2019-09-02 - Feeling Punchy

It took Easton a good few weeks after finding this place to decide to finally do more than a cursory glance around. But eventually he signed up and tonight's the night that he finally is going to actually do something in the gym. He exits the locker room dressed for a workout in a pair of warmup pants and a gray Marines tee-shirt. His fists are appropriately wrapped, obviously by someone with experience doing it. He goes through some light stretching, especially of his left leg. The leg on his warmup pants occasionally lifts enough to see the gleaming steel and carbon fiber replacement limb. It's been a little over a year now and it's time for him to push past just walking and running on the thing.

With the stretching done, Easton goes into a bag workout. Yes he's throwing punches but he's focusing much more on how he moves around the bag. The shifting of his feet as he moves through combos, the moving of his weight as he dips and pretends to dodge counters. His movements are stiff and ugly. It's clear that he knows what he should be doing, but it's likewise clear that his body is not cooperating.

Yeah the place isn't modern by a long stretch, but it has a history. Judging from the framed promotionals a vibrant history over the years and some pretty damn good fights took place in the original ring, now replaced but in the same spot. A lot of people like new but there's something to be said about original and authentic (aside from needing updates).

From the office comes trouble. He doesn't move with the upright posture of a serviceman or law enforcement, but he does move like he knows how to control his space. Sneakers, a worn pair of black on black converse and gym shorts and a tank top accompany the man with the towel flipped over his shoulder as he comes to formally say hi. The hand comes out because his uncle at least tried to teach him how to run a business at least. "Heard you were down here. How the hell are ya."

Taking a break, far far earlier than he would have liked into his bag routine Easton sees the man coming. He recognizes the twin from the drinking contest at the Pourhouse and got a little bit of a background on them from Geoff, though he's already forgotten which is which. He extends a hand and says, "Rusty as shit. How you doin' Kelly?" Because when faced with twins or even siblings in general, resorting to the last name is always safest. Especially when it's in the name of the place you are standing.

He looks around and says, "I'm glad I found this place. I need to get off my ass and actually start getting back into shape, and just lifting and running isn't going to cut it." He can't in all honestly compliment the place, but he can appreciate it for what it is.

Joey shakes and nods slowly, eyebrow arching and helping the guy out, "Joey. And yeah Funny enough I said the same thing about your place. Got about half way fucking home and had to call a time out. how long you had that place?" If he notices the leg, and he does he neither stares nor otherwise comments. He does note and comment on the shirt "How long you been out?" That's the easy guess. Not the shirt; anyone can buy a damn shirt and could be family. The posture, squared attention, and those damn shoulders support assumption. Looking around he arches an eyebrow with a slight grin, "I mean I won't make you run all your shit around the damn block before and after but I won't stop you. What's your goal, man?"

"It's not actually /mine/ per say. I'm just the bar tender and part owner." The fact that Easton's just now finding out how shady his other owners are disinclines him to say much more about that arrangement. "But I've been involved for about six months now? Trying to make it into a little more than just an in-season tourist trap, but we'll see how we do this winter."

"Over a year now." Easton is very clearly ex-military, from his walk to his language so the shirt is only helpful in that it clearly outlines which branch. "Did you serve?" Easton finds it unlikely that Geoff wouldn't have mentioned that bit, but something about Joey catches his eye in a way that seems familiar.

Easton takes that thought into consideration, maybe he should be doing that. "I need to be able to move again on the new leg." He lifts his pant leg enough to show off some hardware, a big step for him actually. "I was never the lightest on my feet anyway but now I feel like I'm moving like an obese three-legged dog, hopping here and there and ready to fall over any minute."

Joey nods slowly listening and arching an eyebrow shaking his head. "I did not. Non-elligible. One of my uncles that raised me though. Mechanic for Army tank division." Does he get into why he was non-eligible? No. They're talking about Easton's goal here. Slowly one palm rubs the other in orbit listening and taking in the details. New leg. Check. He lookes and asks curiously, "Naw, man it's a good goal." Looking back up in all seriousness admits, "Life's a fucker. It's gonna challenge us. You're gonna kick the shit out of that challenge." Nodding slowly like they're talking about someone that owes Easton money he agrees, "Let's talk strategy. So you're adjusting to your mobility. You use to jogging, light impact and shit?" No frills on this guy.

No judgments either.

