Charleston teacher finds herself through blood, faith and Muay Thai championship
NEW YORK — Anna Toole's dark brown eyes bored into her opponent's as she sent a flurry of kicks into the other woman's shins. The neon-green flames on Toole's shorts rippled as she charged forward.
Her opponent — several inches taller, with willowy limbs — responded with her own quick thrust of a leg that sent a surprised Toole wobbling backward.
Jeff Grady, Toole's coach at Charleston Muay Thai and Boxing in West Ashley, shouted directions from the red corner: two rapid punches before a longer, more powerful blast. Toole complied, driving her opponent into the ropes.
The women were locked in a pitched battle for the Muay Thai North American Prestige belt from the World Boxing Council, the sport's most-respected governing organization. At stake was the trajectory of Toole's future.
She spends her days working as the athletic director of Blessed Sacrament Catholic School in West Ashley, a job that includes teaching physical education to 3-year-olds through eighth graders. But she recently made her professional debut in Muay Thai. It's Thailand's national sport, where boxers use their hands, elbows and legs to try and knock their opponent unconscious.
Toole won the tournament's first elimination-style fight in July and moved straight to the Sept. 8 championship. Earning a legendary WBC green belt would effectively make her the best 115-pound female Muay Thai boxer on the continent. And that would pave the way for a professional contract with ONE Fighting Championship — the major leagues of martial arts.
The 31-year-old Toole doubled down on her jabs in the next 3-minute round. Her opponent launched a right leg toward Toole, who caught it, leaving the other woman hobbling on one foot, careening toward the ropes.
Toole delivered another blow for good measure, making her intent clear: She wanted to put leather on her opponent's face.
Her subconscious worked in overdrive. Toole's mind, whether she realized it or not, was preoccupied by the prior day's events.
'Naked in a Mexican restaurant'
More than 24 hours earlier, Toole found herself waiting to step on a scale inside a crowded Mexican restaurant in the borough of Queens. Fighters and their coaches crammed into a back room, walking past unconcerned patrons who dined on nachos and salt-rimmed margaritas.
The weigh-in confirmed what Toole already knew. After a 35-day whirlwind of dieting, running, training and sweating, she'd successfully lost about 27 pounds to make an official weight of 113.5 pounds.
"I (expletive) did it," Toole said to no one in particular.
A small commotion broke out during her opponent's turn. The woman, who trains at gyms in Manhattan and Queens, shifted her lithe body atop the scale as the number ticked past the weight limit.
The Warriors Cup promoters let her try again. She disrobed, shielded by officials with the aid of a striped button-down shirt. They read out the number: 116 pounds. The scale was a pound off, they said, recording her official weight as an even 115. Their fight would go on.
Toole, whose standard operating mode is positivity, didn't say anything to the woman or the promoters. She allowed herself a private moment of bitterness as she thought about her daily routine of sweating inside a sauna to shed the necessary pounds.
A professional fighter should intimately know their body. Her opponent weighing in over the limit seemed unprofessional, Toole said. It felt like a slap in the face.
"She had to get naked in a Mexican restaurant to make the weight," Toole said.
The two women stood nose-to-nose in front of a camera for their face-off. Toole didn't break eye contact. Nor did she smile. She stuck out her hand, pumping her opponent's before wishing her luck.
Hard work scratched
Toole strode into a room inside the Queens fight venue around 7 p.m. Sept. 8 just as the first bouts started. She wore a carefully selected outfit inspired by the green belt she sought: black skinny jeans, a neon-green halter top, checkered Vans and donut earrings. Even her fingernails and toenails were painted in varying shades of green.
"Manifestation," she said with a wide grin.
Toole, who played soccer in college and once had the chance to join a professional team, discovered Muay Thai shortly after moving to Charleston in 2014. She craved an athlete's routine and started showing up to a Summerville gym for back-to-back boxing classes after work.
She met Grady, the gym's head trainer, who noticed her talent and invited her to a local fight gym to practice sparring. Toole made her amateur Muay Thai debut a year later, in 2015. She and Grady also started dating.
Grady opened Charleston Muay Thai in 2019. The warehouse-like space off Sam Rittenberg Boulevard is a haven for anyone looking to sharpen their Muay Thai boxing skills. It remains the only area gym exclusively teaching the sport.
