Morning Roadwork

I tossed off my cotton robe, dropped from the coffee table, and slipped right past the crack of the heavy front door into the building hallway. A long, red-patterned runner carpet stretched ahead like an endless runway. A true champion never skips morning conditioning. Digging the soles of my white boots into the dense pile, I burst into an all-out sprint, driving forward with every ounce of power in my joints. I locked my eyes on the glowing green exit sign at the far end and pushed through until I slammed both palms against the cool metal base of the fire door. Roadwork complete—the arena just got a lot bigger.