Kayla.

The chilly morning in New York City does nothing to soothe my skin, which is drizzling with sweat as I aggressively hit the punching bag.

My breath comes out in pants, and I feel my strength fading away.

The sky is covered with dark grey clouds, the aftermath of yesterday's storm.

I found myself in the gym at 5 am, and I have been hitting this bag relentlessly for an hour now.

My fists are bloody, but that doesn't stop me. I need more and am getting exactly that. But sadly, none ...