Unlike prominent clubs in New York or California, the Lowcountry isn't known for producing a steady stream of top Muay Thai fighters. Grady and Toole are trying to change that.
Amy Peduto, their close friend and Toole's training partner in Charleston, was on the card that night in Queens, too. Grady doubled the number of corner coaches — the people acting as the fighter's second pair of eyes inside the ring.
Toole and Peduto brought two members of the gym's nearly 15-person fight team. Also joining the mix was Aracely Valenzuela, a former Muay Thai boxer who met Toole at a seminar almost a decade ago.
The Charleston Muay Thai group shared their tiny room with fighters from two gyms in the New York area. They swapped diet and weight-cutting tips, and stories about their training processes. Toole rested, while Peduto got ready to warm up. The amateur was up first, about halfway through the fight card.
One of the Warriors Cup promoters stopped by the room before Peduto could even don her hand wraps. He came bearing bad news. The doctor didn't clear Peduto's opponent to compete; apparently she had been vomiting all day, the promoter said. He scratched their fight.
Peduto's past month of intense training and dieting came to a dissatisfying halt. She felt unmoored. She could fill her body now with whatever food or drink she pleased, but her body didn't get to fight — the thing that, for Peduto, makes the release worth it.
A spinning elbow
Spectators stood on the venue's second level and leaned over the glass balcony, peering into the ring as if it were a fishbowl. A row of four Charleston Muay Thai gym members were stationed on the ground floor, screaming Toole's name inside the intimate space. They had flown 770 miles to New York to support their teammates.
Toole's mom and younger brother also joined the crowd. They watched in silence as Toole pulled her right glove from her opponent's face, her elbow tinged with red. Blood poured from the other woman's right eyebrow, splattering onto her stomach and thighs.
The pair continued fighting until almost the entire right side of the woman's face dripped dark red. The referee called a timeout. Toole went to the neutral corner as a medic examined her opponent’s cut.
Toole's mind caught up with her body as she realized what happened. She didn't know her elbow had sliced her opponent until she saw all the blood. Toole found herself torn between hoping the fight would end — resulting in her victory — and willing it to continue. They were still in the early rounds. Toole wanted the satisfaction of a full 15 minutes of action.
Her opponent insisted she was OK. The medic agreed. The woman came back from the break serving kick after powerful kick. Toole's right arm took the brunt.
Toole found her groove by the final round. She had landed a punch squarely to the side of her opponent’s head, loosening the woman's tight braids. She backed her opponent into the red corner, dodging kicks while successfully delivering her own.
Then, with about 10 seconds to spare, Toole's opponent landed an impressive spinning elbow, arms whizzing back into place as quickly as they'd left. The crowd shouted with excitement, some onlookers' mouths agape. The damage was immediate. The skin above Toole's left eyebrow cracked open and spewed blood.
The bell sounded, signaling the end of the fight. Toole walked toward her opponent, going in for a customary hug. The woman sharply turned on her heel, away from Toole, her gloved hand thrust high in the air.
Toole knew she lost. Grady kept asking between rounds why she wasn't defending her opponent's signature kick. But Toole said she had tunnel vision inside the ring, concentrating hard on punching the woman's face. Each split-second decision left room for little else.
Toole clapped as the emcee called the other woman's name. Someone put a green medal around her neck while the jewel-encrusted belt went across her opponent's hips.
She climbed from the ring and walked back to her locker room, perching on the edge of a black leather couch. Valenzuela and Peduto wordlessly wrapped her in a hug. Toole's shoulders shook as she began to break down.
A medic told her she'd need stitches for her left eyebrow. Toole worried her right arm — swollen after taking so many kicks — was broken. She sniffed, trying to breathe through her crooked nose. It was difficult.
Toole's teammates sprung to quiet action. Peduto grabbed a pair of scissors to cut off her hand wraps. Cayla Hennessey, who works back in Charleston as an emergency room nurse, examined Toole's arm, assuring her it wasn't broken. Grady pressed ice to her right wrist. A towel appeared somehow, ready to mop up blood from her nostrils and left eye.
Toole wept from the pain, from the tough loss, from the overwhelming thought of spending the next several hours inside a hospital.
