Finding My Rhythm

The flat wooden surface offered good traction. I needed to see what these legs could handle. I squared my stance, kept my chin tucked, and began shifting my weight—left to right, heel to toe. Next to me sat an analog desk timer, ticking with steady, metallic clicks. I paced my footwork to that rhythm. One-two, slip, pivot. Sweat doesn't form on this skin, but the heat in my joints felt familiar. Ten solid minutes on the clock without breaking cadence. My guard stayed high the entire time. Good foundation.