Most of my first Muay Thai photos suck.

Looking back at some of my first Muay Thai photos, I cringe, but smile at the same time. Oh yeah, these photos are rough at best, but I can easily see the growth over the last three years.

In all fairness, I’m probably a better videographer than photographer, but I find more magic in freezing a second in time than I do with video. Or maybe working as a TV videographer just burned me out on video, I haven’t figured out which yet. In reality, it doesn’t really even matter.

I moved to Washington State in 2019 because of my husband’s military career. Our original plan didn’t pan out because we weren’t able to live close enough to the city. Outside of Seattle, I would say there are not a lot of news opportunities.

Mostly to fight off depression, I picked up the camera again and started taking photos of a local fight gym. I met some fighters and soon got invited to a Muay Thai event.

I had no idea what Muay Thai was.

I assumed it was just another martial art and the event would be something similar to what I’ve seen in the UFC.

If you’re reading this, you probably already know that an event that solely focuses on Muay Thai is not like something you’d see in UFC. You’d think with my background in journalism, I would’ve done some background research.

Nope, I didn’t. I should’ve, but just went into it head first like I usually did as a TV videographer. Meaning, I had the bare essential information of who, what, when, and where, but I’d figure out the why when I get there.

My first Muay Thai event was at South Sound Martial Arts in Tacoma.

The first memory I have of Srab’s gym is that it was cold. Painful cold that sank into the marrow of my bones and promised a constant runny nose.

Oh, and that it was technically upstairs in a room that is about the size of a two car garage and fighters got ready on a soccer field. I’ve learned that judging a place by its appearance ended up with me looking like an idiot.

The first thing I noticed immediately was the ring wasn’t an octagon and I wasn’t going to have to shoot around a fence. Great! That meant the auto focus wasn’t going to be a pain, but the lighting was DARK.

Funnily enough now whenever I go shoot at Srab’s events whenever I meet another photographer, they usually ask about my settings. I tell them they’re going to have to accept the grain. Depending on the photographer, they’re usually either okay with this or slightly frustrated, but I tell them my settings and ask where I can be so I’m not in the way of their photos.

When getting photos of the fighters getting ready, fighters didn’t just put on gloves, but also ornaments that carried a heavier meaning that I wouldn’t figure out for a while. Ropes of gold tied around the bicep and an odd headpiece that also had gold thread on it.

Fighters also started praying with their coaches before donning the headpiece. The prayer looked to be a quiet moment before the flying fists, knees ramming into stomachs, and head kicks. It felt intimate.

The prayers didn’t stay in that quiet moment. They happened sometimes at the steps of the ring and the four corners of the ring. The last prayer came before the coach took off the head piece, but the arm bands stayed on.

Add the traditional music that plays while fighters circle the ring, and it gives the feel of a spiritual experience that I’ve found in church. The song made me feel like a kid, watching Indiana Jones and the Hidden Temple and it bewildered but also fascinated me.

I went through this process with four fighters that night. The hand wrapping, the praying, the music, and the elbows that promised nasty bruises.

Looking back, I can see how I was falling in love with this new sport, but at the time, I didn’t realize it.

The last fight of the night, I suspect, was where I found my love for the sport.

The last fight was for a guy named Don. At the time I had no idea who he was, but I did know he was fighting from Team Die Strong, the gym I was taking photos for. Watching his fight, I had no idea who was winning at the time. He fought for a belt and lost. Don is a big guy at over six foot so the disappointment wasn’t just in his face, but hanging off his body and weighing him down. He hung his head.

In covering sports during my time as a TV videographer, I’ve seen players from basketball and football get upset, but this looked different. The pain of not doing as well as he wanted weighed him down to the point where he dropped his head, but even before the official winner was announced, I heard someone yell at him, “Keep your fucking head up!”

This would turn out to be Coach and Mario.

Don barely held his head up, but he did.

Don lost, but the loss didn’t crush him.

I wasn’t racing to the front of the ring where the announcer would hold up the winner’s hand like I would’ve usually tried to do. Maybe the disappointment exhausted me or the cold finally got to me.

Instead, I just watched the team. I knew who the team was because when Don walked down to get into the ring, a line of people followed behind him.

The winner got announced and once Don got out of the ring, he leaned on his team. Jadin, who I had taken photos of earlier that night, carried him.

I took the shot.

It ended up being one of my favorite photos that night. It is the only photo from my early days that I can look back on and say is a good shot. It also introduced me to the idea of found families and brotherhood.