Asami walked into the new gym-her new gym- and admired the shiny, unused equipment. She had a feeling that the equipment would not stay new for long. It's been so long since she had a place to exercise, not that she was getting out of shape, being friends with the avatar ensured that she saw lots of action even when Korra left for her home, but because her old gym held too many memories. The burn marks on the mat from when her sifu had her fight him with a flaming staff, the chip on the floor that was made when she accidentally dropped a weight on the floor resulting in a broken weight and toe, the wear and tear on everything from the hours she spent training. It was painful being there ever since her father betrayed her. Every time she went into her old practice grounds she remembered the last thing her father said to her before attacking her tank.
This new gym looked nothing like the old one. It was much smaller and more welcoming, it's colors were warmer, the atmosphere was more comforting. The mat took up the center of the room, she hoped that Mako or Bolin would spar with her sometime, while the weights were near the far wall, and the punching bag was across on the other side. The room was toasty warm as well, most of the heat coming from the pool that was behind the gym.
She looked around, taking it all in, and began wrapping her hands in tape. She took her time, making sure that her wrists and knuckles were wrapped properly since she didn't plan to go easy today. As she finished up she started to approach the punching bad. She quickly stretched her back and arm muscles and got into a sideway stance with her hands up in front of her face. The first time her hand connected to the rough leather it felt weird, awkward even, it really has been a long time since she trained on her own. The next few punches were the same, but the more she hit the bag, the more she lost herself.
*Thud**Thud**Thud*
Her firsts made the bag sway back and forth, the chain on which it hung rattled, the leather groaned. Every time she hit it, a picture of all the people who wronged her flashed before her eyes. Mostly it was her father. *Punch*. She remembered when he made breakfast for her and her mom. *Jab*. She remembered when he gave her her first driving lesson. *Kick*. She remembered his face when he brought down the Mecha tank on her. *Strike*. She remembered the silhouette of the triad who killed her mother, remembered the face of the equalist lieutenant, of Amon, and Varrick, and Mako.
*Thud**Thud**Thud*
Her grunts resounded throughout the room, along with the rhythmic thud of the bag. Sweat rolled down her back and chest. Droplets made their way in her eyes as she impatiently wiped her brow with her forehand before resuming her attacks. The room around her disappeared, it was just Asami and the punching bag.
Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, her sides began to hurt, and her pulse drowned out all other sounds. She started to feel more exhausted with each second, but all that did was make her hit faster and harder. She thought about Mako, 'how dare he cheat on me?', and about Bolin, 'why didn't he help me when I was going to lose my company', and about Korra, 'why did she leave me?'.
With one last swing she grabbed the lurching bag and hugged it close to her body as she struggled to catch her breath. She slowly calmed down and composed herself. She took off her wraps, ignoring the red stains around the knuckles, and dried off with a towel before walking over to the pull-up bar. Yep the equipment definitely wouldn't stay new for long.