Zombie Mode at Sunrise

Six a.m. practice. That's when Marcus felt like a straight-up zombie—shuffling onto the padel court with dead eyes, still wearing the sweatpants he'd slept in because, honestly, who has energy for real clothes?

His friend Jasmine rolled up, looking annoyingly awake, bright orange paddle in hand like she was ready to destroy someone. "Bro, you look like you died yesterday."

"Basically did," Marcus muttered. "Chemistry test murder-suicide."

The conditioning coach whistled—her idea of hell disguised as athletic opportunity. Thirty minutes of intensity drills, serving until their arms felt like jelly. Marcus barely made it through, his brain fogged and body heavy. When coach finally yelled last drill, he collapsed against the glass wall, sliding down until his butt hit the court.

Then the real suffering began.

"Pool time," Coach announced, cheerful like she wasn't about to make them suffer. "Get your laps in."

Marcus dragged himself to the aquatic center, body screaming. The chlorine smell hit him first—that sharp chemical punch. He peeled off his sweatpants, awkward in the oversized gym shorts he'd thrown on. Some of the other guys looked way too comfortable, already showing off their abs and joking around. Marcus felt the familiar middle school flashbacks, the body image stuff that never really went away.

The water hit his skin like ice. He dove in, the cold shocking him awake. Five laps in, his arms burned, lungs working overtime. But something shifted—the movement felt good, rhythmic. His mind cleared. The zombie fog started lifting.

By lap ten, Marcus noticed something else had changed. The guys weren't showing off anymore. Everyone was just surviving together, heads bobbing up and down, water splashing. Even the jocks looked tired, human.

Marcus climbed out, exhausted but somehow lighter. Jasmine tossed him a towel, her orange paddle tucked under her arm. "Better?"

"Actually, yeah," Marcus admitted, water dripping from his hair. "Still hate morning practice though."

She laughed. "We all do, zombie-boy. We all do."

Walking to his locker, Marcus realized something had shifted. Maybe it wasn't about looking perfect or having it together. Maybe sometimes you just showed up as a mess and kept going anyway. That's when real stuff happened—the kind that didn't show up in anyone's curated feed.