Unfit like a hopeless bitch.

Today, my good senses told me to get off my lazy kaboosh and do a bit of ball-pummeling with my racquet and exercise my talent. I engage in a weekly night-tennis match with elderly gentlemen from surrounding tennis clubs in the Northern area, so the socialistic element is great for my diminishing people-skills.

My younger bro and myself hit the courts and began the session with basic rallies, and already I felt the sweat forming. This is 30 seconds into it.

Deodorant has failed me, my limbs are following suit and my mind at this point is enraged by my body's failure to withstand less than a minute's worth of physical endurance. Even the strings on my racquet were so disappointed and hence in an act of defiance - decided to self-snap as to not bear the embarrassment of its master's weak stature any longer.

I might sniff up Caster Semanya's armpits for stamina.