I toil for hours.

My legs bruise from the physical strain. My breath continues to fall out of my lungs in laboured stress, desperately trying to oxygenate my body.

My hands grip tighter, feeling the clasp of my own skin wrap itself together with increased vigor, drawing from whatever resolve I have left.

I beg of you, my body.

I beseech you, my legs.

Do not fail me, my hands.

Every week, I take on the same monumental challenge.

And every week, I have failed.

I fail to take all of the shopping back to the house in one go.

But as I close the car boot, lock the doors and place the keys in my pocket,

this time.

This time for sure.

I will take all the bags back, and prove myself a man amongst boys.

A wolf amongst sheep.

ONWARDS.