There’s no help forthcoming, no adjustments offered for my thinning stamina.
Attendance is tight, and any sign of weakness feels like it could tip the scales against me when review time comes around.
Since I first noticed the weakness, things have been getting harder: first, avoiding stairs by taking detours through the elevator; then declining social invites that required any walking.
Later, struggling to carry groceries without pain.
Most recently, the sharp sting of my supervisor’s curt remark about work speed, which was clearly slower these days.
Each step has felt like a gradual retreat from the life I once knew.
Now, there’s a mandated health check at work—scheduled for next week—and my unease is mounting.
I’m bracing for the possibility that this weakness will be spotted officially, turning the simple fact of aging legs into a frontline issue that threatens my job security.
I’m hesitant, and I’m scared, trying to find some kind of foothold—even if it’s just through these modest, natural drinks I read about—that might keep me steady enough to face what’s coming.
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