Drama! At the fight club: Training like a Korean pro wrestler

A Korea JoongAng Daily sports reporter gets into the ring with a cast of characters at practice-slash-rehearsal with Pro Wrestling Society Korea.

Mary is ready to rumble. [PWS KOREA]

Is pro wrestling a sport? To be honest, I’m not sure. I think there was a time when a bold and public “No” might’ve earned someone a few punches if they were unlucky enough to be within earshot of a diehard WrestleManiac. Or, when Reddit and Twitter rolled around, some cyberbullying.

I’ve always been far removed from the world of WWE — and was totally unaware that there existed other acronymed promotions. I grew up reading books with names like “The Baby-Sitters Club,” not asking my parents to dish out cash for pay-per-view smackdowns.

There was also that debate over whether the body slams were real or if everything was a sham. But the curtains on the “reality” of pro wrestling have been pulled back for a while, and it’s no secret that they’re selling scripted brawls. In fact, I’m not sure why it was ever a question that the muscly men making a big fuss in over-the-top outfits were not very obviously putting on a show. (Guys. Come on.)

Nowadays, there’s a general consensus that pro wrestling counts as a kind of sports entertainment. It’s certainly physical, requires a high level of athleticism and takes a ton of practice. But practice is another word for rehearsal, which is how one prepares for a musical or the ballet, so do with those semantics what you will.

There’s really only one way to put the “Is it cake?” of it all to rest — to do as the Romans do. Into the ring we go.

Mary, right, prepares to take a punch as a trainee receives hands-on guidance from a pro. [PWS KOREA]

Mary takes the punch with flair. [PWS KOREA]

That’s how I end up planning a Saturday around a session with Pro Wrestling Society Korea at their studio in Pyeongtaek, Gyeonggi.

I learned about them a few months ago when a friend floated pro wrestling as a potential candidate for the Good Sport anthology. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a bit apprehensive about all the flips and throws.

But I love a good story, and that’s half of what pro wrestling claims it is, so I finally find the time (and the courage) to lock in a date for a drop-in.

Villain origin story

Fortune favors the brave; No pain, no gain; No risk, no reward, etcetera. Any of these hackneyed phrases and the fact that professional wrestling runs on histrionics should have been a sign that getting to the studio wouldn’t come without a plot twist.

The journey to Seoul from Pyeongtaek typically takes just under two hours and is, in theory, a relatively straight shot, if you go all the way down via Line 1. I’m naive and foolishly confident in my track record with Naver Maps, so I trust it to get me to the studio.

It’s pouring on this particular Saturday in June. A preview of the monsoon season to come. The drum of the deluge is even more amplified on the overground platforms.

But I’ve seriously underestimated the Labyrinth that is Line 1, an old commuter rail with more branches than Paris Baguette. A couple of wrong trains and one taxi to get back on the right line later, I arrive at the station nearest the studio with one flimsy umbrella from a GS25.

Apparently, there are no taxis in this corner of Pyeongtaek. I’m already late, but I have no choice but to take the town bus and then a 15-minute walk.

I’ve accepted the rainstorm, but I’m stunned to find that the 15-minute walk is alongside a stretch of rice paddies. I slosh through multiple miniature mudslides and pray that I’m not trespassing.

This is my villain origin story. Naver Maps pulls something like this again and I’m switching to Kakao.

Fight club

I finally arrive at the studio, which looks like a small warehouse, and I’m absolutely, completely, drenched. I’m hyper-aware of how unprofessional this looks — sorry to the C-suite — and prepare my most profuse apologies while single-handedly creating a new body of water on the studio floor.

One woman, Erin, who introduces herself as the stage manager — not a typical role one encounters on the Good Sport circuit — offers to take my soaking wet socks and lay them out to dry. I can just join the next class, she tells me. Protect this woman at all costs.

