Her t-shirt was sticking to her back.
Beads of perspiration rolling down her face. Sweaty palms. Damp thighs. Heavy breathing. She was so close to tasting the salt in her sweat — with one swipe of the back of her hand, she got rid of the wet patch above her lips.
Progress.
After weeks of not hitting the exercise mat, today’s the day she achieved a three-day streak. Her arms ached. The good kind of ache.
She rolled up her mat with a sense of confidence she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her mind was determined to remain consistent for the rest of the week. Then she stopped.
Pressure.
Self-imposed pressure. She didn’t want to push herself too much. These were sensitive times. Times where her heart was weak. Weak from uncertainty; a lack of control over what was happening.
Then it hit her.
It’s exactly why she should become consistent at something — to regain control over something at a time where control was close to being non-existent.
With a slight smile, she muttered a word of thanks to her brain for this realisation and entered the shower.
