There is a heel that strikes the sidewalk a half-beat before you have decided anything, and that footstep is the whole story. You were born with Mars in your first house, the house of the body and the face you bring to first contact, so drive sits right at the surface of you. You enter a room the way other people make an entrance, except you are not performing it, you simply arrive already in motion. People move with you or they move behind you. Speed is the gift, and it is also the bruise. Half the regrets you carry live in the first sentence of a hard conversation, the one that left your mouth before the rest of you caught up. So you get to practice the pause. One borrowed breath in the gap between the spark and the answer. The athlete in this body thrives. The fighter in it learns to ask which fights are worth a body like yours before it lends them one.