I tried again.
And again.
And again.
Every time I hit the obstacle course, I timed myself with my watch. Every jump. Every grab. Every slip counted. Fifty seconds was the furthest I had managed, and that was on a good run when my grip held and my timing lined up just right. Most attempts barely scraped past forty.
It was infuriating.
The course loomed in front of me like it was mocking my existence. Dark wood. Cold metal. Heights that demanded trust in your own body. I paced at the base of the structure, chest heaving, sweat dripping down my spine and soaking into my shirt. My hands throbbed, skin raw and angry. Blisters had already formed, torn open and rubbed raw again by repeated attempts. My palms stung every time I flexed my fingers.
I shook my hands out hard, letting them hang
