Blood, Sweat, and Pride: Life of MMA Fighters

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Photo: Andrey Gromico & Arimacs Wilander

Brendan Schaub clearly remembers that bitter moment. After winning four consecutive times, it was time to face Roy Nelson. In one moment, when Schaub threw a left punch, Nelson launched a counter punch that hit Schaub’s head. He collapsed. Nelson threw another punch, and the referee intervened. The fight was over.

Lying on the mat, Schaub looked dazed. The Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu brown belt felt all eyes on him. He also thought that there wasn’t a single person in the world who didn’t see him lying on the mat.“That was the worst night of my life. I felt like my career was over. I disappointed everyone, my family, my friends, everyone,” he said.

Fast forward nine years, Sony Rizaldi felt the same way.

I noticed the bandage on the back left side of his head when I first met Sony at Siam Training Camp, Pasar Minggu, South Jakarta. The bandage covered the wound he got during a fight against Fajar, a fighter from the Saint Martial Arts Academy, Bandung.On April 7, 2018, these two fighters entered the octagon — the eight-sided ring used for mixed martial arts (MMA) matches — to compete for the Bantamweight title at One Pride's Fight Night 18, Fearless Night.

Before their fight began, Sony had already started a psychological war.

"I'm definitely more complete. Sure, we both train, but my experience is way more than Fajar’s," Sony said.

Sony indeed had a long history in martial arts. In Medan, his hometown, his name was well-known. Although he started his career as a karate athlete, Sony's name rose to fame thanks to wushu. In 2010, he represented Indonesia at the junior world wushu championship in Singapore. In 2014, he won gold at the ASEAN University Games and helped Indonesia become the overall wushu champion.

Before facing Fajar, Sony had a record of three consecutive wins. On the other hand, Fajar had one loss and two wins. Tapology predicted an 82 percent chance of Sony winning. But the prediction was wrong.

That night, Fajar fought smart. He repeatedly forced Sony to the ground, making Sony seem exhausted and struggling to launch solid attacks. In the climax of round 4, after dodging a right hook, Fajar grabbed Sony’s leg. Sony tried hard to stay upright but failed. Fajar managed to slam his opponent, though his head was tightly locked.

After grappling for several seconds, Fajar managed to get a good position on top of Sony. Since his arms were immobilized, Fajar eventually straightened his legs. Moments later, BAM! Fajar’s knee struck the back of Sony’s head. Blood began to flow.

The referee stopped the fight temporarily. Both fighters stood and moved away. Sony went to the corner, his body covered in blood. The doctor entered the ring to examine Sony’s condition. The referee then warned Fajar for breaking the rules by striking the back of the head.

"Be careful about what you can't see, that was a hit to the back of the head," said the referee to Fajar.

After the doctor stopped the bleeding, the referee asked Sony: can you continue the fight? Sony firmly nodded. Then the referee gave the signal. Fight!

"It could’ve ended right there, no contest. But it felt like someone whispered to me to keep going," said Sony when I met him 16 days after the fight.

The blow to Sony’s head had a significant impact. The hard hit to the back of his head clearly caused dizziness, even making the world seem to spin. But he didn’t want to end the fight just like that. He kept going, even managing to land a solid kick at the end of round 4. In the end, Sony lost by referee decision in round 5.

Sony said he already felt strange before the fight began. His body felt weak and he couldn’t throw punches freely. It felt like something was holding him back, he said.

"That wasn't me. Everyone who knows me would say that wasn’t the real me. I don’t even know why."

"Nervous?" I asked, reminding him that the fight was for the championship belt.

"Before this, I had already fought twice in live matches. So I wasn't nervous at all."

"Because you were exhausted from being forced to play on the ground?"

"Oh, not really. At Siam, we also learn Brazilian jiu-jitsu, the instructor is a black belt. So if the fight keeps going to the ground, it’s not a problem."

The worst part of losing is the wasted preparation leading up to the fight. It’s hard to accept that the opponent becomes the winner after months of rigorous training. I saw firsthand how tough the training was for Siam’s fighters.

