Practice
I fell today. On something I'd done hundreds of times before without a flaw. It wasn't a random accident, either. It was because I can't do it properly anymore.
Lazy.
I hate when my body doesn't work properly for me. I hate when I am not at my peak. I fight my body into submission daily so that I am able to do what I want. I am precise. I see, I act, I make, contact, I rebound. Today I kicked and missed and fell.
It's not because I hear -him- telling me I failed. It's not because I see Emma's superior face watching me pick myself up from the ground. It's because my own leg, torso, back, didn't obey me. I wasn't in control.
But I can be. Alone in the danger room, I re-work the steps. It's not obsessive. It's training myself back to the level I was at. There was no need to turn all the lights on. Only a few illuminate the figures I'm opposing. I make it the first time, but on the second time my balance fails me and I sloppily recover. I fell the remaining opponent with a hard slash of my claws and turn my back tot he bodies. I feel the muscles pull together in my back and ribs. I've let myself grow weak. I can't do what I did before.
Again, I try the steps over, facing no one but the air. I don't fall, but it's still not right. Not on balance. Not in control. I fight the rage, but then I slice out my claw, touch the inside of my elbow and drag in one motion. The muscles loosen. I exhale.
I practice the steps again.