"Oh, right. I guess that would make it sort of hard, yeah."
Her chest and shoulders are heaving, and it's like no matter how deep she breathes, it's not deep enough. Cells crying out for oxygen, blood a dizzy spin of endorphins, pumping recklessly along her veins and slamming into temples, ears, eyes. There's a stitch pulling at her side, and she stretches against it, pulling it into painful submission, while keeping her eyes on Steve. And she can't help smiling. He glances back at the mountain like he wants to go again, like this is nothing, even when his hair is sticking up weirdly, damp with sweat, and his shirt is plastered to his chest and back.
Not her. That was more incline than she's seen in four, five, six months. Maybe longer, definitely not shorter, and she's feeling it, already. A tight sharp pain in her calves and hamstrings that's going to be a long noisy ache by this time tomorrow, if not by the time she sleeps tonight. So now she stretches, now that her muscles are warm and not likely to be hurt, making her way to the truck and leaning against it, hissing at hot metal under her palms and fingers as she bends one knee, straightens the other to stretch her Achilles. Left, then right. Then lifting a foot to grab an ankle behind her to stretch her quads, feeling the pull and give of loose, warm muscle.
"Treadmills it is, then. I'll just pin up a postcard of the view in front of the machine."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-30 12:24 am (UTC)Her chest and shoulders are heaving, and it's like no matter how deep she breathes, it's not deep enough. Cells crying out for oxygen, blood a dizzy spin of endorphins, pumping recklessly along her veins and slamming into temples, ears, eyes. There's a stitch pulling at her side, and she stretches against it, pulling it into painful submission, while keeping her eyes on Steve. And she can't help smiling. He glances back at the mountain like he wants to go again, like this is nothing, even when his hair is sticking up weirdly, damp with sweat, and his shirt is plastered to his chest and back.
Not her. That was more incline than she's seen in four, five, six months. Maybe longer, definitely not shorter, and she's feeling it, already. A tight sharp pain in her calves and hamstrings that's going to be a long noisy ache by this time tomorrow, if not by the time she sleeps tonight. So now she stretches, now that her muscles are warm and not likely to be hurt, making her way to the truck and leaning against it, hissing at hot metal under her palms and fingers as she bends one knee, straightens the other to stretch her Achilles. Left, then right. Then lifting a foot to grab an ankle behind her to stretch her quads, feeling the pull and give of loose, warm muscle.
"Treadmills it is, then. I'll just pin up a postcard of the view in front of the machine."