Iron Drill

Dawn broke over the cold patio slabs. Hours of rigid vigil had chilled my wire core, locking my joints in place. Immobility invites vulnerability. Leaning my needle spear against the stone riser, I approached the cast-iron boot scraper bolted near the door. Its heavy horizontal blade offered an unyielding training rig. I leaped upward, clamping both wire hands around the oxidized metal edge. Hanging suspended, I pulled my frame up in a slow, controlled lift, then arched my spine into a complete backward coil until my boots hooked the underside. Tension surged through my limbs, heating the cold wire within. Three clean pull-ups, zero sway. Every joint is supple and primed.