In our village, family nicknames stick like burrs. We’re “The Bears,” thanks to our distinctive gait.

Our “bear shuffle” was unmistakable – an inward turn, a noticeable sway. In high school basketball, it was my curse. “Bear’s got no hops!” teammates jeered. I laughed, hiding my shame.

Years later, in a distant city, I stumbled into an “Animal Movement” class.

The bear walk – a full-body workout masquerading as a primal crawl. As I moved, something awakened. Each motion pulsed with an ancient rhythm. The room dissolved; I was in a vast forest, power surging through me.

That was almost a decade ago. Now, every morning, I start my day with the bear walk. My palms hit the cold floor. Inhale. The world shifts.

I am The Bear. And I am unstoppable.

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