Teguh Wartana, one of Sony's trainers, said the loss might have been caused by the anxiety over the championship belt. Every fighter, Teguh said, feels nervous before stepping into the ring. The way they handle it varies. If they can’t break free from fear and worry, a fighter will struggle to perform. Throwing punches feels heavy, and kicking feels like their legs are weighed down by sandbags.

After the fight, Sony ran away from the Siam dormitory. He disappeared for more than two weeks. Sony only chuckled and refused to answer when I asked what he had been doing while he was gone.

What does it feel like to lose for the first time?

"Disappointed, of course. But I can’t blame anyone," Sony said.

"Did you cry?"

He shook his head while chuckling. A commuter train passed right behind the gym. The EDM music playing from the speaker was drowned out. Sony, the 175 cm tall fighter, looked me straight in the eye.

"Losing and winning are normal. But this is about pride."

Starting an Afternoon at Siam

Siam Training Camp was established in 2013. At that time, it was still a Muay Thai gym. Its first location was in a shophouse in the Tebet area, South Jakarta.

"It was crowded back then. In one day, up to 40 people could train," said Sigit Sumarsono, CEO and founder of Siam.

The place was considered less representative. One of Sigit's partners offered a new place on Jalan Batu I, not far from Pasar Minggu Baru Station. Right behind the gym, two Electric Rail Tracks ran across. Every few minutes, a train would pass by. Sigit agreed to his friend's offer, and Siam officially moved to the new location in 2015.

"It's not as stuffy here as when I was training in the shophouse," he said.

Even though it attracted many enthusiasts, Muay Thai was lacking in competitions. At the same time, mixed martial arts (MMA) were on the rise, giving birth to fighters with strong personas. The global popularity of the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) also significantly influenced the growing interest in MMA. Finally, despite sticking to its Muay Thai roots, Siam began exploring the MMA route by opening classes in sanda, boxing, kickboxing, and Brazilian jiu-jitsu.

I first set foot in Siam Training Camp on the afternoon of April 18, 2018. Inside, there was an octagon, similar to the ones used in professional MMA fights. To the right of the ring, there were eight punching bags, including one made from three stacked tires. The space had open walls between the roof and the sides, allowing the wind to freely enter.

The first person I saw was a man with thinning white hair, almost bald. He walked with a slight tilt. Soon after, a woman came out from the corner of the room. From their faces, it seemed like they had just woken up.

"Aaaa, aaaaa, aaaaa," the man said with a big smile when he saw me.

It turned out that he was mute. I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and wrote: what is your name, sir? He then wrote below it: Eko. Then he laughed. He went back inside the corner of the gym, a room that he and his wife used as their living space. Not long after, he came out again with several glasses of drinks. There was tea, coffee, and orange juice.

Shortly after, the person I had been waiting for arrived: Priscilla Hertati Lumban Gaol. This 29-year-old woman is an Atomweight fighter competing in ONE Championship. Atom is a weight class used in several MMA promotions for women. It is the lightest class, with a weight limit between 48-50 kilograms.

Tati, her nickname, won against Filipino fighter Krisna Limbaga on February 23, 2018. In the Quest for Gold event held in Yangon, Myanmar, Tati dominated the fight.

Relying on her ground game, Tati wrapped herself around Krisna like an anaconda squeezing its prey. Although Krisna managed to stand up and tried to break free, Tati once again succeeded in slamming her. She then locked her opponent's head with her left arm and pinned Krisna's left arm between her legs. Plak, plak, plak! Krisna tapped three times, signaling her submission.

However, Tati's journey in the MMA world did not start smoothly. She lost her first two fights. Her preparation for entering the world of MMA was relatively quick. With only a month of preparation, she had to face Tiffany Teo in her first fight. But she managed to last until the third round, the final round.

"At that time, I didn’t really know the gaps in fighting," said Tati.

Like Sony, Tati also started in wushu. She holds a record of 15 wins and 5 losses. As an athlete, her achievements are quite impressive. In 2013, she represented Indonesia at the World Wushu Championships in the women’s 52-kilogram sanda class. In the event held in Malaysia, Tati won a bronze medal.

However, in a 2016 national sports event, she felt she was cheated by the host. Her frustration peaked.

"Imagine, after all that preparation, we were cheated just like that. That's when I decided to stop competing in wushu," she recalled.

