-ups at the end were dismal and the trainers decided to throw in 300 knees to the bag to make up for it. Stumbling home afterwards I was so tired all I could think about was sleep but I knew I had to eat if I had any hope of sustaining this intensity. I forced down as much food as little Tony could cook for me and collapsed into my bed. I had just completed my first day of Muay Thai training, six hours of exercise in my first day of getting clean. I hadn’t performed well, I knew I could do better but I was also proud that I hadn’t quit and that I was actually here doing it and changing the course of my life. I set my alarm for 6 am and when my head touched the pillow, before a single thought could be conjured I was asleep.

  My routine for the following few weeks was one of survival and progression. I was definitely getting fitter doing six hours per day of training and my mind and body were slowly coming back to a place I had known before: one of performance, confidence and limitless energy. Tiger camp became my home and with it came a family of friends from all over the world. On any given day at one of the tables at Tiger I could be sitting next to fitness freaks, fighters, alcoholics, drug dealers, millionaires or a sheik from Dubai. It was an amazing place that attracted people from all over the world, from all segments of society and cultures. The common denominator was we were all there to make a change in our lives and that’s what bound us together each day, a survival instinct and a desire for something different.

  I met a guy named Randy at Tiger, he was an American Marine veteran, around forty y
ears old, who was there training and fighting Muay Thai. One thing that he thought the camp was missing from its schedule was some pure fitness-style classes. Randy said one day that he could take us for a class he called BodyFit. I immediately liked Randy. His no bullshit attitude and his confidence were refreshing, so along with a handful of other guys we turned up for Randy’s first session. He did not disappoint, dealing us a ninety-minute smashing that I hadn’t experienced since the military. It almost broke me. Burpees, squats, kettlebell swings, all mixed in with multiple tyre drags and runs, it was a nasty yet perfect relief from the monotonous punching and kicking I had been doing for weeks.

  Randy continued to run his class from that day forward and it became a permanent fixture in the camp schedule. I really enjoyed BodyFit; more than anything else, it gave me a taste of the military training from years before. It was really tough and focused on many different aspects of my training that were lacking. His classes grew from the five of us in the beginning to twenty, thirty and forty people some days, with an equal mix of guys and girls. This balanced out my training week perfectly. I’d do BodyFit every morning, Muay Thai every afternoon and every second day I would be in the weights gym working on my strength. My desire to party was destroyed by my desire to be the fittest and strongest I could be. My mind was clear, I was focused on my goals and I was happy.

  At the southern end of Phuket there is a mountain that has a big Buddha statue and a temple at its summit. The Buddha is 45 metres high and 25 metres wide, could be seen from our street and looks incredible around sunrise and sunset. I made running up to this temple part of my weekly routine, as a test of my fitness and simply to take in the pristine surroundings. Running has never been terribly hard for me and I enjoy the way my mind wanders when I run, contemplating the various issues of the world. One thing I realised once I was sober was that while I was drinking and partying I was never thinking about anything of substance or importance. It was great to have an active mind again, to be reading and writing and, at least in my own mind, solving the world’s problems.

  The little street that I called home seemed like an oasis in a turbulent world. The street had its own life force and a vibrant energy, however it also had its fair share of drama. After staying for over a month I named the street Ramsay Street, after the hit TV show in Australia called Neighbours. Every day it seemed like there was another funny story or another drama circulating to keep me entertained, from the ‘who’s sleeping with who’ to the constant scooter crashes, there was never a dull moment.

  Ramsay Street was twenty minutes away from the party district of Patong and on any given Sunday, while having breakfast at Tony’s, I enjoyed watching the walk of shame procession that followed a night out in sin city. As I was now avoiding the party scene I was privy to the aftermath of the night before, and as I sipped away on my coffee and ate my scrambled eggs the show would begin. Leaving Tony’s bungalows I would see a western girl with deeply ingrained make-up from a night of sweating and dancing. As she walked past the restaurant to the taxi rank down the street I would offer a smile of support. Tony would come and sit with me sometimes and we would giggle away together. Often there would be Thai girls following, appearing a little bit less energetic than I’m sure they were a few hours before. On one occasion an absolutely stunning, tall Thai lady walked past and Tony leant in closer and whispered into my ear ‘Lady Boy’. I said ‘No way’, she couldn’t possibly be, but he was right. On closer examination, the bigger hands and slightly masculine frame gave it away. Thailand was famous for the beauty of its trans community but until you see them up close you can never appreciate it.

  Tony was known as the little godfather of the street. Not to be fooled by his 4-foot stature, he carried some heavy weight in the community. Whenever travellers got into trouble with the local police Tony was always their first call; he was known to get you out of a serious incident before it was too late. For tourists, the consequences of getting involved in an altercation in Thailand can be brutal, and I heard of a fair few horror stories while I was there.

