Draft

Introduction to a Philosophy of Training

What is a philosophy of the art, anyway? Or philosophy of sport? And why should you care? All sports involve a training regiment: some things that you do during practice, for fun or in preparation for competition. A modern marathon runner, for example, will alternate easy runs with tempo workouts. The advanced regiment will include stretching exercises, diets, recovery periods, cross-training, and so on.

Your gym and your coaches will introduce you to many of the specific elements particular to their training schedule. However, none of these disciplines alone amount to an art. Your local gym may be great in some aspect of the sport, and not so great in others. That doesn’t matter. Nothing is perfect. Yet, even as a beginner, you can watch a Muay Thai bout and think to yourself, “This is beautiful form.” And after a good practice, you think “This was the Muay Thai way.” Or, “This wasn’t.” There wasn’t necessarily anything wrong with the exercise: it was athletic, impressive, and good for you even. It just wasn’t it. It wasn’t the way. It didn’t look or feel right. And that is philosophy. Whatever else you are doing with your body, you are cultivating an idea: of good and bad, right and wrong, ugly and beautiful.

Nobody can tell you what that idea is exactly, in words, because it has to do with the movement of your body. A philosophy of the body is something that you cultivate through exercise, diet, recovery periods, cross-training, etc. But, to become a philosophy you also need to reflect on that activity intellectually.

That means to visualize the movements in your mind. To think about not just the how of each movement, but the why. To imagine them within the emotional context of exhaustion, or joy. To think of the tissues that connect the foot that pivots with the hook that follows. To imagine that mental space of your opponent, and to anticipate their movement. Those are the things that elevate mere physical movement into a philosophy.

All great athletes embody a philosophy of the sport, implicitly or explicitly. But you don’t have to be an elite athlete to become a philosopher. In fact, reflecting on your training in this way, taking notes or visualizing the perfect movement in your head, should be a part of your practice from day one. The philosophy makes the sport meaningful, beyond the gym. And it can sustain you through tough times, at low points when you are feeling down, unmotivated, or injured.

Of course, this way of life has its home in Southeast Asia: Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos. Today it’s also practiced in gyms all over the world: popular on its own merits and as one of the pillars within the greater mixed martial arts movement. As a recipient of this tradition outside of its homeland, I cannot claim some special, authoritative point of view on the art as a whole. These are a student’s observations, which I share with you in hopes of a common starting point (and not an end) to a life-long discussion.

Okay then, so I have convinced you to think of yourself as a philosopher at any sport. Don’t just punch things, think about them too. Fine. What about Muay Thai in particular? What makes it unique among other martial arts? What is the good and the beautiful in Muay Thai? What are its core tenets and principles?