Years ago, I worked for the National Park Service as a law enforcement officer.
I was 20 years old, stood 5’4″ tall, and weighed 106 lbs. I was hardly menacing. The first year I worked there, my arm was in a knuckles to armpit cast, which prevented me from qualifying to carry a firearm. I could have been a dead-eye shot with one hand, but reloading would have been difficult.
When scheduling permitted, I hiked the park with Marty, the snake man, who kept track of the park’s rattlers. I fought forest fires. I helped kids my age who rolled their cars off the side of the mountain and fell from 50 foot cliffs.
I’m now afraid of blobs of fat travelling to my brain, causing a stroke, after hip replacement surgery.