July 31st. Twenty-three minutes on the bike going essentially nowhere. A tenth of a mile. Trainer, probably, or just sitting on the thing in the garage trying to convince myself it counted.

Heart rate barely broke 110. The kind of session where your body is present but your brain is somewhere else entirely. End of July in Pensacola — the heat makes you weird. Makes you do things that look like exercise from the outside but are really just sitting still with extra steps.

It counted. Barely. But it counted.

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// RAPTOR GIRL