Post by dsb on Jul 16, 2016 1:08:16 GMT
Two days prior to Summer Swelter
Jacksonville, Florida
Camille Cosworth sat in the waiting area of the Mayo Clinic Sports Medicine Department paging through the latest issue of Gladiatrix. Now that she was about to have her first official FAWN match she was technically a professional athlete, and getting a proper athletic performance assessment was simply a matter of due diligence. The brass had offered the services of Dr. Vannacutt, but Camille instead elected to pay out of pocket for a private practice doctor of her choice.
“Cammy Cosworth!” called a deep, booming voice with a rough London accent.
Camille looked up from her magazine and saw a tall, dark skinned man in his late forties wearing a long white coat. “Dr. Sam!” Cosworth replied with a bright smile, “It’s been a long time.”
The good doctor Samuel Shem had been the go to physician for all three Cosworth children, Camille and twin older brothers David and Daniel, during their high school sports careers. Shem had treated everything from broken clavicles to sprained knees to dislocated shoulders -- there was no doctor more trusted in the Cosworth household. Three years ago, the doctor had left his San Antonio practice to take a position as director of sports medicine at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, thus presenting a golden opportunity for Camille in the present.
“I just talked to your old man last week,” said Shem, “I think he’s still a little surprised that you didn’t attend the Olympic trials.”
“Oh, I was always a longshot to make the team. And even if I made it, we would have gotten our butts kicked by the Jamaicans anyway,” replied Cosworth. Her latest NCAA track and field results had granted her the privilege of trying out for the 100 meter dash, 200 meter dash, and long jump events, but Camille had other things to keep her busy now that her FAWN career was getting underway.
The doctor chuckled, “He’ll never admit it, but he’s over the moon that you made it as a pro. Quite the hattrick for the family, eh? Two sons in the NFL and a daughter in FAWN -- some bloody good genes you kids got. Hey, tell me, is Danny boy still upset about you stealing his slam dunk title? Hah! I still remember it like yesterday, it was all over the local news. Captain of the varsity basketball team throws down a 360 tomahawk and everyone thinks he has it in the bag. Then out comes his bean pole of a little sister...”
“Ugh! Don’t remind me,” groaned Camille, “Danny just will NOT let it go. Every time I see him he has to bring it up. ‘You barely got it over the rim!’ ‘The judges let you win because you’re a girl!’ ‘Rematch!’ Seriously, it’s been six years! Get over it!”
Doctor and patient shared a hearty laugh, and then Shem called to the back, “Bausch! Get out here already!”
A frumpy, frazzled looking young man came scampering out. He was also dressed in a long white coat, although his was wrinkled and bore several coffee stains. Loose bits of paper were haphazardly crammed into every pocket. His curly hair was disheveled, and he had large, dark bags under his eyes.
“Cammy, this is Dr. Roy Bausch, our new intern fresh out of medical school. He’ll get you set up for your fitness testing,” said Shem, before adding in a low whisper, “I use the term ‘doctor’ very loosely, if you know what I mean.”
“I heard that…” Roy grumbled.
“Bausch, Ms. Cosworth here is one of the illustrious ladies of FAWN and a personal friend of mine.”
Bausch’s expression visibly brightened after hearing the word ‘FAWN.’ “Pl-pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cammy -- uhh -- Ms. Cosworth. Big fan of yours, I drive down to Orlando all the time to watch your matches!”
Camille blinked in confusion. “I haven't had any matches yet…”
“Of-of course, what I meant is, uh, that I will go to y-your matches,” stammered the junior doctor. “In the f-future. I will go to your future matches. That you will have...uhh...yeah…L-Let’s get you ready in the back...”
*********************
Stripped down to a sports bra and a pair of bikini briefs, Camille laid on an athletic trainer’s table as a pair of technicians stuck cutaneous electrodes all over her body. Every major muscle was covered, from calf to thigh to torso to shoulder to arms.
Roy nervously fidgeted in the corner, trying to look attentive while not openly gawking at Cosworth in her state of undress as he explained the nature of the fitness test. “T-These electrodes measure neuro… uhh… nerve impulses. Speed of conduction, neuromuscular efficiency, t-that sort of thing. We’re going to have you ex-exercise in those, and see uhh see how you do.”
Camille nodded in acknowledgement, then flipped over onto her stomach so the technicians could place electrodes on her back.
“JESUS CHRIST WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BACK?!” Bausch blurted, unable to hold his tongue when he saw the large, jaundiced bruise that stretched from shoulder to hip.
“FAWN stuff happened,” sighed Camille. “It looks much worse than it is. No offense Dr. Bausch, but I’d rather not talk about it if it’s not relevant to what we’re doing here.”
The young doctor suddenly found the tops of his Brogue dress shoes very interesting. The room fell silent for the remainder of the time it took the technicians to do their work. Once all the electrodes were attached, a nurse drew a vial of blood from the vein on the back of Cosworth’s hand and then strapped a heart monitor to her left bicep. With all the high tech monitors in place, Camille hopped off the table and padded over to the exercise area, a massive tangle of lines and wires trailing from her body.
The Drs. Shem and Bausch oversaw Camille as she went through an exhaustive battery of exercises. First she was walking, then running, then sprinting on a treadmill that gradually increased in incline. Then she was off to do a series of push ups and pull ups and sit ups, followed by plyometric box jumps and burpees. Lastly, Cosworth underwent a body composition scan and had another vial of blood drawn before she stripped off the monitors and electrodes that had been tracking every twitch of her nerves and hit the showers.
Thirty minutes later, Camille sat in the director’s office catching up with her doctor while she awaited her test results.
“I think you’re the first FAWN girl we’ve had come through our doors, Cammy,” said Shem as he reclined in his chair. “We’ve had basketball players, football players, baseball players, boxers, UFC fighters -- hell, even a few golfers and NASCAR drivers -- but no wrestlers. Until now.”
“Well, to be honest, I need all the help I can get before my match,” Cosworth replied, subconsciously picking at her hand where she had gotten stuck with the needle. “I was really terrible at Open Fight Nights in Bangor. Just really, really awful. Yoona’s been helping me a lot with my ring tactics since then, but I need to know how I stack up physically, kind of like when Danny and Dave went through the NFL combine.”
Right on cue, Bausch knocked on the door and walked in with a manila folder in hand. “Your body is amazing, Ms. Cosworth!”
All he got for a response was a pair of silent stares.
“I mean...not, uhh, that kind of amazing… wait...”
More silence.
“Y-Yes that kind of amazing too, I w-would, I would kill to have abs like yours -- but -- not that I was looking! Except for, you know, when -- when it was my my job to -- to look… Aww geez… Can I start over?”
Shem snatched the folder away with a disgusted sigh and paged through the report. “Well, well, well Cammy, you're in the top percent of all the female athletes we’ve ever tested. In both strength and speed. Most impressive indeed.”
“Yeah!” added Roy. “Like a destroyer crossed with a flyweight --”
“There’s a catch,” interrupted the senior doctor, drawing a look of concern from Camille. “Tell me who are the most agile fliers in FAWN?”
Cosworth thought for a moment, “Daly and the younger Burlingame. Possibly Sinclair as well.”
“And what are their bodies like?”
“Hmm...roughly five foot nothing, one hundred to one-ten, soaking wet.”
“And who are the most overpowering bruisers?”
“Well that conversation starts and ends with Pandora. About six feet and one-fifty, on the conservative side.”
“Right, and tell me what does your body look like?”
Camille arched an eyebrow. “I'm about five foot six, one thirty -- I guess I split the difference.”
Shem nodded. “You're too big to fly like the true lightweights. You can run as fast and jump as high, maybe even better, but you’ll never be as maneuverable in the air. Extra mass means extra inertia, and inertia is a harsh mistress, the very antithesis of agility.”
Camille pursed her lips, disappointed by the assessment despite realizing it was completely correct.
“The opposite is true for the powerhouses,” continued Shem. “Even if you match them in the weight room, you're too small to bully them in the ring. With their extra height and mass they can just lean into you and let gravity take over.”
