[for Pepper] carry that weight

[daretodo]

"Forty-eight... Forty-nine... Fifty... Fifty-one," I count steadily under my breath, a push-up accompanying each number. This isn't something I'd have to do at home, my patrols of the city enough to keep me in shape without even trying, but I can't say the same for here. My sessions with Cap are ramping up -- not to mention a heckuva lot more challenging than I'd ever let on -- but he told me on the very first day that I can do the sit-ups and push-ups on my own time. If improving my balance is his initial focus, then strengthening my core seems like one of the brighter ideas I've had lately.

"Fifty-two... Fifty-three... Fifty-four... Fifty-five..."

I'm out on the terrace, wanting the fresh air from having been cooped in the workshop for the better part of the morning, and not having gotten very far in much of anything. It's easier to think when I'm not trying, sometimes, when I can get lost in something physical. I'm not a computer. I can't work in a vacuum, and hope to pull an answer to an impossible question out of nowhere. So I take my distractions where I can get them, push myself in a more productive way than enforced insomnia, and hope to draw my attention away from the constant gnawing pain that Mary Jane's left in her absence, at least for a little while.

"Fifty-six... Fifty-seven... Fifty-eight... Fifty-nine... Sixty..."