  The most brutal story I heard about the Thai world was when Russian businessmen were venturing into Phuket buying up all of the nightclubs. The Thai mafia seemed to be okay with letting this happen and did nothing to hinder their purchases. Then, however, the Russians wanted to get into the tuk-tuk (taxi) business. This was a bad decision by the Russians – the taxis were extremely lucrative and belonged to the Thais, leading to an underground war. It culminated in three Russians having their heads cut off with a machete and their bodies hanging out the front of their nightclubs. Tuk-tuks stayed in Thai ownership and the war was over.

  This was the world I had come to know and love; as chaotic as it was, it all seemed to make sense to me. I was thinking clearly again, training like a machine and making plans for what came next. I was reading adventure books and my mind started to drift towards a question that I had asked myself many times before. Do I have what it takes to be like the explorers I am reading about? As I glanced over a list of the biggest mountains on each continent I believed I did.

  I had come to Thailand to escape the London scene and begin a new chapter in my life and Tiger Muay Thai had given me more than I could ever have imagined. This place had cleansed my soul, through sweat and pain, giving me a chance to think and analyse my past and show me a world outside the drink and drugs. I met people in Thailand who would become lifelong friends, and in helping myself get clean, I could help others who turned up every week in a similar condition to what I was in on arrival. It had been two months of glorious transformation and I was ready to immerse myself back into the ‘real’ world.

  …

  As I hadn’t worked for so long and had minimal savings when I arrived, I was rapidly approaching broke and I needed to get myself back into the workforce fast. I was very fortunate to learn that my mum had started working for a company back in Australia that trained people to work in the mines. Mum, being the resourceful people person that she is, had talked to a small company working in the underground coal mines who had agreed to give me a job if I was willing to live locally. ‘Local’ meant flying home to Australia and making my way out to a small town in central Queensland named Emerald. After careful consideration and weighing up all of my other options, of which there were few, I agreed to the job and booked my flight for home. I said goodbye to my Tiger family and said farewell to Ramsay Street knowing in my heart that one day I would be back there again, training in the heat of this amazing country.

  Emerald is a town built on the back of a mining boom that has sustained the Australian economy for decades. Coal was being extracted from the earth in ever-increasing quantities and nobody forecast a decline in the world’s need for the black gold. Working in mining can earn upwards of $150,000 dollars a year with no experience, and that’s what I was there for. One week after departing Thailand I found myself in a classroom sitting through five days of endless slideshows and exams covering every aspect of operating in a dangerous underground environment. I had a clear mind and a brain operating at the necessary level to blitz all of the testing and the following week I was ready to start my first shift as a miner.

  I was employed as a contractor which meant I was not a full-time miner and could be let go at any time. This suited me fine as I wasn’t looking for a career I was just after the money. Travelling underground for the first time was intimidating and after learning about miners getting trapped and dying from cave-ins during the course, I didn’t know what to expect. I was wearing overalls, a helmet with a light so I could see in the pitch-black of the tunnels, a belt holding a battery for my headlamp and an evacuation mask. The mask would allow me just enough time breathing clean, filtered air to evacuate the pit in case of an emergency. Our biggest dangers underground were poisonous gases and cave-ins, which apparently were a rare occurrence.

  I loaded into a specially designed vehicle that looked like a steel-plated dune buggy out of the Mad Max films. These vehicles were p
owered by diesel, with built-in scrubber tanks to filter the exhaust so they didn’t pollute our air with dangerous fumes; all that exits the exhaust pipe is air and water. Seconds later we were heading towards the rectangular tunnel entrance, 6 metres wide and 4 metres high. Once through the opening it was pitch-black, only the vehicle’s small headlights illuminating the way forward. The roof and walls of the tunnel are the earth’s crust and protruding out from every angle were large steel bolts that I later learnt get drilled into the walls and ceiling to help prevent their collapse. Steel mesh was pinned on with the bolts and the entire scene looked like a tetanus infection waiting to happen.

  I was the new guy and because I had no idea what I was doing I was a possible danger to those around me. Like all new miners I wore a yellow hard hat instead of the standard white, informing anybody working with or around me that I should be watched and double-checked for safety. It took thirty minutes of driving through tunnels and pressure doors to get to the bottom of the mine where I was going to be working. When the headlights finally turned off it was a full blackout; I literally couldn’t see my hands in front of my face. Turning on my headlight brought the harsh environment back into vision and even though it wasn’t a powerful light on the surface, down at the bottom it was a lighthouse. The battery pack on my belt was supposed to last an entire twelve-hour shift and had to be put back on the charger at the end of the day.