PHD #268: Personal Trainers
Personal Trainers
Summary: Trask seeks out recommendations for a good personal trainer.
Date: 21 Nov 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Trask 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: #268

When the Fleet was stationed above Sagittaron, the Air Wing requested MOUT training and some refreshers in hand-to-hand combat. Among those who took advantage is the man who suggested the idea to Major Hahn. With Tauron bound to be far rougher than Aerilon was, Trask's opted to contact the CMC, seeking someone skilled in disarming and subduing tactics. Where the request might be floating in a sea of paperwork, he knows not. It does not prevent him from working the bag all by himself.

Speaking of CMC and the sea of paperwork, the navigator of said sea is just on her way down to the athletics area for a bit of a run herself. The hatch to the gym opens and shuts, and Madilyn steps through with a water bottle in one hand and a towel slung over the opposite shoulder, held in place by the other hand.

From the look of him, Bootstrap has been beating on the heavy bag for quite a while. Judging by his use of a spotter, he's been hitting it hard. Even after the three-minute alarm on his stopwatch goes off, he tosses off a final left hook. Steam blown, it's now time to catch his breath, for he is sweating, panting, and flushed. Bent over to rest against his thighs, when he finally tilts his head upwards, it is Madilyn who is in his line-of-sight. "Major," he exhales, chest heaving.

"Lieutenant," the woman calmly replies. For every bit of color raised on his cheeks (and knuckles too, likely), and for every drop of sweat, Madilyn seems to be quite the antithesis; she could very well have just come from the shower. That's obviously not the case. She's got a particular routine in mind that she wants to run through today, and the start of it is, quite literally, running - the fact that she's beelining for a treadmill is proof enough of that. The bags will follow that, spotter or no.

Teeth are used to unfasten the velcro of his left glove, which is tossed to the spotter. Then the same for the right. "Thanks, Suarez," he tells the other man before retrieving his towel and bottle of water. The former is draped across his head like some D-movie sheik; the latter is drunk from quite deeply. The El-Tee's free hand lifts to prevent aforementioned towel from falling off. That all seen to, he starts to wipe down his brow and the back of his neck… and follows CMC CO. "Sir," he continues, heart rate still up, "Thank you for offering the training. I know it drains your time and manpower, but it really is appreciated a /whole/ lot." Brazen as he is, he's not utterly lacking in manners, especially when he's being sincere.

His following doesn't keep her from tossing the clean towel of hers over the rail of the treadmill, and nestling the water bottle in the holder and stepping up onto the machine. Only once she's settled, but before pressing the big green START button, does she reply to Trask. It's not to snub him, but to get herself settled and to let him get a few breaths in him. Madilyn gives him a nod and a bit of a smile. "I just put it on the schedule. The ones you should be thanking are the grunts that take time to actually do the teaching. An infusion of Marines from Sag and Aerilon have given some flexibility to the patrol schedules, though, and it's always a worthwhile venture."

"I assure you, Major, I'm not one to ever overlook the grunts." After all, he spent his fair share of years among the ranks of the enlisted. "Even so, if you don't sign-off on it, it doesn't happen." Commandeering the dormant treadmill next to the blonde, Kal squeezes more water into his mouth and sets the timer for five minutes at an incline and speed level suitable for a cool-down. Settling his own bottle into its own holder, the towel is once more rubbed against his scalp and then draped around the back of his neck. "Is there anyone you recommend insofar as techniques that don't involve beating someone to a pulp?"

"Well, you know us…pulp is how we like enemy combatants," Madilyn replies with a wan smile; her attempt at humor, dry and serious. "That being said, the majority of the new Marines, El-Tee Vandenberg, Staff Sergeant Crowe, Corporal Rian, and our very own home-grown Sergeant Constin would be the ones I'd go to for more complex techniques. Myself, I'm a bit rusty, but as you can imagine - lacking the strength of a brute like Constin - I had to learn more of the takedowns and redirections." There's a sharp beep from the machine she's on as she gives the button a tap, and then it starts to hum and get up to speed.

Keeping a steady pace and drawing two fingers to the pulse at his neck, Trask monitors his heartrate while Madilyn speaks. "Takedowns and redirections is what I want. Where I come from… well, fights ends when the other person is too beaten to move. I'd like to be able to control a situation in a manner that doesn't involve concussions." There's truth in that, even if there also is a certain wryness.

It's a few minutes where Madilyn goes silent as the machine gets up to the prescribed speed. The only sounds in that time are the whump of her shoes on the treads, and the increasing respiration. Only when Madilyn gets up to the desired speed - a brisk jog, not quite a run, but more than a casual jog - does she go ahead and answer. "Theoretically, they should all know takedowns and redirects…but of course, the women tend to be a little more reliant. The ones I assigned are a mix, boxers, brawlers, and grapplers, but the base skillset is the same."

A few minutes of silence. Okaaaaay. There's a sidelong glance. Some time later, there's another. Whatever Bootstrap may be thinking or feeling, however, he keeps to himself. "So," he finally says, "Lieutenant Vandenberg." Beat. "From what I hear, she's very skilled at making people bleed and bruise. Useful as that is, it's not what I'm aimin' for. Crowe and Constin are built for beatdowns. What about the Corporal?" Rian, that is.

"She's got a record of fighting and what have you. I imagine she's good for what you're seeking. Though, El-Tee Vandenberg and Lance Corporal Maragos are practitioners of a particular type of combat methodology…Bolkat Kontakta, if I'm remembering their files correctly. It's…intense, to say the least. Fast and effective, puts the enemy on the ground and takes them out of combat as quickly as possible, with control and counter-attacks. That's how it was described to me, at least."

Swigging from the water bottle, Trask takes in what is said, his expression studious as he stares ahead. "I'll look into that." Perhaps it's post-workout fatigue but the words sound a bit flat. Five… Four… Three… Two… One… *BEEP* Cool-down period is completed. Not one to lollygag, the SL collects his bottle and offers Madilyn a nod. "Thanks for the four-one-one, Major. Happy hunting." And unless further detained, he takes his leave.

There's no protest from Madilyn. While Trask makes his exit, there's a few beeps from the woman's treadmill as she cranks up the speed a bit and adds a few degrees of incline. The only sounds following him out are the thump of rubber on the tread.

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