Another night is passing where sleep is elusive. Not that I don't plug in a few of the checkmarks, but gone are the nights where I lay in bed and soon find myself refreshed at dawn's light.

No, my darkness panics me. I gasp for air as white-knuckles cling to life in each deep breath.

Once upon a time in 2024, following my Mark Wahlburg morning lifts, I took long walks. My rest days were 3 miles, my online days were 5-7 miles. More exotic walks featured Yale Road Park to be within eyesight of Germantown Rd.

Throw some music on and beat the sun to the punch; I could pile the miles up.

Fast forward to these days: YEARS worth of cardio have seemingly vanished off of the books! I gas out before I even break a sweat! There have been times when I needed a breather after walking across my house.

In competition, I have always prided myself in my ability to dig deep, manhandle my opponent, and gain advantage. In high school, I was even nicknamed "The Supersacker" for my ability to sustain long bursts of rapid movement throughout my shift. It was all about VITALITY.

These days, I am absolutely humbled. From my window seat in the ICU, I contemplated the thinly-gowned, elderly men who walk beside their nurses and do a lap while pushing a blank wheelchair.

And I saw the reflection of that senior with his own unsteady footsteps.

Once again back in my room, I shuffled over to sit in a chair, tapping out after an hour. What happened to my core? There was no gradual decline in my abilities, no slow march of atrophy to the sea. No, I just blinked out of existence.

I challenged myself...1...2...3 laps. With a picked-up pace, I passed the windows of my peers and lamented that for some, this was as healthy as they would ever get—mouths agape, staring vacantly at a barren TV. I refused that life. I raised my hand and declared, "No, I do not allow that."