My arms were burning from the static hold I had around my training partner's leg. My lungs were on the verge of giving out. Every muscle in my body screamed release but would I hell let go. I'd gone deep on a single leg with a perfect set up; moving his arm aside with an arm drag and catching his leg in mid-step lessening the distance I had to move to catch it.

Lack of sleep? Check. Lack of good food? Check. Adapting to another climate and atmosphere? Check. All the boxes I'd ticked with a metaphorical Biro.

Right now Andre, the man whose face wouldn't have looked out of place on a serial killer, was defending my attack by sprawling and driving his knee into my shoulder while pushing my head down into the mat. Yeah, it hurt. My shoulders, where all the pressure was, felt as if they were about to explode, my biceps were burning with lactic acid.

I knew if I could twist my hips and keep on my toes I could get out from under him, drive off my rapidly failing legs and either get round his back to score or keep pushing to turn him on to his back.

Giving up wasn't an option. We were guests at this club, in a way representing my country, and giving up meant they'd see us as weak; something I never wanted anyone to see me as, not anyone including these Ukrainians.

Manning the fuck up I drove off my legs and twisted my hips to remove the knee from my shoulder. Like a rugby tackle I shoved into Andre who fell forward, with his knee that was on my shoulder hitting the mat to give me his back. I thought that was it , point scored. “Fuck yeah baby!” But no, Andre -- showing why these guys are so good  -- scrambled, grabbing my leg as he spun towards my back. Both of us hunted for the point, spinning like a pair of crazed rodents we kept fighting with either pride or stupidity keeping us going. In my case it was pride.

Finally I got that extra inch I needed. I stood up bringing Andre with me. We were hooked up in the under over hook position. Andre got aggressive, trying for the push out to score a point.

What the hell did I have to lose? I hit the lateral throw with everything I had. Pushing aside the exhaustion, pushing aside the lack of sleep, pushing aside all the excuses that made me sound like a whining bitch, I popped my hips underneath him.

Exploding with my legs I throw him over my head. In mid air I turned my hips to drop him on his back and land me on top of him. As he hit the mat, he once again surprised me (this was beginning to annoy as I don't like surprises), he landed on his side using his head to post off of to stop going on his back.

“Motherfucker” was all I could think. Try this I thought, as I jammed my weight into his chest, using my legs to drive into him. This did the job as his back slammed into the mat, me on top holding him down with everything I had. He still wouldn't give up, fighting all the way to the end as the whistle blew ending the round.

Andre rolled to his feet and turned his head to the side to assess me. Big Oleg , the mutant from Chernobyl (I called him this affectionately), who hovered nearby said something to him in Ukrainian. Both laughed at whatever was said then Andre reached out his hand to help me up.

I asked what Oleg had said and in his best English he replied:

"He says I should get my shit together. And as for you? Not bad."

This was a huge complement coming from them.

Now this may sound like I beat Andre or make me sound awesome. I'd gone six rounds with both Andre and Oleg and had my ass handed to me. Out of all them rounds I'd hit a big double leg and that lateral throw. The other times were complete domination on their side. All I could do was get up faster than them every time, smile and say 'can I have more please'. Fuck weakness, as I'll describe later in this article there's a reason why these people are as tough as they are, so I couldn't show any either.

So how did this start. The train ride? We'll get to that. No, it all started with a phone call. Starting to see a pattern with me?

My phone rang in January 2011.

“Hey mate, you fancy going to the Ukraine for some training?” 

It was Tommy, my tattooed friend, his excitable voice echoing down the phone. He was the type of guy that would train every hour of every day if he could.

Once again due to the economic recession I'd been made redundant before Christmas. A kick in the nuts for sure, but it gave me a lot of freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted, when I wanted.

Now if I was in work I'd have to check the lieu day book to see if the days were free and check the clocking machine to see how many days off I had left.

Not now, with all the time in the world in my hands, some money saved up from work and my second business -- which didn't pay much but I'd squirreled enough away -- I said "hell yes" to Tommy's offer.