Cosworth looked glum. “So you're saying I'm like Hannah Montana’s crappy twin. Worst of both worlds?”
The good doctor shook his head and chuckled. “It's a matter of perspective. You’ll be stronger than anyone who’s as fast or agile, and you’ll be faster and more agile than anyone who’s as strong. So bully the lightweights and outmaneuver the powerhouses. I don't have to be a wrestling coach to see the strategy in that.”
Camille rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Why not use both my speed and strength at the same time? Use more strength when I dodge and shift directions to compensate for the extra inertia to maintain the same agility, and at the same time the extra inertia will compensate for my lack of height and mass. It's not like I have only one or the other.”
“No, Cammy, I don't recommend it. That's like trying to bench press as much as you can as fast as you can. You’ll wear yourself out exponentially more quickly.”
“How quickly are we talking about?”
Shem flipped through the report again. “Based on your blood levels of glucose, ketones, lactate, and other metabolites before and after your exercise test… I’d say one minute -- ninety seconds, at best -- for that kind of sustained, peak exertion.”
Cosworth grinned from ear to ear. “So I get ninety seconds of awesome. And then what?”
“Then you’ll be a sitting duck. You’ll cramp so badly all over that you’ll be virtually paralyzed. More than that and you're looking at rhabdomyolysis and your muscles will start to liquefy. So if it comes to that, you better make bloody sure those ninety seconds of awesome are the last ninety seconds in the match.”
“Well I certainly don't want to liquefy," Camille said with a bit of an anxious expression. "I'll try not to push it into overdrive unless I really, really need it. Thanks for the advice, Doc. It was good seeing you again. If you ever get the time, come down to Orlando and catch a show. It'll be my treat. That goes for you too, Dr. Bausch.”
“Good luck, Cammy. And say hello to your family for me.”
Camille smiled and shook hands with both doctors, then walked out of the clinic.
“What are you still grinning about?” Shem asked roughly of his intern, noticing the dopey look on Roy's face that persisted well after their patient had left.
“She likes me, sir. I'm sure of it.”
Another very long moment of silence.
“Bausch, how does an idiot like you get through medical school?”
Jacksonville, Florida
Camille Cosworth sat in the waiting area of the Mayo Clinic Sports Medicine Department paging through the latest issue of Gladiatrix. Now that she was about to have her first official FAWN match she was technically a professional athlete, and getting a proper athletic performance assessment was simply a matter of due diligence. The brass had offered the services of Dr. Vannacutt, but Camille instead elected to pay out of pocket for a private practice doctor of her choice.
“Cammy Cosworth!” called a deep, booming voice with a rough London accent.
Camille looked up from her magazine and saw a tall, dark skinned man in his late forties wearing a long white coat. “Dr. Sam!” Cosworth replied with a bright smile, “It’s been a long time.”
The good doctor Samuel Shem had been the go to physician for all three Cosworth children, Camille and twin older brothers David and Daniel, during their high school sports careers. Shem had treated everything from broken clavicles to sprained knees to dislocated shoulders -- there was no doctor more trusted in the Cosworth household. Three years ago, the doctor had left his San Antonio practice to take a position as director of sports medicine at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, thus presenting a golden opportunity for Camille in the present.
“I just talked to your old man last week,” said Shem, “I think he’s still a little surprised that you didn’t attend the Olympic trials.”
“Oh, I was always a longshot to make the team. And even if I made it, we would have gotten our butts kicked by the Jamaicans anyway,” replied Cosworth. Her latest NCAA track and field results had granted her the privilege of trying out for the 100 meter dash, 200 meter dash, and long jump events, but Camille had other things to keep her busy now that her FAWN career was getting underway.
The doctor chuckled, “He’ll never admit it, but he’s over the moon that you made it as a pro. Quite the hattrick for the family, eh? Two sons in the NFL and a daughter in FAWN -- some bloody good genes you kids got. Hey, tell me, is Danny boy still upset about you stealing his slam dunk title? Hah! I still remember it like yesterday, it was all over the local news. Captain of the varsity basketball team throws down a 360 tomahawk and everyone thinks he has it in the bag. Then out comes his bean pole of a little sister...”
