ArchivedLogs:Eye of the Tiger

Eye of the Tiger
Dramatis Personae Corey, Trib
In Absentia	2013-07-19 '
Location <NYC> Sweat - Greenwich Village
An apropos name; it is hard to escape the smell, when visiting this fitness club. Open twenty-four hours, this facility comes equipped with all the bells and whistles for those who want to train hard. All the standard gym equipment can be found and then some. In addition to private personal trainers, there are group classes in all sorts of things, from bicycling to crossfit to yoga to martial arts to more esoteric fare such as pole dancing and dodgeball. An olympic-sized pool makes this a popular draw, and the sauna rooms by each locker room are nice spots to unwind after a heavy workout. The heat in New York hasn't dissuaded the die-hard gym devotees from their regular workout, and as a result Sweat is a bit full this evening. Even as the sun is beginning to creep into its final, dying light, there are hard bodies (and the wishing to be hard bodies) in every area. Some areas are more full than others, though, and it's to these areas that Trib has found himself drawn. Or maybe they're just where he focuses his workout. Here in the area with the punching bags. Dressed in loose-fitting shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt in blue, the big man is not actually /working/ the bags. Instead, he seems to be...skipping rope. With hands and wrists wrapped in athletic tape, Trib bounces lightly on his toes, the rope nearly invisible as it whistles around his body. Where he found that much rope is anybody's guess. Occasionally, he drops the rope into a flat loop that he swats near his feet, hopping nimbly over it. He has no earphones. Instead, he seems to be humming. 'Eye of the Tiger.' No one ever accused him of being original. With an occasional grunt to provide the extra umph to lift his body up from its inclined position, Corey is laying on one of the slant benches, head towards the ground and legs hooked to the top portion. Wearing a grey tank top and a pair of black exercise shorts, the blonde is sweating from the effort and residual heat that air conditioning couldn't quite take out completely. Still, he doesn't seem to be having too much difficulty with the motion of inclined sit ups, though his face was a tad bit reddened from blood rushing to it when he stayed too long upside down. Eventually, the rope-skipping comes to a stop, and Trib comes down hard on his heels in an explosive breath. Rolling his shoulders and neck, he moves towards the rack where such training implements are stored, which takes him by the slant boards, and the blonde working out there. He gives the guy the once-over as he passes, glancing back over his shoulder once as he hangs the rope up. Then he's moving back to watch the inverted crunches, folding his arms over his massive chest and wiping sweat from his nose with the fingers of his right hand. He doesn't offer a greeting; the red-faced guy looks like he needs to save his oxygen. Between crunches, Corey sees the man glancing towards him, but finishes up his reps first. Ending with his body curled up top enough to undo his legs, he gently lowers down with a sigh. "Ah sorry, had you been waiting on this?" he says, gesturing to the slant bench. "Didn't realize it was getting so crowded, but well, hard to pay attention to much with blood rushing to your head." Providing a grin, he wipes some of the sweat from his brow, and he seems to be recovering from the blood rush with his feet now firmly on the ground. "Buncha people out tonight though, good to see the crowds." He seems in a good mood, but its hard not to be with endorphins going through you. "Naw, I wasn't waitin' on it," Trib says with a shake of his head. "I do crunches on Mondays, Wednesdays, an' Fridays. I was just watchin' you." He doesn't seem embarrassed by being caught out, lifting the hem of his shirt to blot sweat from his eyes. Then he's dropping his shirt, and looking the blonde over with a critical sort of look. "You're a big guy." Says the Pot. Chuckling good naturedly at the other fellow, Corey shakes his head. "I exercise a lot, and it tends to stick. Eat right, sleep well, exercise, etc etc. Though, I don't have to tell you that," the man says with a gesture to Trib's own abs. "Gives me something to do to let my mind wander in between taking care of the rest of the world." Keeping the sweat from his eyes, he just relaxes and breathes in deeply for a moment. "What about you? Just trying to get ripped? I think I only ever see atheletes and people wanting to be athletes doing the rope skipping stuff. Foot work and all that." "You can tell." Trib says, his mouth pulling to one side in an almost-smile. "You look like someone who takes care of himself." Now his almost-smile is a smirk. "Although, the way you look, there must be a lot of downtime in world-savin'." The question gets a snort -- not /quite/ a laugh -- and the big man shakes his head. "I'm a boxer," he says. "Gotta do that kind of stuff to keep quick on my feet, like you said." He pokes his tongue into his cheek, and wrinkles his nose as he looks back over at the bags. "That's why I came over, actually. You mind bracin' the heavy bag for me?" He waves a hand at the rest of the gym. "I'll fuckin' spot you on whatever, in trade." "Nah not that much, but yeah I probably could spend a bit more time saving the world. Its so easy I can do it in my sleep after all," Corey says with a bit of a wink. Glancing over at the heavy bag, he looks back to Trib a moment and nods. "Yeah I can hold it. If you're as strong as you look though" he just shakes his head at that. "And yeah, I could use someone to spot me on the bench, so I'll take that trade. Course, that's assuming you don't knock the heavy bag off the cable." He chuckles, and starts making his way over towards the bags that were being looked at. Trib snorts again, this time an actual laugh. "So, what? You're another superhero type?" He wags a finger. "Guys like you are makin' the rest of us look bad," he admonishes without rancor. The comments about his size and strength get a shake of his head. "I might make it groan, but you ain't gonna go flyin' or nothin'." He flexes a bicep demonstratively. "I gotta be responsible, with all this raw power, yeah?" He follows Corey in that direction, checking his tape as he goes. "Besides, I just signed on at this gym; I ain't tryin' to get myself kicked out on my first day." Shaking his head at the super hero comment, Corey lets out a sigh. "No, no super hero. Was just joking really." As Trib gets ready, he swings the bag about a bit first, then positions to have the appropriate leverage to keep it steady. "Was more commentary on the world, ahhh, never mind. I came to clear my head, not bitch about New York." He gives a bit of a grin at that, and nods as the other fellow flexes, though Corey just digs in more to make sure he doesn't go flying himself. "There's a lot to bitch about, these days," Trib offers, bouncing on his toes and throwing a few shadow punches as Corey situates himself. "This city's gone to fuckin' shit." He says this with a small tilt to his mouth, and then he's planting his feet. The first couple of blows he lands on the heavy leather are solid, but not enough to jar Corey's mass. "People have lost their fuckin' minds," is grunted out between increasingly heavy blows. Not surprisingly, the big man seems to favor his left hand, putting more power behind those driving hits. "Not that they were really that fuckin' reliable before." Putting his shoulder to the bag to keep it stable, Corey slides a few times before he plants his feet better. At least he seems to be fairly strong enough to counteract some of the push. "Yeah, things have gone pretty much to shit. Buildings getting fire bombed, people getting attacked. Thinking of volunteering at a clinic to help out, make sure people get taken care of." He gives a nod at that before planting for the next heavy blow. Trib is polite enough to keep his blows paced enough that Corey has time to adjust, when needed. He grunts at Corey's ideas of helping out, and his eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Yeah, I bet they can use the extra hands," he offers, before delivering a sudden flurry of what amount to body blows upon the bag. The last hit has a bit of strength behind it, and Trib grunts with the impact. "You some kind of medical student or somethin'? Or just one of them nice guy bleedin-heart types?" Sliding back abit with the last blow, Corey shifts back forward. "Second one. I didn't really have the mindset for medical school, though it would be nice to pick up some training. Wonder what you need for EMT training?" He shakes his head, looking around the bag to the other guy. "And a doctor I know suggested a place that I can volunteer at, so I will probably see about working there at least abit, even if its just doing receptionist stuff. Its not much, but hey, every little bit, drop of water in the ocean, et cetera." Trib pauses after that last blow, rolling his shoulder and dancing back a bit. He shuffles his feet in a tight patter, looking at Corey as he speaks and wrinkling his nose. "I bet they could tell you at a firehouse," he says. "That's where EMTs work, ain't it?" He nods at the mention of the clinic, and rolls his shoulders again. "Hey, if it's one of them free clinics, I bet they'd be happy for any kind of help," he says with a grin. "But I kind of doubt they'd be puttin' you on the front desk, even if you /are/ pretty." He snorts. "More likely, you'd be haulin' trash, an' other glamorous shit." That prediction delivered, he nods as he dances forward. "Brace yourself," he grunts. "I'm gonna cut loose for a minute." Luckily, he leaves Corey unbruised and the bag on its cable. Although Corey might feel a /bit/ knocked-around by the time they move on to the weight benches.