Healthy Exercise
"No, seriously, I want you to break it," Abe Brown told Steve when they reached the private room where a canvas heavy bag was waiting.
"I don't think ..."
"Leslie's seen it," Abe whined like a little kid. "I want to see it, too."
Steve had to laugh at the elderly man's deliberately childish tone.
"OK. OK," Steve agreed.
Abe showed him where the supplies were and Steve wrapped his hands and took off his button down shirt, leaving just his tight white undershirt.
Leslie wolf-whistled, getting an eye-roll in return.
"Stand back," Steve ordered. When the others were well behind him, Steve began to punch the bag. He started slowly, warming up and getting a feel for the bag. It was meant for a lighter weight boxer, he realized. As he began to hit harder and harder, Steve felt the fabric give, so he put everything he had into the next right.
The bag split apart and sand gushed onto the floor. The rattling chain snapped, and the bag dropped onto the pile of sand.
Steve stepped back, not even breathing hard. He quirked an eyebrow at the others.
"How was that?"
"Not as impressive as when the bag flew across the room," Leslie answered.
"Right, so we need to try again," Abe declared, rubbing his hands in glee. He shepherded Steve through the process of removing the remains of the broken bag and hanging a new one.
"This one is double-wrapped in leather," Abe explained. "It shouldn't split so easily. "Now, try again," he ordered.
Steve shook his head in amusement, but obeyed. He pounded the bag, feeling the difference in quality. He really had to work at it, but eventually he felt the leather begin to stretch. Fearing it would disappoint again, Steve aimed his blows higher, making the chain jerk and twist. The chain snapped before the leather gave way. The bag flew across the small space and hit the wall with a dull thud, leaving a small dent in the plaster.
"Yes!" Abe exulted.
Steve was sweating just a little. He breathed deeply and turned to his audience. "How was that?"
Abe clapped his hands. "Excellent. How do you feel?"
"Good." Steve realized it was true. This was the first time since his awakening that he'd exerted his strength without grief and anger in his heart.
Leslie and Abe grinned at him and he smiled back, the most genuine smile Leslie had seen in her short time with him.
"I think this boxing club will be good for you," she said.
"Yeah." There was relief in that single word.
"Now we need to find someplace you can run full out, without spectators," Leslie said.
"Can't help with that," Abe said. "But we've got these." He fished in the cabinet and held out a jump rope. "The ceiling's high enough and the room is private."
"Right," Steve agreed. "And Carlos said I can jump rope in the residence gym, too."
"It's not quite the same as stretching out in a full run, but it's a good workout," Leslie said. "Heaven knows, just a little bit of jump rope does me in."
"Then you should do more," Abe said, handing her a shorter rope, more fitting for her height.
"And you," Abe told Steve. "Your new assignment is to to punch a bag and NOT break it."
Steve began to workout with a will, alternating bag work with the jump rope. He made the rope spin so fast, it hummed, and Leslie was afraid to get anywhere close to the whirling rope she could hardly see.
When Steve returned to the punching bag, Leslie took a turn with her own jump rope. It didn't take long before she was panting and sweating. She was a 60-year-old, desk jockey with arthritis. She really needed to exercise more, she told herself firmly. She pushed herself a little, but stopped when her wrists began to ache.
"Not bad for a couch potato," Abe teased. The gym owner had opened the main room for the youth program. He went back and forth between the two rooms, assigning a couple of his assistants to keep an eye on the kids when he was busy.
"What's a couch potato?" Steve asked, not taking his focus off the tear-shaped speed bag Abe had set up for him. Steve had to be really careful not to break the speed bag, because he was so fast. It was more useful for the Super Soldier's concentration than his speed.
"A couch potato is someone who sits on the couch in front of the TV or computer instead of getting out and exercising, or even just getting out and doing things," Leslie answered, wiping her brow. "I try not to be a couch potato, but I am," she confessed. "I've gotten more exercise just walking around with you than I have in months."
"So I'm good for something," Steve said brightly. Leslie was so happy to not hear a trace of bitterness in his voice.
"You are good for a lot of things," Leslie answered. "He can cook," she told Abe. "He baked bread! And he was better at I am sorting out the cords to hook up the TV and Blu-ray and all."
"Bread didn't come out so good," Steve confessed.
"The flavor was excellent," Leslie corrected. "The texture will be better next time, now that you know not to overwork it with your mighty muscles."
"Home baked bread," Abe marveled. "I haven't had that since, well, since my mom died."
"You'll have to come over then," Steve offered, putting up a hand to stop the speed bag. "We'll try again." Then he looked back at Leslie with a slightly guilty question in his eyes.
"Of course you can invite a friend over, Steven," Leslie said in her best mom voice. "As long as he's got security clearance, which Abe has."
"So I can't invite Billy but I could invite Hill?" Steve joked. Leslie made a face at him.
"Hill I know. Who's Billy?"
"A kid we met on the street," Leslie answered. "He'll be too busy playing with his new puppy to come over, anyway."
Leslie explained about the asthma incident while Steve reached for his water bottle. He looked happy and relaxed by finally getting some unstressful exercise. Then he frowned.
"Um, Leslie, I'm hungry," he said almost apologetically.
She looked at her watch and realized it was nearly 3. "Heavens, we missed lunch. That's not good for you. Won't hurt me any, though. Let's go home and get a snack while we start dinner," she suggested.
Abe tossed Steve a couple of Power Bars. "These should hold you until you get some real food."
