InsaneJournal

Andrea hadn't been lying about blaring music. However, out of courtesy, she'd only blared the latest of (or at least the latest that this place had) Green Day, Daddy Yankee, Linkin Park and so many more out of the CD player that she'd managed to buy on her paycheck. It had lasted a good couple of days before Andrea had found herself growing listless. While a person who greatly enjoyed peace, quiet, and time to herself there were moments (plenty of them) where she felt that she could be doing something else. Anything else. She'd always been like that and it was a sense that had grown since her mother's death. Nevertheless, before then and after that she'd always had things to completely occupy her time. Helping her mother with little projects for Acrata. School. Extracurricular activities. The unthankful hours of being an intern. Gymnastics. And of course, her nighttime activities. Those took on more time than one would have thought, taking up her mind even during the hours when the moon seemed to go away and the sun seemed to shine. Crime never rested, which was good (in a sense) because that meant neither did she. The Angel of Vengeance was a part of her, so it was on 24/7. However, with a distinct lack of crime in this place, there was large part of her that had nothing to occupy it's time. She was aimless. More aimless than typical and there were only so many inches in the apartment that she could cover with baked goods before it started looking like an unhealthy obsession.

There was only so many times she could spar with Kara and only so many excuses even she could come up with. So it had been very obvious, a thought that'd come to her as she'd stayed mind-numbingly bored and achingly useless during her bedrest after incident with the Gentelmen, that she needed to find something else (besides work) to occupy her time. The something obvious had come in answer after reading a magazine that had been in the hospital while she'd gotten her stitches removed.

Gymnastics. She could start retraining herself in gymnastics.

Which is what she was doing in front of one of the gyms in the city. Leotard under baggy clothing, towel and water bottles in the bag that hung off her shoulder.

With a sigh, she managed to convince herself to go inside. Andrea wanted something to do and quite honestly she was someone who could deal with a lot. However, this ... as much as she'd loved gymnastics as a kid, as a teenager, as a young adult. She'd hated it. It'd been a balance to find a social life and to do the sport, but she'd done it. She was stubborn like that. And now, with so much time on her hands, regaining it should be easy. Right?

Wrong.

Nothing about it was easy. The six hours plus training a day wasn't because it was easy. She really wasn't looking forward to the pain she'd have to go through to get herself back into shape. Not that she was out of shape (hello, Angel of Vengeance) or afraid of pain (case in point ... well, a lot of things). Yet there was in shape ... and there was gymnastics. There was pain. And yeah, you guessed it. There was gymnastics.

The room was eerily empty and for that Andrea was greatful. She really could do with people seeing her eat mat. And given the fact of her super-strength she'd definitely be eating mat harder than most. You would think that it would make things easier, and in a way it sort of would. Make her jumps higher, have her twists stronger, smoother with the agility. But at the same time it would take a studied effor to practice and not jump a whole through the trampoline. Not rip anything off where it belonged.

There was a slight sheen to her having run from the apartments at a steady and even pace. Placing her bag at the front of the room, she began to stretch her muscles. Before starting on the balance beams. Easily hopping on, she stretched her arms out, straight and perpendicular to the beam under her palms; her legs were bent as if she were sitting properly and a chair and carefully, oh so carefully she balanced herself, stretching her legs out. A voice she hadn't heard in ages, her coach's, filled her thoughts. Tight knees, Andrea. I said tight. Feet ... no, you lowered, start over again. Keep your feet above the beam. And for some reason she was filled with the same need now as she had when she was sixteen to flip the man a double-bird, even though he was nowhere to be found. It was a simoultaneous feeling of blood rushing to her face and surging towards the muscles of her arm.

Finishing with that, she swinged off, mindful of herself. She did more stretches, before idly doing a few cartwheels. Stopping, taking breath, and falling into handstands where she began to push up. Legs straight and her arms aching as she kept balanced as she pushed down, pushed back up, and repeat.

Theexercises seemed to meld together, as one started, she did another and another and finished one to solely begin another. It was an endless stream. From the handstand push-ups, to walking in line on her hands, to climbing ropes, to pull ups. She had been tempted to 'skin the cat' but she passed off on that for the first day. As it was, she tended to do the move in between pull-ups but she wanted to keep pace. There were plently of exercise movements that she had opted against since she had work in the morning. Ice bath or no, she was going to feel all of it and the morning, and the last thing she wanted was to knock-out on her desk. She doubted that her pod-person boss would notice; nevertheless it was the principle of the thing.

All this done with various songs blasting from a radio/cd player. Currently it was Third Eye Blind's Never Let You Go.

Andrea'd been on the uneven bar when she heard a door slam. She'd fully twisted around once and had just let go, planning to twist in the air then re-grip the bar, however, the door slam (whether it was accidental or on purpose) caught her by surprise and Andrea ended up ... literally hitting the mat full-front.

She wasn't quite sure who was more bruised. Her. The mat. Or the ground under it.