In an old warehouse on the outskirts of Jackson, it’s everything you’d imagine a gym/rehab place to be. Mats and weights everywhere. Mirrors to watch your form.
Scott and Heather have created something special here that athletes the world over flock to. I’m lucky I’m local and can work out here and stay close by.
“Hey bro.” I grab a towel as I head over to where my older brother, Mason, is waiting for me before we head to the Tipsy Cocktail to meet Peter.
“How’d it go today?”
“One percent better.”
It’s how we started measuring my progress. Early on, I was frustrated. Learning how to walk again? Not easy. Every day felt like one step forward and a giant leap backward. It was hard not to get down about the little progress I was making.
Until my brother pulled my head out of my ass. Now, as long as I’m getting one percent better every day, I consider it a good day.
“Good. Ready to get some drinks?”
“One,” I correct him. “I don’t need a repeat of Saturday.”
Mason laughs, a deep booming sound as we get into his truck. “It’s your own fault.”
“Mine? Nash was the one that kept making the drinks.”
“And you didn’t need to drink them.”
“Reason has no place here, Mason.”
“Whatever you say, Logan. Whatever you say.”
We make idle chitchat as we head back toward Dixon. With not much going on other than physical therapy, I spend my free time helping my brothers at their bar in Dixon.
Staying here is temporary. A minor setback on my road back to the NFL.
I love my hometown, but this is never where I wanted to be.
By the time we pull into the parking lot of The Tipsy Cocktail, it’s hopping. As one of Dixon’s most popular bars, it’s the place to be.
And on a perfect day like today? It’s where everyone is.
“How was therapy?” Nash asks by way of greeting.
“Same old, same old.”
“You’ll be back to your old form in no time,” he tells me as I slide behind the bar.
With how busy this place is, my brother’s finally hired on more help, allowing more free time for him and his partner.
Without the two of them, I don’t know if I would have made it through the last year. I stayed with them during the worst of it. My recovery was painful at best most days, but they never made me feel like a burden.
“Want to see the roof?” Peter asks, coming around the corner with a tray of drinks in hand.
“Is it finished?”
“Almost. C’mon.”
I follow him up the stairs, taking my time. Nowadays, my leg doesn’t give me too much trouble. But after a grueling session with Scott, it’s always a bit sore.
Opening the door for Peter, I see the rooftop has been completely transformed. What used to be an empty space is now the newest bar area of The Tipsy Cocktail.
Greenery hangs from bars that crisscross above the space. Lights are strung up everywhere. A bar sits in one corner so guests won’t have to go downstairs. Glass igloos are set up for the winter so guests can enjoy their own private space.
