Every step I take, I ascend.
I pace myself and concentrate on my breathing.
Inhale, London.
Exhale, London.
You got this, girl.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Burn . . .
Legs warming, I spin on the sixth flight’s platform and set my shoulders back, adjusting the weight as I fly back down the stairs.
Round, down.
Round, down.
Flight after flight.
When I make the ground, I spin and fly back up the stairs.
My legs are pumping under a gentle burn now. Shoulders starting to ache...
I push.
“Up and at ’em, Tenny.”
“Copy, Davey,” I pant out.
I send my legs faster.
I reach the top of the sixth before my mind has even caught up to my position.
I spin back and thunder down, ignoring the ache turning to numbness in my shoulders.
Hitting the ground on the second lap, I bend my knees and launch myself back up the stairs.
Last round.
I’m halfway up the third flight when the burn turns to fire in my legs.
The numbness wears off in my shoulders and the ache blooms again, radiating down my back.
Nope. Not happening.
I think back to Third Avenue, imagining Miles running the flights of stairs, my weight in his hands. That sends me forward faster than ever.
This is not just a test.
It’s a confirmation I’m fit to save lives.
It’s a test of fitness and mental toughness.
