"Old Warhorse" One of Wildcat's nicknames that has stuck over the years and grows more accurate as time passes by. Decades of fighting in and out of the ring has earned him both the "warhorse" and the "old" part of the title. His body is decorated with scars from injuries and the incisions from past operations to fix them. His hands and knuckles are protected with thick calluses and his shin and forehead have built up scar tissue that he regularly gets removed from the countless unavoidable cuts and gashes he occasionally still gets from crime fighting. And as much as Ted hates to admit, his joints have been aching more frequently than they did a few years ago. It might seem that father time, his long time nemesis has finally covered some ground and has been closing in on the veteran hero. And nothing short of a healing factor would be the only thing to beat it. But there was one particular "home" remedy that did seem to slow down time and ease the aches and pain quite significantly.
Ted paused momentarily as he gazed at his gym from the outside looking in through the crystal clear glass doors. Admiring the world renowned facility that he has built from the ground up over the years. his lips curved upwards as his face beamed with joy before pushing the doors open.
As he entered the premises he was instantly greeted with the noise and scent of what he called home. The sound of skipping rope slamming and whipping into the wooden, polished floors, the thudding of the heavy bag as punches, kicks and elbows slammed into the genuine leather never failed to revitalize him. But his favorite sound of all was the galloping rhythm of the speed bag as it bounced off its thick wooden boards.
As he made his way deeper into the gym towards an unoccupied speed bag he was greeted by the coaches and members of the gym and the sounds and smell of the establishment had become more prominent and noticeable, and his excitement increased.
Upon arriving to the empty speed bag, he dropped his duffel bag next to him on the ground. He pushed the speed bag ever so slightly to get it rocking, and as it made its way back towards him he met it with his fist, starting the basic rhythmic gallop. Two hits for each hand. The knuckles made contact first, then the back of the hand before switching to the other hand. Alternating, establishing a wonderful rhythmic gallop. As Ted started to sweat, he alternated rhythms. From alternating hands every two hits to switching hands every hit. Then he started to incorporate elbows.
A crowd started to gather. The other members stopped what they were doing and admired Ted's speed bag routine. It wasn't very often that Ted would workout in his own gym. He would only spar, but rarely workout the bags. And although he wasn't doing something most experienced boxers couldn't replicate, there was something different about Wildcat's movement. His routine was extremely smooth, his form was undeniably perfect and his transitions to different rhythms were seamless and the members watched in awe and admiration. But Ted didn't take notice of them. He tuned out every other noise except the beautiful rhythm he was creating with the speed bag. And he shut out all other thoughts out of his head. It was only him, the bag and the gallop.
And like all music, it had its parts. It had its intro, its chorus and of course, it was nearing its end. As he kept up the routine, Ted Grant leaned every so slightly back and threw a powerful right straight that popped the interior of the speed bag. The pop cut through the other noises of the gym and broke the rhythm he kept up for forty five minutes, ending on a literal high note. The veteran crime fighter took a deep inhale, his hands on his hips before letting out a similar deep but quick exhale. He turned around to see that all members including the coaches had dropped what they were doing and watched with admiration. Wildcat grinned at them as he caught a bottle of cold water that Ben, one of his close friends and part of the coaching staff threw to him as he turned around. He took a small sip, before finally speaking. "Go on, get back to work! You're not paying the gym to watch me sweat. Sheesh" Ted exclaimed with a smile, before taking another sip of water.
To the others, it may have just seemed to be Ted Grant doing his speed bag routine, but to Ted, It was more than that. It was him looking father time dead in its eyes and telling him off. It was him showing father time, he was still king. He was still the champion, and he was still winning their fight that had been raging on for 2 decades.