I see myself in the mirror. I look my age. Or maybe more.
The little hair I do have is more grey than black. My jeans are snug at the thighs. My blue and white button down shirt is tucked in beyond my belt.
I’m stretching my left arm away from my body. I’m in the middle of my second set of 10. My shoulder – the reason I came in the first place – is lightly throbbing. It’s not pleasant but certainly bearable.