Post by Darth Niamh on Jul 31, 2015 1:13:40 GMT
Niamh suppressed the urge to grimace. Physical conditioning was not her strong suit. Being raised like a princess hadn't exactly done wonders for her fitness. 20 laps was pushing it to the limit. Probably beyond actually. Nodding reluctantly, she stepped onto the course.
Let's get this over with.
Her initial attempts were surprisingly promising. While she wasn't strong, she was bright, and able to calculate the best methods to utilize. She breezed through the tires, and rather than sprinting through the running section, she restricted herself to a quick, but manageable pace, to avoid burning herself out too soon. The rope climb was somewhat more difficult, but Niamh discovered the technique quickly. The rope swing was easy enough, timing her leap to be slightly before the highest point in the arc, keeping enough momentum to carry her to her destination. The swimming was rather more difficult, but using the walls to propel herself, she reached the end quickly. The blasterfire was somewhat disruptive, but the worst part was the mud. How long would it take to get it out of her hair? She grimaced at the thought. People would think she was some sort of savage if she didn't get it. They might even mistake her for a Dark Side Witch, rather than a proud Sith Lord! Completely unacceptable.
Her concerns were paltry, shallow even, and she knew it, but it kept her mind off of the physical exercise she was taking part in.
The pushups were a pain, metaphorically and literally. Such an activity was bad enough on its own, but she was still dripping wet; her clothes weighed her down, and her eyes still had streaks from the blaster bolts that had flown over her head. She managed, however, and continued on to the next lap, determined to keep pressing forward.
Niamh made it to the sixth lap before she really began feeling the effects. Her muscles began to burn, and her pace slackened. However, the worst effects were staved off by the coolness of the mud that clung to her body. The rope climb became progressively more difficult as mud began to cover the rope, making it slick and hard to grip, and pushups were harder now, as Niamh was still encumbered by her soaked clothing, and the mud on her hands made holding the position just as much about her forearms as her chest and upper arm strength. Short breathers became increasingly necessary, and her previous determination seemed to fade slowly as the training course ground her down.
At 16, her body finally gave out. Though she pushed on as best she could, her performance was almost pitiable. Her jog through the tires was stiff, her rope climb was awkward and had her slipping down the rope, nearly falling several times before she managed to reach the top. The abseil, she managed in record time- largely because she slid straight down the rope, hardly bothering with the proper technique. After about a minute catching her breath and gathering her strength, she made a leap for the rope swing, barely making it, and released too early, her midsection slamming into the edge of the platform. To her credit, she swung herself up (with great difficulty) before taking one look at the swim and nearly passing out on the spot.
There was no way she could make it. Niamh was almost utterly spent, and she knew by now how long the section was. Splashing some of the water on her face, she closed her eyes as she realized this was her limit. Drowning was certain if she tried. As soon as she imagined trying to tell that to the Dark Lord, however, it occurred to her that drowning was far from the worst death she could imagine, and that she should probably get going before he lost patience.
Slowly, and with palpable reluctance, she slid into the water, taking a last, deep breath before letting herself fall under the surface. The water felt warm against her skin. That could have been chalked up to her body being acclimatized to it by now; her clothes were soaked, after all. However, Niamh found it far more likely that her skin was just colder than the water was by now, and that her body was pulling blood away from the extremities to support the vital organs. She’d heard extreme exhaustion could do that to a person.
Meaning I don’t have… much time, she thought, through the daze that engulfed her mind. Pushing off of the wall weakly, she
began drifting through the underwater swimming section. Her attempts to propel herself faster ended up more as feeble flails that proper attempts at swimming, so she soon resigned herself to pushing herself along the walls, resulting in a zigzagging drift through it. Her lungs burned for oxygen, and she could swear she saw the edges of her vision begin to darken. Before long, she knew, she'd either have to resurface for air, or she'd take a long, deep breath of water, and it would all be over. As she checked behind her, she narrowly checked the urge to let out a whining cry as she realized she'd gone maybe two meters.
Then, her eye caught something.
Her field kit, still attached to her belt.
Her mind raced, and with clumsy hands, she opened it, withdrawing a small, rarely used piece of equipment; the standard issue rebreather. Pushing the apparatus into her mouth, she took a deep, grateful breath, closed her eyes, and drifted, relaxing in the sense of gentle weightlessness floating gave her, only occassionally opening her eyes to push herself further along until she reached the end of the swimming portion. Utterly spent, Niamh was almost unable to exit. Filling her lungs with oxygen to float to the surface, she less climbed that drifted onto the solid ground. Rolling onto her side, she laid her head down on the ground, barely aware of what was happening around her. Her eyes drifted closed as her vision began to fade, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Let's get this over with.
