![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Basic Training
7 Jan 2008 06:31 pmJanuary 10, 2008
Orkney, Scotland
It was time to stop feeling so bloody helpless. Connor's council had given me a new sense of purpose, although he was still all for dismantling the Watcher guild. I'd known Connor to be just as hard-headed as any other Scotsman, and rather than try and reason with him myself, I let Cassandra have that honour, dubious as it was. Instead, I channeled my anger and frustration into my training. I plugged my iPod into the sound system, put it on my workout playlist, and hit play.
A quick mile later, and I was hitting the bags, literally. No matter how much feminists tried to say otherwise, a female physique was not equal to a man's, and I was at a distinct disadvantage. Women developed most of their strength in their lower bodies while men had tremendous upper body strength. To be bluntly honest, I don't remember a time when I fought hand-to-hand with another woman Immortal. Men were usually the ones out to pad their headcount, but that didn't mean I didn't know how to fight. If nothing else, I had to fight harder and be stronger just to survive with my head intact.
After the speedball and heavy bag, it was back to legwork, this time in the form of squats and lunges. It felt good to get back to training again, to push myself, to feel my muscles strain and flex. Any mortal trainer would look at my regime and think I was pushing myself too hard too fast too much too soon, but dammit, I wanted to feel alive again. I wanted to feel my heart pounding, my lungs burning for oxygen, sweat rolling off my skin.
My legs felt like rubber bands as I jumped up and grasped the still rings that hung from the rafters. After I adjusted my grip, I pulled on the rings until my shoulders were even with my hands and then pushed down until my hands were even with my hips: once, twice, ten, twenty.
I dropped to the floor with a soft thump, my arms burning and tingling from over-use. Another playlist change and it was time for yoga. Now that my muscles were sufficiently warmed up, some would say overworked, it was a technique I used both as meditation and for flexibility. I'd discovered, over the years, that most of my opponents relied on brute strength to win, and many underestimated my reflexes and speed. It was more than fair to say I'd won ever fight I'd been in, all three hundred and fifty, not that I kept count. Michael did that for me.
My workout over, I chugged a bottle of water I'd left waiting by the door. I mopped the sweat off my face with a towel and walked out across the garden, just as a few light flakes began to fall. All in all, I felt rather please with myself. Tomorrow, weapons, but for now I needed a nice, steamy shower.
Orkney, Scotland
It was time to stop feeling so bloody helpless. Connor's council had given me a new sense of purpose, although he was still all for dismantling the Watcher guild. I'd known Connor to be just as hard-headed as any other Scotsman, and rather than try and reason with him myself, I let Cassandra have that honour, dubious as it was. Instead, I channeled my anger and frustration into my training. I plugged my iPod into the sound system, put it on my workout playlist, and hit play.
A quick mile later, and I was hitting the bags, literally. No matter how much feminists tried to say otherwise, a female physique was not equal to a man's, and I was at a distinct disadvantage. Women developed most of their strength in their lower bodies while men had tremendous upper body strength. To be bluntly honest, I don't remember a time when I fought hand-to-hand with another woman Immortal. Men were usually the ones out to pad their headcount, but that didn't mean I didn't know how to fight. If nothing else, I had to fight harder and be stronger just to survive with my head intact.
After the speedball and heavy bag, it was back to legwork, this time in the form of squats and lunges. It felt good to get back to training again, to push myself, to feel my muscles strain and flex. Any mortal trainer would look at my regime and think I was pushing myself too hard too fast too much too soon, but dammit, I wanted to feel alive again. I wanted to feel my heart pounding, my lungs burning for oxygen, sweat rolling off my skin.
My legs felt like rubber bands as I jumped up and grasped the still rings that hung from the rafters. After I adjusted my grip, I pulled on the rings until my shoulders were even with my hands and then pushed down until my hands were even with my hips: once, twice, ten, twenty.
I dropped to the floor with a soft thump, my arms burning and tingling from over-use. Another playlist change and it was time for yoga. Now that my muscles were sufficiently warmed up, some would say overworked, it was a technique I used both as meditation and for flexibility. I'd discovered, over the years, that most of my opponents relied on brute strength to win, and many underestimated my reflexes and speed. It was more than fair to say I'd won ever fight I'd been in, all three hundred and fifty, not that I kept count. Michael did that for me.
My workout over, I chugged a bottle of water I'd left waiting by the door. I mopped the sweat off my face with a towel and walked out across the garden, just as a few light flakes began to fall. All in all, I felt rather please with myself. Tomorrow, weapons, but for now I needed a nice, steamy shower.