The wushu competition itself ended in chaos, resulting in joint winners.

After deciding to retire from wushu, a friend invited Tati to learn MMA. She was interested and began learning various new disciplines. She learned Muay Thai and delved into Brazilian jiu-jitsu. It was late 2016. However, Tati's perseverance was met with rejection from her family, who did not like the idea of her pursuing MMA. In Indonesia, there are still very few women in MMA. Aside from Tati, Siam also has another wushu athlete, Melpida Sitohang.

"But now, my family has come to terms with it. My younger sibling is even starting to learn it as well," said Tati.

With four fights and two consecutive wins, Tati is one of the rising female fighters. In between training and teaching Muay Thai privately, Tati has been invited several times by TV stations to demonstrate MMA techniques.

On May 12, 2018, Tati will fight again at the ONE Championship event held at the Jakarta Convention Center. Her opponent will be Filipino fighter Rome Trinidad. On paper, Tati should be able to win, as her opponent has only had one fight, and she lost it. But nothing is certain in MMA. Tati does not want to be complacent. Her journey is still long.

"I want to gain recognition in this industry."

Waiting in Vain

If you have plenty of free time and happen to enjoy watching silly videos, YouTube's algorithm will likely lead you to a video titled Top 10 Idiots Who Challenged Professional Fighters.

As the title suggests, there are indeed people with zero fighting experience who challenge professional fighters. The result? While free fighting isn't an exact science, we know who ends up getting beaten without much of a fight.

In front of the mirror, I look at myself: a 30-ish year-old man with a belly bigger than his nose, weighing 80 kilograms — most of which comes from my belly. I think to myself, it's very likely that I would join the list of fools who willingly sign up to be beaten by professional fighters.

This desire arises naturally, much like the urge to jump when standing at a high place or when your body starts moving on its own when you hear "Jumping Jack Flash." At some point, the thought of what it would feel like to fight someone who has dedicated their time and energy to being a professional fighter might have crossed my mind. The difference is, some people keep that desire in check, while others are foolish enough to actually try it. For me, I’m somewhere in between.

My mind is torn between fulfilling a foolish desire, which may be a part of human nature, and the cringe-worthy thought of my head being pummeled by the fists and feet of professional fighters, who can shift a heavy punching bag a few centimeters with a single strike.

For the record, in my three decades on this earth, I’ve only been in two fights. And both of those happened nearly sixteen years ago. Since then, I’ve become a pacifist, believing that problems are best solved over coffee and laughter. I’ve never trained in martial arts, aside from a few karate classes in elementary school that I quit because laziness took over.

I didn’t keep my desire to spar with mixed martial arts athletes to myself. When I shared my foolish obsession with my wife, she just scoffed — she’s used to my impulsive desires — and teased me.

“Be careful. If one of them so much as breathes on you, your bones could break,” she mocked.

But her teasing had an impact on me. For a while, I decided to test the waters by joining the training of some Siamese fighters. As soon as I changed into my workout clothes, several athletes showed up, already drenched in sweat.

“They,” Tati said, pointing to the group running in rain jackets, “just finished running. That was their warm-up.”

“How far did they run?” I asked.

“Only five kilometers.”

I gulped. Even their warm-up was intimidating. And five kilometers is labeled as “only”? This is going to be an energy-draining test.

That evening, about 13 people gathered. Apart from Tati and Sony, I recognized Edowar "The Joker" Firnanda. Among the Siamese fighters, Edo fought the most: six times, with three wins and three losses. In his fifth match against Santoso, Edo’s right arm was broken in a lock, but he recovered in his sixth fight, five months after the injury.

“Losing for the first time is tough; it makes you anxious and sleepless,” Edo said to encourage Sony. “But after that, it’s just normal.”

The training started with running again, this time around the gym for about 10 minutes. However, after only six minutes — I noted it — my shins began to ache. I stopped and watched in disbelief as they continued running, joking as they went.

At this point, my desire to spar with any of them had already dropped to 80%.

“Why did you stop?” Deden, one of the coaches at the gym, asked.

I just grinned. Taking a little break, I said, explaining that I haven't exercised in a while.