"If you're willing to put the work in, man, I am." His eyes look back to Easton's surveying the man not the injury. "It'll be different. You'll get there though. Saw the referral sheet. You know Geoff huh? Where's you meet Boy Scout?" he nods for him to follow him while he takes in teh answers.

Easton doesn't think much about the not eligible part, he knows Geoff's past and is aware that one of the Kelly boys did time too. He nods at the uncle's service in appreciation of it.

"Hoorah." Easton agrees in Marine-ese that he is in fact going to kill that challenge. "I'm out jogging a couple days a week now, which is good. I'm not anywhere distance wise, and I can't carry shit" He laughs thinking about him trying to put on even a half-pack worth of gear and run.

"I am." Easton doesn't feel the need to say more about his willingness to put in the work, but he conviction is clearly there in the statement.

"Boy scout?" Easton's face breaks into a grin at the nickname and he gives a hearty laugh, "Oh goodness. I like that. I met at him at the bar, we're tight." It's an understatement. "He mentioned you guys go way back. He's good people."

Joey eases a grin onto that mean mug of his that wears easy. "Hey you're up to jogging. That's fucking good. Real good." His hands come to rest on his hips and he snickers, "Shit, Pretty much all our class were pretty fucked I won't lie. Geoff got out though. Good for him. He's got his game turned around and ya know I'm proud of him for doing his thing and keeping his neighborhood clean. That's alright ya know. He's got a good thing going on. We respect that ya know." There's amusement there and he grins, "He is though ain't he? I mean ya know the guy."

That conviction and hunger are there. That's all that's needed to start and a god damn handhold. "So here's what I'm thinkin. One you talked to your doc or the VA and I want you to follow up with them." Looking back to Easton he puts it out there honestly, "One big rule I got around here is Train Safe. Ya know. you don't take care of you and your gear, as you know? You're wearing and tearing more than you're building and there's no reason to make shit twice as hard. You're gonna push you. You're gonna hate it, but you're gonna stretch. I hate it but I gotta do it too so... ya know... it's a thing. You'll be grateful for it later." And there's the one invasive question he's asking for at least a medical reason. "Below knee yeah?"

Easton gives Joey a very unimpressed look at the 'praise' for being out jogging. He lets it slide though with just a withering look, at least for now.

A smile creeps back on his face though when Joey talks about their class and fills Easton in on a little Geoff history. He nods and agrees with Joey, "I do", know the guy that is.

Easton makes a small grimace at the talk of checking in with the doctors at the VA. Technically he's still doing PT there, but it's so slow and so far behind what he wants to actually be doing. He grunts out a "Fine." Because he knows it is the right thing to do and he doesn't want to risk injuring his limb any more. He nods at the advice and says, "A'right." He does add, "But I reserve the right to tell the doctor's they're idiots and that I can do it." He doesn't say what 'it' is in this case, but he continues, "Or at least try."

"Yea, below the knee. Thankfully" Easton still trains in pants most days, still wears jeans in the summer for the most part. He is just getting used to talking about the injury and still doesn't like the attention it brings. But one thing remains consistent, he knows it could have been much worse, in many different ways.

Joey lifts both hands in casual agreement, "Shit you can absolutely tell them they're fuckwits and take their 80,000 tiny pills and shove em." He may not be a great physician but he trains enough to point out, "Cool, we're gonna work on strengthening up that nee so if someone forces you to shift weight fast to comp for impact you're not dragging the wet dog with you." He grins and nods slowly, "I wanna get you back up to gettin in the ring man. Not now, when the time comes. " he changes course giving the tour of where the basic utilities are . Heavy bags and speedbags. Free weights there and enough open area. He then finds a piece of paper and starts jotting things down with the penmanship of a 15 year old Male who believes he's writing in English. There's the expectation that Easton should be able to translate his first tongue into some sort of readable format.

"This... is... for you for here, home, when you are out of people to inebriate at ...work." He tears off the page and hands the sheet to him. It's a list for stretches and reps and endurance shit. "Yeah, I know it fucking looks like PT but here you get to hit things when you get to teh end of the set and get it all out. It's good for you. But, if you don't have a jumprope you'll want one. Not even ten bucks but you'll want one for home. The end goal is to work up to like 10-15 minute stretches. we're gonna start with one and get reflexes and cardio back in sync with one another. Fast ain't the goal. You're not trying to trick yourself." Taking his best guess he ventures, "Not much more impact than light jogging but you don't gotta go nowhere."

