Grip on the Pavement

Frozen in a low crouch. That was all I knew. Then a pulse hit my fingertips—actual pressure. I spread my gloved left hand against the textured ground. Gritty. Solid. Real. I pushed down, feeling the spring in my sneakers and the stretch in my legs. My balance tipped forward on instinct, gravel shifting under my palm with a quiet scrape. I'm not just posing anymore; I can move.