“Don’t stop, it’ll only make you more tired,” Deden replied seriously.

Feeling embarrassed, I resumed running until the time was up. No one went to get a drink except for me. The athletes grabbed jump ropes instead. I took one too. Tati then set the stopwatch. I peeked at it: 20 minutes. Oh man. They started jumping, but I struggled. On my first jump, the rope hit my feet. I wasn’t jumping high enough.

At this point, my desire to spar had dropped to 70%.

By the fourth jump, the rope hit my head. I was jumping too high, imagining myself playing jump rope with rubber bands. I sighed in frustration. This was the first time I realized that jumping rope correctly is actually difficult.

At this point, my desire to spar had dropped to 60%.

Eventually, I got the hang of it. At least I could now manage 10-20 jumps in a row. But once again, my legs couldn’t handle the strain. This time, both my calves and shins protested. I stopped jumping, gasping for air.

I glanced at the stopwatch. I had only been jumping for three minutes. In front of me stood athletes with rock-solid abs and muscular arms. They were drenched in sweat. The mats beneath them were nearly soaked with their sweat.

Their jumps were almost perfect. Their feet barely lifted off the ground. The two fighters in front of me, both 180 centimeters tall, never once had their heads hit the rope. Their breathing was steady, their stamina remarkable. They were even lifting their right and left feet alternately.

At this point, my desire to spar had dropped to 50%.

"You don't have to force it. If you're tired, just rest," said Deden, noticing my pale face.

The next exercises were just as grueling. The fighters lined up, mimicking the movements of the person in front: swinging arms, throwing elbows, punching, kicking upwards. Then I stopped from training.

The exercises continued with rolling forward, rolling backward, push-ups, sit-ups, and stretching their legs straight while trying to walk. I faintly saw Jean-Claude Van Damme. They also did shadow boxing for quite some time, complete with the unique sounds that accompanied each punch or kick.

“Huuuh! Haaah!”

“Eeeee! Aaaaa!”

“Heah! Heah!”

“Ssssh! Sssssh!”

Next, they practiced punching and kicking the heavy bags, then sparring. They wrapped cloth around their hands and wore shin guards that extended from below the knee to above the ankle. Even during training, they were serious.

“Don’t joke around, even though this is just training. Take it seriously! Imagine this is a real match,” shouted Teguh.

I then approached Deden and asked a question: if an amateur with no martial arts background — without mentioning that the amateur was me — wanted to try MMA, how long would it take to be ready?

“Well, if you have no background, it’ll take a while. At least six months,” he said.

Teguh, on the other hand, said it depends on the individual. Some people absorb training quickly. The chosen ones like that could be ready in two or three months. However, Teguh added that anyone serious about becoming an MMA fighter should train for at least a year.

“What should a prospective fighter learn and prepare for?” I asked.

“In MMA, it’s mixed. So stand-up and ground techniques should be balanced. But initially, focus on physical fitness and stamina. Jumping straight into technique is tough. How can you think clearly if you’re out of shape? Once your physical fitness is good, any technique can be taught.”

Right then, my desire to spar with mixed martial arts fighters succumbed to zero. It vanished on its own. It’s not just for pacifists like me — even those who are used to fighting likely wouldn’t stand a chance against these athletes.

If you watch various street fight videos, you’ll see many wasted movements that drain energy. Wild punches or kicks that miss their target, for example. These athletes, however, are trained to punch and kick with precision. Wasted movements are minimized.

And then there’s stamina. It’s rare to see a street fight last longer than two minutes. Most end either because someone gets knocked out or because both fighters are exhausted. These athletes, on the other hand, are trained to endure a fight for as long as possible. This is the result of intense physical training that seems to have erased their ability to smile.

After barely managing to complete three out of the dozen exercises the Siamese fighters go through, I realized that the most important thing in life is knowing your own limits.

Many motivational speakers say that humans should push themselves to see how far they can go. Mixed martial arts athletes are examples of people who push their abilities to the farthest limits. But of course, that’s not for everyone.

While packing up to leave, I recalled Kang Deden’s advice not to overdo it. I’m grateful I didn’t ask for a sparring match because, whether you are an amateur or not, getting beaten up is no fun. []