Tactical Conditioning

Peak stealth demands... relentless physical conditioning. A shadowy stalker cannot afford sluggish boots. Taking a sturdy white sneaker lace, I gripped the plastic aglets tight in each gloved fist, determined to conquer rapid skipping. Deliberately... slowly... I whipped the cord overhead and leapt. One... twooo... flawless momentum! But on the third arc, the swinging lace caught the trailing hem of my robe. My feet tangled, arms thrashing frantically as I pitched forward onto the woven rug with a muffled *thud*. Agonizing... theatrical silence. After catching my breath, I smoothly propped my chin in both gloved hands, crossing my boots casually in the air. Prone core planking... an intentional triumph.