Tucked in between a paid parking lot and a storefront advertising bail bonds, just a couple of blocks from the Toyota Center, it's unlikely that you'll stumble across Savarese Fight Fit unless you're looking.

But one may be surprised by the mix of clients who work out in the main gym.

On a Monday afternoon, a broker, a CPA, a museum marketer and a nurse from St. Joseph Medical Center walked through the door in their career clothes. Lou Savarese and his former trainer, Bobby Benton, greeted each by name, asking for updates on life and injuries before wrapping their hands in preparation for a boxing class.

Thickly-built at 6-foot-5, Savarese almost looks the part of a professional heavyweight boxer — his former occupation of nearly 20 years — but a friendly smile and a pair of colorful, mismatched socks upend initial impressions.

Similarly, Savarese's quick wit and humor seem at odds with his gruff, gravelly voice and his propensity to speak fondly of his wife and three children contradict the violent behavior required of a professional fighter.

But what it boils down to is this: At 46, Savarese is just a good guy with an interesting background.

Savarese's professional history began in 1989, when Houston heiress-turned-boxing promoter Josephine Abercrombie recruited him to the Houston Boxing Association. His impressive career saw an overall 46 wins and seven losses, with fights against greats like George Forman and Mike Tyson.

An ill-fated match against the latter inadvertently saved the life of a man in Las Vegas who had bet his last $200 dollars on Savarese. That man lost everything he had but found himself; he now runs a barbecue joint in Brenham that Savarese had visited several times before the owner recognized his savior and told him the story.

Savarese met his wife, Louisa, in Houston — she is a teacher by profession, River Oaks-raised and kin to Ted Nugent.

Savarese brings his sons skateboarding. He takes his newborn daughter on outings to Tacos A Go-Go. He works an odd construction job sometimes, on a ranch off of Highway 6 where he is known only as "Moose."

At the gym, Savarese and Benton train professional, amateur and wannabe fighters. There are daily boxing-based workout classes at 5:30 a.m., professional sparring sessions throughout the day and an amateur program during after work hours.

A gathering fondly nicknamed the "White Boy Fight Club" takes place on Saturday mornings, with white-collar workers duking it out against one another.

The pair sees an eclectic mix of clientele: Doctors, lawyers, Houston Dynamo players, oil and gas guys, race car drivers, socialites, the odd curator or hair dresser or priest. At the other end of the spectrum, professional fighters at the gym include former Houston Texans linebacker Morlon Greenwood and a small but formidable Russian named Medzhid Bektemirov.

Though different in skill level and professional inclination, the groups mix well. White-collar clients visit the un-air conditioned upstairs gym to watch the professionals boxers spar, and regularly attend fights put on by Savarese Promotions at the Houston Club.

That contrast that defines Savarese's person seems to permeate his entire life. Perhaps it's not a dichotomy after all.