Jean Grey's The Feathered Podium

I marched straight out past the screen door and spotted a white badminton shuttlecock half-buried in the clover. Its flared feathers were tipped on their side, but that rounded rubber nose was practically begging for a proper test. Bracing my heels against the cool turf, I gave the cork base a determined shove until it popped right side up. I hoisted myself straight onto the smooth crown, planting both feet squarely on the curved dome while the breezy air ruffled through the feathered vanes below. Standing tall atop my sporty little pedestal, I gave the empty lawn a theatrical bow. Victory is effortless when you make your own podium.