Her initial attempts were surprisingly promising. While she wasn't strong, she was bright, and able to calculate the best methods to utilize. She breezed through the tires, and rather than sprinting through the running section, she restricted herself to a quick, but manageable pace, to avoid burning herself out too soon. The rope climb was somewhat more difficult, but Niamh discovered the technique quickly. The rope swing was easy enough, timing her leap to be slightly before the highest point in the arc, keeping enough momentum to carry her to her destination. The swimming was rather more difficult, but using the walls to propel herself, she reached the end quickly. The blasterfire was somewhat disruptive, but the worst part was the mud. How long would it take to get it out of her hair? She grimaced at the thought. People would think she was some sort of savage if she didn't get it. They might even mistake her for a Dark Side Witch, rather than a proud Sith Lord! Completely unacceptable.
Her concerns were paltry, shallow even, and she knew it, but it kept her mind off of the physical exercise she was taking part in.
The pushups were a pain, metaphorically and literally. Such an activity was bad enough on its own, but she was still dripping wet; her clothes weighed her down, and her eyes still had streaks from the blaster bolts that had flown over her head. She managed, however, and continued on to the next lap, determined to keep pressing forward.
Niamh made it to the sixth lap before she really began feeling the effects. Her muscles began to burn, and her pace slackened. However, the worst effects were staved off by the coolness of the mud that clung to her body. The rope climb became progressively more difficult as mud began to cover the rope, making it slick and hard to grip, and pushups were harder now, as Niamh was still encumbered by her soaked clothing, and the mud on her hands made holding the position just as much about her forearms as her chest and upper arm strength. Short breathers became increasingly necessary, and her previous determination seemed to fade slowly as the training course ground her down.
At 16, her body finally gave out. Though she pushed on as best she could, her performance was almost pitiable. Her jog through the tires was stiff, her rope climb was awkward and had her slipping down the rope, nearly falling several times before she managed to reach the top. The abseil, she managed in record time- largely because she slid straight down the rope, hardly bothering with the proper technique. After about a minute catching her breath and gathering her strength, she made a leap for the rope swing, barely making it, and released too early, her midsection slamming into the edge of the platform. To her credit, she swung herself up (with great difficulty) before taking one look at the swim and nearly passing out on the spot.
There was no way she could make it. Niamh was almost utterly spent, and she knew by now how long the section was. Splashing some of the water on her face, she closed her eyes as she realized this was her limit. Drowning was certain if she tried. As soon as she imagined trying to tell that to the Dark Lord, however, it occurred to her that drowning was far from the worst death she could imagine, and that she should probably get going before he lost patience.
Slowly, and with palpable reluctance, she slid into the water, taking a last, deep breath before letting herself fall under the surface. The water felt warm against her skin. That could have been chalked up to her body being acclimatized to it by now; her clothes were soaked, after all. However, Niamh found it far more likely that her skin was just colder than the water was by now, and that her body was pulling blood away from the extremities to support the vital organs. She’d heard extreme exhaustion could do that to a person.
Meaning I don’t have… much time, she thought, through the daze that engulfed her mind. Pushing off of the wall weakly, she
began drifting through the underwater swimming section. Her attempts to propel herself faster ended up more as feeble flails that proper attempts at swimming, so she soon resigned herself to pushing herself along the walls, resulting in a zigzagging drift through it. Her lungs burned for oxygen, and she could swear she saw the edges of her vision begin to darken. Before long, she knew, she'd either have to resurface for air, or she'd take a long, deep breath of water, and it would all be over. As she checked behind her, she narrowly checked the urge to let out a whining cry as she realized she'd gone maybe two meters.
Then, her eye caught something.
Her field kit, still attached to her belt.
Her mind raced, and with clumsy hands, she opened it, withdrawing a small, rarely used piece of equipment; the standard issue rebreather. Pushing the apparatus into her mouth, she took a deep, grateful breath, closed her eyes, and drifted, relaxing in the sense of gentle weightlessness floating gave her, only occassionally opening her eyes to push herself further along until she reached the end of the swimming portion. Utterly spent, Niamh was almost unable to exit. Filling her lungs with oxygen to float to the surface, she less climbed that drifted onto the solid ground. Rolling onto her side, she laid her head down on the ground, barely aware of what was happening around her. Her eyes drifted closed as her vision began to fade, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps.