PHD #174: Feather-Weight
Summary: The Marine CO attempts to show the CAG how to throw a punch. With mixed results.
Date: 19 Aug 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Cidra Madilyn 
Athletics Area - Deck 12 - Battlestar Cerberus
A large pair of mats dominates the center of this room, their centers taped-out for a small area to practice boxing or other martial arts. Around the outside are treadmills, bikes, weights, and an impressive variety of gym equipment to help tone and shape the bodies of the crew. To one side of the room is the locker room while at the rear is a hatch that leads back to the oversized swimming pool. Off to the side is a rack that holds boxing gloves, pugil sticks, and the associated pads for the sticks.
Post-Holocaust Day: #174

Cidra is hitting the gym. She's just emerged from the training room in sweats, ruddy brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Generally when the CAG is in for PT, it's the weights she attacks. Exercises designed to maintain muscle in the shoulders and legs. And not a lot beyond that, from the look of her. She's tall and in generally decent shape, given the demands of flight, but she's built decidedly light. Still, it's not the weight machines she approaches, but the area devoted to sparring practice.

Tonight's partner? Why, it's the Marine CO! Where's Trask when you need him? There's plenty of lewd humor to be had here tonight, no doubt…and he's missing out on it. Comparitively fresh compared to the CAG, the tall blonde - hair pulled back in similar fashion - is stretching out on flat weight bench. It's a real throwback to her childhood, when gymnastics were a part of her daily ritual. "Evening Major," Madilyn calls out first, looking in the CAG's direction as she stretches a hammie with her foot on the bench and trying to reach down to her toes.

"Major Willows-Cavanaugh," is Cidra's polite greeting in turn to Madilyn. It's usually both surnames from her. "A good eve. I do thank you for taking the time out of your routine for this. I am not, as I have told your Sergeant Constin before, much adept at pugilism." She gets to wrapping her hands first. Her fingers are deft, long with neatly-trimmed nails. And one might wonder if she's ever thrown a 'real' punch in her life.

"That would appear to be as good a reason as any to increase one's skill," Madilyn replies. "If events in the fairly-recent past have proven anything, it's that many of the crew, not just Raptor pilots, could benefit from training or refresher courses, whatever may be the case." A few more moments of stretching the legs, then Madilyn is up and wrapping her hands from a tape roll conveniently brought along in her duffel. "The one problem is that, in a situation where this may be necessary, you lack the protective headgear, gloves, and mouthguard."

"My Lieutenant Trask thought it would be prudent, given our Raptor personnel in particularly shall be logging a certain amount of ground time down on Sagittaron," Cidra says. "Given the tales I heard from what transpired on Leonis, I cannot but agree." Duly taped, she gloves up. "I do figure it is like training in the simulators. It is not the real thing, but it teaches the muscles and reflexes what to do in a situation where it is not life or limb. Do you box, Major? Recreationally, I do mean."

"I suspect that if you intend to ever use your Raptors to move personnel and survivors, close-combat training could be a valuable asset." Madilyn follows Cidra in gloving up, taking the time to stretch her torso, arms, the whole deal. "The extent of my boxing is limited to keeping up with the training and fitness I'm afraid. You won't find my climbing into any ring to compete for the Colonial Heavyweight Championship, that's for certain!"

"I never did understand the Navy preoccupation with boxing as a pass time," Cidra says, protective helmet on next. She is all about safety at the moment. "One would think the threat of getting bruised on the job regularly would make one enjoy doing it less in one's off-time. Anyhow. My own physical training regimen is more involved in weights and calisthenics. And reflex-building exercises. I hit very little in my day-to-day without a missile rack." Once she's stretched and suited up, she steps into the taped-out center of the mat. "And yes. Trask seems concerned about dealing with unruly passengers. For my part, I am more worried about Cylons than what we might find in the way of humanity. But, it is a prudent measure."

"Hopefully, if there's fighting to be had on the ground, it won't be the pilots doing the shooting or the pugilism, as you stated." That of course implies that all the marines and other folks more used to using guns and explosives and other weapons are incapacitated. "As a compliment to this, however, you should consider having all of your pilots brush up on their firearms, and firearms qualifications. Not just in the use of their sidearms, but in rifles, carbines, and other weapons they may find planetside that we can reasonably simulate." While talking, Madilyn still finds time to get that padded head wrapper put on and tightened with the loud rip of some Velcro.

"I hope to avoid fighting on the ground at all," Cidra says. "Barring encounters with remaining Cylon presence, that is. Our search teams detected that planet - and Aerilon - to be apparently deserted. But I cannot say I trust that." In fact, it seems to trouble her more than detectable signs of the enemy would. She takes a few punches at the air as Madilyn finishes padding. She punches like…well. The CAG is definitely *not* a Marine. "That is a good notion. My Lieutenant Sophronia actually recommended some of our squadrons go through some MOUT training exercises. Again, after her return from Leonis. Their experiences down there sounded decidedly hairy. I would be most glad to set aside time for it."

"If Leonis has taught us anything, it's that lightly armed operations on enemy-occupied colonies tend to turn out as…well, as clusterfraks, to use the parlance of our times. This operation should," Madilyn begins, looking a little hesitant to finish up. Hope you're not very superstitious, Cidra, because she finishes with, "be smoother. More preparation and closer proximity, should help be needed." The CAG's punches are watched with an apprasing eye…and a slightly raised eyebrow. "Wow. I do hope your pilots know how to punch a little better than that," Madilyn ribs.

