I’m getting old.
The sprinter stands at the starting line, visualizing the race. He sets and explodes off at the gun. I hope I won’t fall or be too dizzy to get from the bed to the bathroom and back at night.
The dancer leaps and spins to Tchaikovsky. I fall on my ass trying to twerk.
The basketball pro jumps, turns and dunks with lots of flair. I stand up, concentrate and hope I can get my legs in my pants without falling over.
I’m getting old.
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