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Mar. 6th, 2006 03:22 pmSitting on the floor between the bed and the doorway, Spike stretches out his long legs in a sitting split. He reaches for the toes of his running shoes on his right, thankful as hell that Bar gave him these shoes way back when. They make it so much nicer to run, although he cut his teeth running by doing it barefoot, of all things, on running tracks back on Mars. He figured it would give him an edge.
When he puts the shoes on, though, he feels like he could fly, sometimes.
Or swim.
Swimming Bird. He stretches a little more gently to the left because he can feel it more. There's scar tissue where his ribs were broken on the right, and this tests them. It tests them in a big way and damn if healing isn't a slow and exasperating process. He's almost as flexible to this side as to the other, but not quite. Nobody else may ever notice the difference, but he does. So he pushes himself a little bit more every day. Even if nobody else strives for balance, he does. He always has, and he probably always will.
He might never achieve it, but hell, everyone's got to have something to work toward.
Glancing down at his t-shirt (I Survived Titan) he gives the tiniest of grins before stretching forward, arms out to the floor between his legs. On a good day he can touch his forehead to the floor, bent in half for all intents and purposes. It's just one measure of flexibility and today he can do it, and that's a good thing.
He'd hate to get out of shape.
When he puts the shoes on, though, he feels like he could fly, sometimes.
Or swim.
Swimming Bird. He stretches a little more gently to the left because he can feel it more. There's scar tissue where his ribs were broken on the right, and this tests them. It tests them in a big way and damn if healing isn't a slow and exasperating process. He's almost as flexible to this side as to the other, but not quite. Nobody else may ever notice the difference, but he does. So he pushes himself a little bit more every day. Even if nobody else strives for balance, he does. He always has, and he probably always will.
He might never achieve it, but hell, everyone's got to have something to work toward.
Glancing down at his t-shirt (I Survived Titan) he gives the tiniest of grins before stretching forward, arms out to the floor between his legs. On a good day he can touch his forehead to the floor, bent in half for all intents and purposes. It's just one measure of flexibility and today he can do it, and that's a good thing.
He'd hate to get out of shape.