He ectends through some of the other things on the list. a starting point. The goal. Reasonable expectations so he doesn't burn out on optimisim cause he can't go from couch to 5k in a fucking week.

"You local?" The eyebrow goes up. He pauses and looks around hesitating but eeeeh since it's Geoff's guy and runs the bar he likes adds, "Bar gets out like 3? 3:30 by the tie yu're done. Usually I'm here by like 5. Someitmes 4:30 if I need to get my shit in ahead of time. sometimes people need to get some stuff worked out. If you're thinking of coming in stupid early or stupid late? My numbers on there. text me. Odds might be good I or someone's here, man."

"Damn straight." Easton laughs and agrees that telling doctors off is definitely on the table. He doesn't mention the 80k pills, or the fact that he wouldn't say no to most of those per say, at least the good ones. "Yea, that's the majority of it. I have to be so damn careful with it, I put weight down on it wrong and I'm fucked for the day, let alone in a fight." Technically that could refer to a boxing match, it doesn't. "And getting in the ring is definitly the goal here. I want to be back to being able to take on actual fighters."

He takes the sheet and looks at it for a bit, clearly confused as to what some of the scribbles are supposed to represent. Are those letters or a guy doing jumping jacks? He looks up, realizing that Joey was saying something and nods absently. "Rope. Got it." He nods and tries to not think about how much jumping rope on his leg is going to suck. He nods and says, "Got it." Again. He then asks, "You do this for other PT people? No offense, but I didn't expect much more instruction than how to throw a decent punch and not get my clock cleaned in the process." As it is, right now he sounds like a much better bet than his actual phsyical therapist.

"Yea, live over on bayside. Summer hours are 3. I usually crash for a couple hours after though." He's usually too drunk by the end of his shift to actually consider a workout if he's being honest, but it's nicer to blame being tired. "But I might still be in early, on off days and what not."

Joey murmurs with a nod, "Well you're built like a goddamned brick shit house and frankly I'm pretty fuckin excited to see you take a bite out of that ring. " He arches an eyebrow with a squint, "Do I do this for others? Yeah. No offense, but yeah. You got your reasons for being here and I got my reasons." Fuck how to put this. Right. Bluntly. "You're a Marine. You go through basic and have an instructor tell you it's a rifle point that way, preferably at a target, or do hand to hand and just say well... git em?"

Looking around those sharp green eyes squint at the place musing, "There's an art to it. Short story? Growin up this was one of the few things I had. Helped me get though a lot of bullshit." He pauses leveling with Easton, "The particular reasons don't matter but they were there and it gave me somethin good to feel about. We get a lot of kids o the program come through here like me ya know? Poor as shit and it's get angry and knock over a liquor store or... maybe put that rage fuel somewhere and turn it into something."

He pauses and takes a deep breath with a pause and then shakes his head itching at it with a thumb nail. "City's goin through a lot. Got a few people comin through here lately losing more than they can afford t'lose ya know? Christ, found out a friend of mine from High School almost got shot last night." If current events are any such indicator. "So yeah. I ain't gonna stand here and blow sunshine up your ass. I don't know you that well and there's a three drink minimum on that. But I can give someone else a reason to fall in love with what they can make this place fuckin do for them. it's a tool and if you use a tool incorrectly you get hurt. Learn to use it properly and you can build some cool fuckin shit outta it." He looks to Easton and sees if that satisfies the question of is he being treated differently not overly. he shrugs "End of kumbaya."

"Good. I haven't actually hit someone in far, far too long." Easton replies excitedly at the thought of getting into the ring.

"Yea, of course. Sorry I just didn't expect much in way of understanding what to do with me." He consciously avoids making a crack about being a gimp or defective or saying 'someone like me' instead. He knows there are things out there pushing him to depression and so he's a little more careful with some of his dark humor than usual.

"Well it's worth it. A lot of my Marines came up through programs like this. It kept them eligible." Clearly he means out of jail. "And gave them the start at the discipline they'd need to make it in the Corps. It's good work"

"Well I'll comp at least one of them" Easton generously offers on the three drink minium crack before getting serious again. It feels good to be in a position to have someone push him, and keep him in line. He gives a curt nod and says, "Yea, that works for me." Severely underplaying how excited he is for this to actually work. He's not afraid of the work, he knows he'll stick with it, but having someone who can actually help him get there is much more than he expected of this place.

"But seriously? You're going to have to walk me through these scribbles. My dog can write better than this."