You see I'd had offers like this before. One to the same place a year before and one to train in America but due to not having enough money, time off or holding down a job I never went. Any chance to increase my skills I'd take. I'd trained with the national squad, I'd trained with the squad members who were members of our club.

One of my dreams is to train in Iowa with the Brands brothers or Penn state with Cael Sanderson. Lofty dreams I know, may never happen? I refuse to think like that. I will be a wrestler 'til I'm old and grey, shouting at the young ones at the club or leaning on my zimmer frame at competitions yelling encouragement. The skills I've acquired , the friends I've made and the good times I've had made all the hours on the mat worth it.

OK, so back to it.

The plan was to go with Jimmy Hawthorne and his crew from Bradford. To plan it all out we met him face to face at a competition sorting out flights and times. All sounded good.

Fly from Leeds Bradford airport to Krakow in Poland then....well, we hadn't planned that far. We were relying on Jimmy's  experience to get us from there to Lviv in the Ukraine.

Take a direct flight you say? Wasn't possible in winter as they shut the airport due to the snow and other weather conditions.

Jimmy was lead dog, were the huskies behind him.

Let's just say that controlled chaos was the order of the day when we landed. I almost got arrested for taking a photo of the Polish customs. A nice wide-hipped lady with a 9mm gun asked me to delete the photo. How can I say no to that offer. There was also a taxi driver who made anti Semitic remarks towards Jimmy as he negotiated the taxi price from the airport to the train station.

Once at the train station we had to take three trains to get the town of Przemysl, the closest town to the Polish Ukrainian border and then hop a bus to the aforementioned border.

I looked at my watch. If I had it right I hadn't slept in over 30 hours. Sitting on the train looking at the bleak scenery going past was making it all the more impossible to stay awake. Luckily the lads and one lass I was with helped in the fact that if I did then I'd wake up with either my eyebrows missing or a moustache painted on my face. That kind of fear keeps your eyes open.

Also the little old man in front of me, who stared myopically at a battered comic book that paraded a half naked barbarian goddess on its cover, would then give me shy glances. As he looked up at me it made me shiver with the thought that if I did fall into a welcoming sleep, one I desperately needed, I'd wake up in a forest somewhere with a bunch of men hunting me with machine guns. So no I didn't sleep, I gritted my teeth and got on with it.

We got to our stop where we then caught a long ass bus journey to the border. Lets just say when crossing it I saw where the creators of the Call of Duty franchise got their inspiration for characters. Standing just near what's called the face control kiosk was a balaclava wearing man, in full body armour with a large machine gripped menacingly in his big hands. I always thought the cold war had ended but this was proving me wrong.

So what's this got to do with training you ask so far?

Nothing. The reason I describe it is because if you ever want to get better in different aspects of your MMA game you might have to one day travel to a place like this where you'll find its a whole different world than your used to. Places like Poland are in the EU where, technically, you're still in familiar territory. Not so when you step over that border. You're in the wild west, undiscovered country. The stories I heard from Elena, our lovely host at the hostel we stayed at, made me shiver and made me think just how lucky we have it over here.

Now don't get me wrong, the people I met were great, really friendly and helpful in fact. They loved the fact that foreigners like us would come to their country, especially the girls in the nightclub but that's a whole other story.

We got a bus from the border into Lviv - a shaky old bus that felt as if it would give out at a moment's notice on roads full of pot holes. Roads that weren't fit for any type of vehicle.

I snatched a half of sleep here and there until we got into the city. We got there in one piece, got to our hostel, got some food and finally got some sleep.

The journey out of the country I won't mention due to it almost being an un-aired episode of 'banged up abroad', though if you want to know you can email me and have a laugh at my misfortune.

So they're in the country, the scene is set and they're almost ready to hit the mats. Catch up with the rest of Chris' story in Part II, coming soon. Stay tuned to YourMMA.tv on Facebook and Twitter for updates.