One wall of the PWS Korea studio. If pro wrestling were a font, it'd be in caps lock. [PWS KOREA]

I have about 20 minutes before the next class begins to gather my surroundings. One of the walls is covered by three large murals, wrestling masks, each with a different brightly colored palette. A giant box, the ring, takes up a good third of the room on my left.

Mats are strewn about, and on one of them are two guys engaged in what looks like couples yoga — the smaller guy hanging upside down, suspended in the air, as the taller guy lifts him by the waist.

There are plenty of piercings and tattoos with people in a mix of all-black get-ups and explosions of color. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, each with a blackout shade, which gets pulled down for shows.

A loud thud blasts from the ring, a sound akin to a semi-truck barreling across one of those steel plates on the road in a construction zone. Muscle tees abound, as does testosterone.

I strike up a chat with the three other women who’ll be joining the afternoon class. Pixel, Poison Rose and Tooji. (Stage names.) Each of them has been in the pro wrestling scene for about a year, give or take.

Tooji has actually traveled all the way from Gwangju. And she's also apparently a master in judo.

So the jury's still out on which one of us would fare better in the ring.

Getting in the ring

It’s time to start, and everyone gathers at the foot of the ring. Shiho, the founder of PWS who now helps run trainings, switches seamlessly between English and Korean as he introduces our instructors for the day. I’ve come on a weekend with a couple of visiting pros from the States — a duo called Dawg Nation, a.k.a. Top Dawg and Scum Dawg, a.k.a. Alan and Sage — who’ll be leading the pack.

There’s no mention of a warm-up. We hoist ourselves onto the gray platform and form a line along the perimeter, grabbing hold of the cords along the ring — which, by the way, is actually a square. I won’t claim to be a geometry whiz, but I do know my shapes and something didn’t add up. (The math was not, as they say, mathing.)

I find some space among the three other women. Tooji teaches me how to swivel around the corner post, which is in the way of the next edge, to keep my footing on the side of the box. Very Cirque du Soleil.

Mary, third from right, looks on with wonder and unease. [PWS KOREA]

We’ll start off by practicing some basic moves, and the drills will get harder as we go, Scum Dawg says. He has surfer blonde hair, is wearing a slightly cropped tee, and I pick up on a slight regional drawl from the American South.

I would never have guessed he was a pro, but I later learn that he’s been in the biz since he was 18 years old, and that’s on me for judging books by covers. (I also ask him if he thinks pro wrestling is a sport and he says, well, he’s missing two front teeth because of it, so what do I think. I put him down for “Yes.”)

Scum Dawg demonstrates the first drill. It’s a front roll into “basic stance” — fists raised like a boxer, one foot in front of the other in a slight squat. We’ll do it twice, across the diagonal.

There are some questionable stains on the floor, which I bravely choose to ignore.

I won’t lie, it’s intimidating. We take turns going bottoms-up, so everyone gets a front-row seat to watch me flail. I shimmy through two of the cables, crouch down into somersault position, make like cinnamon and roll.

Mary sticks the landing to a front roll with the utmost grace, as pictured. [PWS KOREA]

Next up is the Superman. Leap across the ring with outstretched arms into a front roll and bound back up to end in basic stance. I give it my best go, but it’s hard to fully commit when the only other times I’ve assumed this formation mid-air have been above swimming pools whilst careening toward a belly flop. I make it through, but I can confidently say that I won’t be expecting a call from DC when the time comes to recruit for their next venture onto the big screen.

Mary attempts the Superman. She does not achieve much lift. [PWS KOREA]

The next move involves a kickflip, so I sit it out. (Know thyself.)

Then comes along a backward roll into a handstand. (Are we sure we aren’t building up to a gymnastics floor routine?) It quickly becomes apparent that I do not have the arm strength to push myself up into a handstand, nor the core strength to keep my legs straight as I kick up into the air, nor the self-respect to not go through with the next repetition.