“Ugh! Don’t remind me,” groaned Camille, “Danny just will NOT let it go. Every time I see him he has to bring it up. ‘You barely got it over the rim!’ ‘The judges let you win because you’re a girl!’ ‘Rematch!’ Seriously, it’s been six years! Get over it!”
Doctor and patient shared a hearty laugh, and then Shem called to the back, “Bausch! Get out here already!”
A frumpy, frazzled looking young man came scampering out. He was also dressed in a long white coat, although his was wrinkled and bore several coffee stains. Loose bits of paper were haphazardly crammed into every pocket. His curly hair was disheveled, and he had large, dark bags under his eyes.
“Cammy, this is Dr. Roy Bausch, our new intern fresh out of medical school. He’ll get you set up for your fitness testing,” said Shem, before adding in a low whisper, “I use the term ‘doctor’ very loosely, if you know what I mean.”
“I heard that…” Roy grumbled.
“Bausch, Ms. Cosworth here is one of the illustrious ladies of FAWN and a personal friend of mine.”
Bausch’s expression visibly brightened after hearing the word ‘FAWN.’ “Pl-pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cammy -- uhh -- Ms. Cosworth. Big fan of yours, I drive down to Orlando all the time to watch your matches!”
Camille blinked in confusion. “I haven't had any matches yet…”
“Of-of course, what I meant is, uh, that I will go to y-your matches,” stammered the junior doctor. “In the f-future. I will go to your future matches. That you will have...uhh...yeah…L-Let’s get you ready in the back...”
*********************
Stripped down to a sports bra and a pair of bikini briefs, Camille laid on an athletic trainer’s table as a pair of technicians stuck cutaneous electrodes all over her body. Every major muscle was covered, from calf to thigh to torso to shoulder to arms.
Roy nervously fidgeted in the corner, trying to look attentive while not openly gawking at Cosworth in her state of undress as he explained the nature of the fitness test. “T-These electrodes measure neuro… uhh… nerve impulses. Speed of conduction, neuromuscular efficiency, t-that sort of thing. We’re going to have you ex-exercise in those, and see uhh see how you do.”
Camille nodded in acknowledgement, then flipped over onto her stomach so the technicians could place electrodes on her back.
“JESUS CHRIST WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BACK?!” Bausch blurted, unable to hold his tongue when he saw the large, jaundiced bruise that stretched from shoulder to hip.
“FAWN stuff happened,” sighed Camille. “It looks much worse than it is. No offense Dr. Bausch, but I’d rather not talk about it if it’s not relevant to what we’re doing here.”
The young doctor suddenly found the tops of his Brogue dress shoes very interesting. The room fell silent for the remainder of the time it took the technicians to do their work. Once all the electrodes were attached, a nurse drew a vial of blood from the vein on the back of Cosworth’s hand and then strapped a heart monitor to her left bicep. With all the high tech monitors in place, Camille hopped off the table and padded over to the exercise area, a massive tangle of lines and wires trailing from her body.
The Drs. Shem and Bausch oversaw Camille as she went through an exhaustive battery of exercises. First she was walking, then running, then sprinting on a treadmill that gradually increased in incline. Then she was off to do a series of push ups and pull ups and sit ups, followed by plyometric box jumps and burpees. Lastly, Cosworth underwent a body composition scan and had another vial of blood drawn before she stripped off the monitors and electrodes that had been tracking every twitch of her nerves and hit the showers.
Thirty minutes later, Camille sat in the director’s office catching up with her doctor while she awaited her test results.
“I think you’re the first FAWN girl we’ve had come through our doors, Cammy,” said Shem as he reclined in his chair. “We’ve had basketball players, football players, baseball players, boxers, UFC fighters -- hell, even a few golfers and NASCAR drivers -- but no wrestlers. Until now.”
“Well, to be honest, I need all the help I can get before my match,” Cosworth replied, subconsciously picking at her hand where she had gotten stuck with the needle. “I was really terrible at Open Fight Nights in Bangor. Just really, really awful. Yoona’s been helping me a lot with my ring tactics since then, but I need to know how I stack up physically, kind of like when Danny and Dave went through the NFL combine.”