The bars had nuts and chocolate, one with peanut butter and one with cashews.
Steve devoured them in a couple quick bites, then washed them down with a whole bottle of water. He looked down at himself, drenched with sweat from the satisfying workout. "I should take a shower and change," he said.
Abe had already pointed out where the private locker room and showers were, with a bin of towels and a shelf of personal size soaps and shampoos.
"You should," Leslie agreed. "But why don't we go home and get dinner started, then you can shower while it's cooking."
"Can we grab a taco or something on the way?"
"We can. And now you know why fast food is popular," Leslie answered.
Steve felt awkward walking the streets all sweaty, but there were others overheated from exercise or hard work. Steve politely tried to stay downwind of passersby and didn't want to go into a closed in shop. Leslie ran in and got Steve a burrito while he lingered out on the sidewalk. He realized that people were looking at him, but not like they were offended. More like they were admiring his physique.
One woman was bumped by a man and rebounded into Steve. He saw the face she made when her hand brushed his sweaty arm.
"Sorry, ma'am," he apologized.
She started to say something, as she wiped her hand on her pant leg, then she looked him up and down. "No, don't apologize," she said. "Whatever you're doing, it's working. Keep it up," she grinned and continued on.
Leslie came out in time to see the exchange.
"I'm disgusting," Steve said, using a fast food napkin to wipe the sweat from his brow, then his arms.
"'Disgusting' was not the word she would have used," Leslie countered with a smile.
Despite the burrito, Leslie could still hear Steve's stomach complaining when they got home.
"I'm sorry, we could have gone out again. It would have been faster," she said. "But the chickens I bought need to be cooked."
Steve fervently agreed that wasting food was a sin. "I can wait," he promised.
Leslie handed him a yellow plastic cutting board and set him to breaking down one of the chickens. He cut it into eight pieces — breasts, thighs, legs and wings — with neat, firm chops. Meanwhile Leslie was spraying Pam on a baking dish. They seasoned both sides of the chicken pieces with garlic salt and pepper, then put them in the dish skin side up. "Space them out a little," Leslie instructed. She put the dish in at 400 degrees.
As soon as the first chicken was in the oven, Leslie started preparing a second.
"This recipe is more flavorful, but it takes longer and I didn't want you to have to wait," she explained.
She put this chicken whole in a roasting pan. While some butter was melting on the stove, she loosened the skin and rubbed softened butter on the flesh beneath the skin.
"Cut two oranges in half for me, please," she instructed, keeping her buttery hands away from everything. She squeezed the oranges over the chicken, then put the now-greasy orange halves inside the bird's cavity. Steve tied the legs together with kitchen twine, while she washed her hands. She swore she always got more butter on her hands than on the poultry flesh when she tried this, but it made the chicken taste so good!
Once her hands were clean, Leslie sprinkled the bird with garlic salt and pepper, then drizzled the melted butter over it and put sprigs of herbs on and around it.
"We'll put this one in as soon as the first one is done. Then MAYBE we'll have some leftovers for tomorrow," she said, giving Steve a deeply significant look.
He tried to look innocent, but it was an epic fail. Leslie told him to hit the showers. He went to his room with relief. He was sticky and uncomfortable and sure that he smelled.
With 20 minutes remaining before she had to do anything to the first chicken, Leslie went to her own room to shower and wash her hair.
They were both back in the kitchen before the first timer went off. They puttered around, setting the table and pricking the skin of several red-skinned potatoes that they would cook in the microwave when the chicken was done.
Leslie's fine hair was just getting dry, when the timer the 30-minute mark and it was time to turn the oven down to 350 degrees.
"Starting at a higher temperature should get the skin crispy, but it will burn before the inside gets done if you don't turn the temp down," she told Steve.
He was impressed by her knowledge. She shrugged. "I looked it up last night," she said, showing him the recipe on her smartphone. "Now it's got to bake for 10 to 30 minutes, depending on how thick the meat is, I presume. We'll start checking at 10. We look for when the juices run clear."
While they were waiting, Leslie got out a green cutting board.
"This one is for vegetables. Never use this one for meat." She pointed out the yellow one Steve had used for the poultry, the red one that was for red meat and the blue one for fish. "Keeping them separate helps prevent cross contamination. You do NOT want raw meat juice touching something you're going to eat raw, like salad. Raw chicken is especially bad. You could spread bacteria like salmonella which makes people sick and can be deadly."
"And you shouldn't let raw chicken touch raw beef either?"
"It's best to keep them separate. It's just good cooking practice. But if you cook both the beef and chicken fully, then you'll kill the bacteria and the food will be safe to eat," Leslie answered. "Oh, and always wash your hands after using the toilet, especially before handling food. There's something called norovirus, stomach flu, people call it, and it stays in a person's feces for weeks after they get better. You could make your whole family, a whole restaurant full of people, hell, a whole cruise ship full of people, sick by not washing your hands."
Steve had washed his hands twice already, but he immediately washed them again because that whole notion was gross. "Cruise ship?" he asked.
"Ocean liner," Leslie answered, "but meant for fun trips, not for simply crossing the ocean as transportation. We mostly cross the oceans on airliners these days."
The smell of the cooking chicken was making Leslie's mouth water. She hadn't had any lunch, either. "We haven't had our taste test yet," she said. "Let's see what your super senses can tell us."
A/N: The chicken recipes were based on AllRecipes dot com recipes.