Why I fight: A young woman's journey from bodypump to Muay Thai

As a 32-year-old woman living in Toronto, it's not unusual to own a gym membership.

Like many women my age, I want to live an active, healthy lifestyle. What is less common is to choose Muay Thai on the path to healthy living. The whole "training to possibly get beat up" thing isn't for everyone.

But here I am doing just that, training in the combat sport known as "the art of eight limbs" (In Muay Thai you don't just strike with arms and legs. You also use fists, elbows, knees and shins) in what is generally a male-dominated sport.

I started three years ago taking a few classes a week at my local gym. I got a taste, but really just a taste. It wasn't until I joined Siam No. 1 in 2015 – the oldest Muay Thai gym in Toronto taught under the direction of Ajahn Suchart (a true master who has trained champions) – that I got the whole meal. I dropped my dance and bodypump classes to focus exclusively on the martial art. Four or five nights a week, I spent upwards of two-and-a-half hours training.

Even then, I never thought I'd actually step into the ring for a real, full-blown Muay Thai fight. I was here for the fitness, not the fighting, right? As time went on, I found myself asking: why not? Why not push myself? Why not try out the skills I'd learned over the past two years to see if they actually translate?

So I went for it. And it wasn’t easy.

About two months before the scheduled fight, I upped my training to include 5- to 10-kilometre runs three to four times a week on top of the eight-plus hours I already spent in the gym. Any day I wasn’t in the gym, I was running.

I had to cut weight. That meant losing at least 12 pounds to qualify in same weight class as my opponent. I started eating dainty salads, cutting delicious carbs and drinking almost no alcohol. I was also constantly weighing myself to ensure my efforts were paying off and I was actually shedding those pounds. Here I was getting ready for something that made me feel so tough, and at the same time having to "watch my girlish figure." Go figure.

Most of my free time was spent training, thinking about training or talking about training (I must be a lot of fun to be around).

My mom and others asked: Why would I want to do all this for three, two-minute rounds, where there is a big potential of getting hurt?

It's not that I wasn't scared. I was. Being scared was why I pushed myself to do it and why I was excited. Your opponent's only goal is to hurt you, to land as many punches, knees and kicks to your body. I wanted to find out how I would react to something so shocking. Could I persevere?

Stepping into the ring on fight-night I was pumped and ready to kick some ass. I wanted to show my opponent I was a warrior.

Then the bell rang.

What felt like only a few seconds into the first round, I was hit with a hard knee. It was shocking. Devastating. It knocked both the wind and the confidence out of me. She came at me with fast hands and I knew I was losing. Big time. All I wanted was for the round to be over. Then another knee came in hard and I felt like jumping through the ropes and running away. The referee split us up and asked if I wanted to continue. I nodded "yes" but I really wanted him to see that my face was saying, "No! What am I even doing in here? Please make me disappear!"

But you can't disappear. Walking away was not an option. So I went on. I kept trying. I did better in the second round and came back stronger in the third (thanks to the fact that I finally listened to my coach's directions). Every minute that passed, my body became more heavy with exhaustion. Each weapon I threw became a mental calculation of how much energy it would take and if it was worth it. But then the final bell rang and it was over. I made it. I persevered.

My immediate feeling following the fight was disappointment. I wanted to go in there and be the boss, but I struggled. That sucked.

Then I found my cheering squad of friends, work colleagues and training buddies. They were so proud. Some of their pride rubbed off on me and I was able to hold my head a bit higher.

It wasn't until two days after the fight, while getting ready for work, that I truly absorbed the entirety of that experience and what it meant. I woke up and felt like a badass. So proud of my accomplishment. I stepped into the ring, almost gave up, my body aching, my mind yelling, "get out of there!" But I didn't. I didn't run. I did it.

In that moment, I felt so strong and so confident I'm pretty sure my temperature shot up. In that moment, I felt like nothing was too hard to take on.And yes, that means I'm getting back in that ring. Next round I'm going to be tougher, meaner and stronger.