Not even coming off a wave or coming about has the kind of rush that hitting the bottom of the mountain has; it's too forceful, the momentum all forward, nothing lifting underneath her shoes, nothing slippery like water. The only thing moving is her, but it feels like the mountain shrugged her right off its shoulder, flicked her off like a fly.

She hits the ground running, which is her preferred method, and hard, the soles of her running shoes absorbing impact that strikes up her calf and shin to knee, quads, hamstrings, all wound with exertion and buzzing with adrenaline and endorphins. The sudden lack of freefall makes her feel like she's skidding across the blacktop, heart beating a tattoo in her ears so briskly she could swear she's about to hear trumpets.

It's a few more steps to reach Steve, before she slows, feeling like she needs to lean back against the pull, after being tugged down for so long, some shortening string between her and the level ground. Sweat is sticking and ticking everywhere; her arms are flushed, cheeks feel red, hair mussed from wind and exercise, and every breath goes deep, right down to her toes, as she comes up to him, smiling wide and triumphant.

"Not bad. Think I could requisition one of these to cart around on the Enterprise? I kind of like it better than the treadmills."