Taking the High Ground

I stared up at the horizontal wooden rung of the dining chair. It sat way above my head, but staying glued to the floorboards wasn't going to cut it. I backed up three paces, dug my soles in, and sprinted straight ahead. One hard leap launched me upward. My fingers clamped tight onto the curved wood, legs kicking in empty air. I didn't hesitate—I engaged my shoulders and hauled my chest right over the edge, swinging a leg up to lock it in. Standing on this rung, the entire room stretches out below. My grip is completely solid!