"Should be," Cidra agrees simply about the operation. But she's not going to tempt fate by speculating on its smoothness any more than that. The barest hint of a smirk to the Marine CO. "I am quite sure most of them could take me in a fair fight. But. That is why I am here." She straightens up, watching Madilyn rather than trying to whiff at the air any further. "Show me how it is done, then."

"The first question: handedness. Are you right- or left-handed? If you're left-handed, we'll have a bit of difficulty, in the sense that you'll be required to do everything I do, but in mirror-image." No, not reverse. Silly human bodies and their chirality. "If you're right-handed, there's no problem, obviously." Get the basics out of the way first, then Madilyn can begin!

"I am a…north paw? If south is left," is Cidra's wry reply. She holds up her right, be-gloved hand. She assumes something resembling a 'ready' stance. She knows *how* to do it, in the strictest 'I went through basic training…fifteen years ago' sense. It just does not look at all natural. More seriously she adds, "I am right-handed. I am curious, Major Willows-Cavanaugh, how you did decide to join the Marines." She doesn't quite say 'You don't seem the type,' but the implication is there.

"That…is something my mother would, and in fact, did ask. Multiple times. I really am not the type, honestly." Leave it to her to address the 800-pound gorilla in the room, that's okay. It's about her, afterall. "That, I believe, had everything to do with joining the Marines. You're much too rigid in your stance. Here, more like this," Madilyn says, as her sentences flow from topic to topic. To demonstrate, she adopts a combat-ready stance, fists up, beside Cidra rather than in front of her. Easier to mimick than mirror. "It wasn't just to join the academy, for the record."

Cidra copies Madilyn as closely as she can. If nothing else, she can follow directions. Relaxing is *something* of a challenge, but she manages the mimicry passably. That bare hint of a smirk remains on her lips as she listens to Madilyn. "I joined pilot training to get at my mother as well," she says wryly. A pause and shrug. "Well. In part. That is, as they say, the short version. But more correct than I would have liked to admit at the time."

"That's not so far from the reason I joined. To spite her, I think? To give up my claim to what she thought was right or expected of me. It's hard to grow up with money on Caprica you know." Madilyn turns to look at Cidra's new posture, and nods. "That's better. Quite a bit, actually. You don't want to be too stiff. You have to be able to move, fluidly and quickly, in multiple directions. You can't lock yourself into confronting an attack from just the front, but the sides, and potentially the back as well."

"Is it now?" Cidra's tone is more than a little dry as Madilyn mentions growing up on Caprica. "I grew up one of the few with some measure of material comfort on Gemenon. I could have had it *much* harder." She takes a few more punches at the air. Her hits are still pretty limp, though she does put some feeling behind her air-punching this time. "I know what you mean of the other, though. You go through life being told what your path is, and it becomes the last one you feel you can walk straight."

"Right, exactly. Born into money, father a professor and researcher. Though I did eventually wind up going to the same school, after the academy that is, it wasn't in the field my parents would have liked to see me enter. Suffice it to say that they have…had strong traditional values. Strong 'old money' values, if you will." As for Cidra's punching? Well, that's more an issue of just getting the muscle memory down, and using not just her arm, but stepping into it as best she can. "Don't be afraid to throw your weight into it when you punch, whether it's the air, a punching bag, or another combatant. Slower, and with the consequence that you often give away your move, but more power. You'll be less fatigued in the arms and shoulders if you don't use your arms by themselves." Madilyn starts to coach, demonstrating the difference between the heavy, slow punches that you step into, and the quick little jabs that one can volley with both fists. Her own rust shows, as she typically relies on chemical reactions and metallic projectiles to do her fighting.

"My mother was a priestess of Hera," Cidra says. "I know…something of strong traditional values. If somewhat…different ones I do suspect." She does slow down, which helps her look slightly less whiffy. Her arms are in decent shape, so she *can* put some muscle behind her strikes if she concentrates on doing so properly. Heavy and slow. Still nothing terribly impressive, though. She relies on missile racks and KEW canons. But she does practice. Muscle memory, she can build.

"I don't suspect we were as religious as you, then. In fact, I'm quite certain. My parents never discouraged us - that is to say my brother and me - from exploring religion. The basic facts, the everyday acts, but if we missed a day it wasn't as if we were punished. In our home, it was always books, school work, and extracirricular 'development.' Music, sports and the like." Madilyn talks as she continues to demonstrate a couple of punches, then watch a couple of punches. Demonstrate, watch.

"In our house, Devotion was stressed. And lack of it was punished." Cidra's tone emphasizes the word 'Devotion' in a way that pointedly capitalizes it. "My mother believed attention to such made one into a more worthy instrument of the Lords and Ladies. Life is Service." She watches more than she punches, for her part. Rust and general lack of attention to this sort of thing on a daily basis is apparent. But she is trying. She falls silent as they go along, so she can watch and practice more closely. She is sweating by the time she nears the end of their little session.

Cidra isn't the only one sweating by the end of the session. Problem with being the marine CO on a ship that basically serves to shuttle and deliver a combat air wing into combat is that you hardly get to see much action. Save for training exercises and gym time of course, but those aren't the same. The idle chit-chat keeps going, but slows down as they get into actually punching at the bad toward the end of the session. After maybe a half hour or so of just getting motions of punching down, it would seem that the time for both to spend in the gym on tangential training is expired. Back to the daily grind and excercises more suited to the everyday job.
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