Taking time off
Toole flew back to Charleston the next day sore and puffy, her kneecaps and ankles lost amid the swelling. She felt like the Michelin Man.
Toole couldn't bend at the waist or squat down. Even walking was hard. She worried about returning to teach at Blessed Sacrament on Monday, nervous for her co-workers' reaction to her bruised body. But they were more concerned with how Toole felt, she said.
Her mother encouraged Toole to take the entire week off from Muay Thai — no training, no workouts. Just rest.
Toole typically jumps into her routine after a weekend fight, back to sparring in the gym by the following Thursday. But she’d never been this hurt. She took her mom's advice.
Toole found other activities to replace workouts and practice. She cooked after school on Monday, took an ice bath on Tuesday. She bought red wine and a piece of chocolate cake on Wednesday, consuming both on her couch.
"That's just something that I would never do," she said.
Toole and Grady went out for hamburgers on Thursday. She filled Friday with the mundane chore of laundry. Saturday marked her first since moving to Charleston nine years ago that Toole wasn't inside a gym. She spent Sunday how she typically does — cooking meals for the work week ahead. But this time, she made food she wanted to eat.
Toole tried to not let guilt color her week, as is often the case when she does something outside the gym or eats whatever she feels like. The break gave her time to reflect on her year — earning a promotion at work and making her professional Muay Thai debut. And it helped her remember why she fell in love with the sport in the first place.
'A breath of fresh air'
Toole, who is Catholic, credits Muay Thai with strengthening her faith. She grew up religious, spending Sundays at church. She listened to the homilies, but it wasn't until discovering the sport — and meeting Valenzuela — that Toole started applying them.
A few weeks before the fight, she sat among her students inside Blessed Sacrament's cavernous cathedral. The weekly Mass coincided with Assumption Day; the priest's homily centered around the Catholic belief that the Virgin Mary went to heaven when she died.
If you want to be like Mary, the priest instructed, you must be open to God's presence in your life. You must have an intimate relationship with God, he said.
Valenzuela, who was present for Toole’s first-ever fight, helped her understand the difference between being religious and having a relationship with God, Toole said.
The older woman encourages her to pray and teaches her to accept God's plan, even when it doesn't deliver the outcome Toole wants.
Toole's faith has helped her learn how to relinquish control and accept even the toughest losses. Winning the WBC green belt wasn’t meant to be — yet, she said.
"I have to believe in the fact that there will be more chances and there will be bigger fights," Toole said.
Her future, for the first time in a while, looks uncertain. But she's OK with that.
Toole made the decision to not take another fight this year. She plans to spend the final months of 2023 standing by the people in her corner. She wants to be a training partner and a mentor to Peduto, who will have another chance at a Warriors Cup title belt this month. She'll help Grady in December when several gym members step into the ring at the annual Holy City Fight Night.
In the new year, it will be time to focus on Toole again. Perhaps she'll book a plane ticket to Mexico, where Toole hopes to spar against the woman who dropped out of the July fight at the last minute due to visa issues. Maybe she'll line up a rematch against her Sept. 8 opponent. Or Toole might take a bout in boxing — that's where her heart really is, she said.
"Not having something lined up is just like a breath of fresh air," she said. "And I haven't had that in a long time."
Season of giving
Toole returned to training Sept. 19. Grady, wearing neon green hand wraps, patrolled the room. He led the fighters through warmup exercises like shadow boxing, pushups and squats.
Toole walked to the row of hanging bags as the others found sparring partners. She paused, listening to Grady as he instructed everyone on their first jab-kick combination. Toole replicated the moves on her punching bag.
She took stock of her body as it went back through the motions of Muay Thai. She uncovered little details, flickers of pain and discomfort that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.
She realized, for instance, that wiping sweat from her brow elicited a scream of pain from her broken nose. Bringing her gloves close to her left eye, where the stitches healed, felt weird. An angry lump still sprung from her right arm, but punching seemed to be OK.
Toole proudly wears her injuries, evidence of a hard-fought battle — and a good story. They bear important lessons learned inside the strangest of places: a sauna, a Mexican restaurant, an emergency room and a boxing ring. It all changed her for the better, she said.
Toole hopes, as she embarks on this season of giving, to pass her experiences to other fighters, that her struggle paves the way for others' success. The thought makes her happy.