Right on cue, Bausch knocked on the door and walked in with a manila folder in hand. “Your body is amazing, Ms. Cosworth!”
All he got for a response was a pair of silent stares.
“I mean...not, uhh, that kind of amazing… wait...”
More silence.
“Y-Yes that kind of amazing too, I w-would, I would kill to have abs like yours -- but -- not that I was looking! Except for, you know, when -- when it was my my job to -- to look… Aww geez… Can I start over?”
Shem snatched the folder away with a disgusted sigh and paged through the report. “Well, well, well Cammy, you're in the top percent of all the female athletes we’ve ever tested. In both strength and speed. Most impressive indeed.”
“Yeah!” added Roy. “Like a destroyer crossed with a flyweight --”
“There’s a catch,” interrupted the senior doctor, drawing a look of concern from Camille. “Tell me who are the most agile fliers in FAWN?”
Cosworth thought for a moment, “Daly and the younger Burlingame. Possibly Sinclair as well.”
“And what are their bodies like?”
“Hmm...roughly five foot nothing, one hundred to one-ten, soaking wet.”
“And who are the most overpowering bruisers?”
“Well that conversation starts and ends with Pandora. About six feet and one-fifty, on the conservative side.”
“Right, and tell me what does your body look like?”
Camille arched an eyebrow. “I'm about five foot six, one thirty -- I guess I split the difference.”
Shem nodded. “You're too big to fly like the true lightweights. You can run as fast and jump as high, maybe even better, but you’ll never be as maneuverable in the air. Extra mass means extra inertia, and inertia is a harsh mistress, the very antithesis of agility.”
Camille pursed her lips, disappointed by the assessment despite realizing it was completely correct.
“The opposite is true for the powerhouses,” continued Shem. “Even if you match them in the weight room, you're too small to bully them in the ring. With their extra height and mass they can just lean into you and let gravity take over.”
Cosworth looked glum. “So you're saying I'm like Hannah Montana’s crappy twin. Worst of both worlds?”
The good doctor shook his head and chuckled. “It's a matter of perspective. You’ll be stronger than anyone who’s as fast or agile, and you’ll be faster and more agile than anyone who’s as strong. So bully the lightweights and outmaneuver the powerhouses. I don't have to be a wrestling coach to see the strategy in that.”
Camille rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Why not use both my speed and strength at the same time? Use more strength when I dodge and shift directions to compensate for the extra inertia to maintain the same agility, and at the same time the extra inertia will compensate for my lack of height and mass. It's not like I have only one or the other.”
“No, Cammy, I don't recommend it. That's like trying to bench press as much as you can as fast as you can. You’ll wear yourself out exponentially more quickly.”
“How quickly are we talking about?”
Shem flipped through the report again. “Based on your blood levels of glucose, ketones, lactate, and other metabolites before and after your exercise test… I’d say one minute -- ninety seconds, at best -- for that kind of sustained, peak exertion.”
Cosworth grinned from ear to ear. “So I get ninety seconds of awesome. And then what?”
“Then you’ll be a sitting duck. You’ll cramp so badly all over that you’ll be virtually paralyzed. More than that and you're looking at rhabdomyolysis and your muscles will start to liquefy. So if it comes to that, you better make bloody sure those ninety seconds of awesome are the last ninety seconds in the match.”
“Well I certainly don't want to liquefy," Camille said with a bit of an anxious expression. "I'll try not to push it into overdrive unless I really, really need it. Thanks for the advice, Doc. It was good seeing you again. If you ever get the time, come down to Orlando and catch a show. It'll be my treat. That goes for you too, Dr. Bausch.”
“Good luck, Cammy. And say hello to your family for me.”
Camille smiled and shook hands with both doctors, then walked out of the clinic.
“What are you still grinning about?” Shem asked roughly of his intern, noticing the dopey look on Roy's face that persisted well after their patient had left.
“She likes me, sir. I'm sure of it.”
Another very long moment of silence.
“Bausch, how does an idiot like you get through medical school?”