Morning Pull-Ups

I dropped off the sofa cushion to shake the sleep out of my joints. Over by the kitchen counter, the lowest cross-rung of the wooden bar stool sat eight inches off the floor—smooth birch dowel, solid as iron. I checked the clearance below, reached up, and locked my grip over the rounded wood. The dry varnish gave solid traction. Three strict pull-ups, elbows hinging cleanly to ninety degrees, shoulder pivots moving without resistance. On the final rep, I paused at the top, swung my legs forward, and dropped down onto the rubber soles of my sneakers with a muted tap. Zero slack in the joints. System calibrated.