Dagestan MMA Camp: The Body Remembers (Days 4–5)
- Ahmet Kucukasci
- 23 hours ago
- 4 min read
Day 4
Monday was hardcore. Two training sessions.
After the quietness of Terekli-Mekteb, it was time to return to the main reason I had come to Dagestan.
Fighting. Arsen picked us up around 9 a.m. and we headed to Dagestan Gym for kickboxing. We were training alongside professional fighters.
Their warm-up? Hardcore brutal American Football style - basketball. Except this was Dagestan, so even the basketball game somehow looked aggressive.
Then came the actual warm-up. And then the sparring.
I don't remember exactly how many people I sparred with that morning. I remember something else.
Getting hit again and again :) It had been a long time since I had regularly taken punches and kicks. Within the first few exchanges, I was extremely happy about one decision I'd made before coming here: Buying MMA headgear.
The first rounds weren't particularly good. My distance wasn't right. My timing was late. I felt slightly uncomfortable under pressure. Being fit doesn't automatically make you fight-ready. Running doesn't prepare you for a middle kick. Swimming doesn't prepare you for a punch coming towards your face.
The only thing that prepares you for sparring is sparring. But after a few rounds, something started happening. Old instincts came back. My Muay Thai years suddenly didn't feel so far away. I remembered watching Ramon Dekkers. Buakaw. I remembered how I used to fight. And naturally, I went back to what had always been one of my strongest weapons. Low kicks.
Against taller opponents, I worked to close the distance. Attack the legs. Check their kicks. Keep the guard high. Absorb what I couldn't avoid. I ate some serious middle kicks in the process. But round by round, I stopped thinking about every movement.
My body started doing things before my mind had time to discuss them.
By the end, I was tired, battered and completely awake.
This was why I came. After training, I ate two döner dürüms. This training volume creates a very simple relationship with food. You're always hungry. I went home, slept and woke up for session number two.
5 p.m. Top Team Gym. Grappling. The coach was excellent. My only frustration was not understanding the language. I wanted to understand every detail he was explaining. Fortunately, fighting has its own vocabulary. Watch. Copy. Move. Get corrected. Try again.
The mobility drills were particularly good, and physically I was pleased with how I handled the session. Endurance has always been one of my strengths. That helped. We wrestled hard. Then I went to a local restaurant, ate pide and went home.
I don't remember falling asleep. My body simply switched off.
Day 5
The body remembered. The next morning, the body also sent the invoice. Getting out of bed was difficult.
My left chest hurt. At that stage I assumed it was muscular soreness from the previous day's sparring and grappling. My feet were blistered too. And today was wrestling. I had never experienced a wrestling session quite like this one. It felt incredibly physical.
Explosive. Strength-oriented. Relentless. Technically, I was obviously behind.
These guys had wrestling experience I simply didn't have. So I used what I did have. Strength. Conditioning. Persistence. Keep moving. Keep fighting for position. Keep going. Partners constantly changed.
Guys from different parts of Russia. Different builds.
Different styles. Round after round.
Meanwhile, the pain in my chest was getting worse.
I knew it. I could feel it every time certain movements loaded the pectoral. But I didn't want to make too much of it. There was a simple reason: I didn't want to sit out.
I hadn't travelled all the way to Dagestan to watch training from the edge of the mat. Looking back, this is also where the difficult part of a training camp begins.
There is a difference between being mentally tough and ignoring useful information from your body.
From inside the session, that line becomes surprisingly difficult to see. So I continued.
Eventually the rounds ended. I thought training was over. Wrong. We moved into groups of three. One person worked while the other two effectively became the weight. Lift. Throw. Again. For one minute. Then switch. By that stage there wasn't much left in the tank.
Chest hurting.
Feet blistered.
Arms tired.
Body empty.
But we finished.
And I learned another lesson about Dagestan:
Never assume the training is finished just because you think the training is finished.
Afterwards, I bought cream and tape for the damaged skin on my feet.
That evening I booked a massage and picked up a muscle relaxant on the way.
Somewhere during the massage, I fell completely asleep.
They had to wake me when it was over.
Probably the most accurate measure of my fatigue that day.
Later I went to a Turkish restaurant for dinner.
Familiar food, a tired body, a quiet table, and one thought:
Tomorrow is another double-training day.
My feet were taped, my chest hurt, everything was tired But I was still in the camp. For now.
Tomorrow we'd find out what the body had to say about that.
