The plank was becoming unbearable. My muscles screamed in protest as I held the position, sweat dripping steadily onto the mat beneath me. My arms trembled with the effort, my core burning like fire. Most people would have given up dozens of minutes ago, but I held on, counting each second as it crawled by.
Thirty more seconds. Twenty. Ten.
When I finally allowed myself to drop, my arms gave out completely, and I collapsed face-first onto the mat. For a moment, I lay there gasping, feeling the familiar relief that came after pushing past your limits.
But relief wasn't what I was after tonight.
Without giving myself time to recover, I rolled onto my back and began a set of sit-ups. Not the controlled, measured movements of a normal workout—explosive reps that sent fire through my abdominal muscles with each repetition. My form deteriorated quickly as fatigue set in, but I didn't slow down. If anything, I pushed harder.
Twenty-five. Fifty. Seventy-five.
