Five on the Clock

I locked both gloved hands around the grooved dial of the chrome kitchen timer and wrenched it clockwise. One firm twist. The internal spring caught, dropping into a steady, resonant cadence. Tick. Tick. Tick. Five minutes on the official clock. Tonight was not about throwing wild punches. I kicked my boots out, propped my shoulders back against a thick bamboo cutting board, and let the tension drain right out of my arms. A true champion respects the cooldown. I watched the silver pointer slide smoothly home until—DING. Crisp. Resonant. Round over, and my rhythm restored.