Mary invents a new signature move, the bottle crush. (She is the bottle.) [PWS KOREA]

Photos later confirm that I look like a plastic water bottle that’s fallen on hard times. Miraculously, I do not break my neck, though it is sore for the next three days. (Even swallowing is a strain as I manage to give myself all-around whiplash.)

Slingshot envy

I tap out for the next couple of drills, which are more complicated. (Just doing my part to minimize the risk of a lawsuit.)

Instead, I bear witness as two guys become method actors for the personification of what happens to popcorn inside a popcorn machine.

It’s a duet. The first guy charges at the second guy, back turned, from the opposite corner of the ring, while the second guy uses the cables to push up and over the first guy in a game of reverse leapfrog. When Scum Dawg demonstrates the first part of the move, he dials up the theatrics and acts like he’s fallen face-first into the post. (Is this football?)

Leap of faith! [PWS KOREA]

Amping up the drama. [PWS KOREA]

Then some brave souls attempt a move that involves jumping over the cables and landing outside of the ring, before tumbling back in between two cables. A great way to wargame a hypothetical prison break and start drafting an all-star squad.

As long as you get there, you can do whatever you need, Scum Dawg says, encouragingly. In pro wrestling, it’s all about the destination, not the journey.

I do take part in one last drill, because I’m feeling bold and this one looks like fun. It’s another tag-team tango and involves one person slingshotting across one edge of the ring to the other.

I can’t unsee the similarity between the ring and an inflatable bounce house (they’re the same shape, and both are abettors of clownish behavior) so this is my best chance to recreate some childhood glee.

I’m hoping to go with one of the other women, so I wait to raise my hand. But somehow, I end up in the ring with a tall, athletic-looking dude.

While one person gets slung, the other person is meant to act like a human obstacle — dropping down in their partner’s path. Shiho demonstrates proper falling technique, to do a sort of sweep with your leg so you end up flat on your side instead of becoming an actual hazard.

I have a newfound respect for pro wrestlers who need to keep track of all the details, because I am fully head empty every time I step foot into the ring.

Mary, right, is very excited to be living out her bounce house dreams, seconds before she falls. [PWS KOREA]

So as soon as my guy starts his run, I immediately panic and ball up, landing right at his feet — becoming the aforementioned actual safety concern.

I finally get the chance to be the boomerang. In the same way I thought the floor of the ring would come cushioned instead of being a wooden board over loud metal springs, I seriously underestimated the cables around the box. In my mind, they were bungee cords. They’re steel.

I still have a bruise, as of press time.

Fist bump

We call it a wrap after running drills for an hour. I’m unhappy to report that it has begun to smell.

The group peels off to practice, which for most of the guys means starting up a grab fight anywhere there’s some open space in the room.

There is one final quintessential pro wrestling move I’ve yet to practice, the bump — when someone falls to the ground and makes it extra loud.

One of the pro wrestlers kindly agrees to be the one dishing out the punch, and soon I am snow angel-ing on the crash mat.

Mary crashes. [PWS KOREA]

That’s enough for me, so I head over to Erin, who has been mending a pair of glittery red and gold trousers. We hear a slam from our left.

“Careful with the table, thank you! You break it, you buy it,” Erin calls out calmly over her shoulder, mid sew.

Erin says pro wrestling is a sport, which she compares to synchronized swimming and ballet. But it’s also performance art, like a magic show. (Another medium famous for capes.)

And about a dozen front rolls, several leapfrogs and a few across-the-ring flings later, I agree. All that time in the ring is definitely a test of mental strength and endurance. I'm thankful to be leaving with a non-broken neck and just a few scrapes on my knee — and maybe even some dignity.

But next time, I'm wearing a helmet.

The Korea JoongAng Daily's Mary Yang is on a mission to try her hand at any and every sport that will let her in the door. She can't promise skill or finesse, but she'll give it a good go.

BY MARY YANG [mary.yang@joongang.co.kr]