Race to the grave

All her life she considered herself the sickly one, the one with asthma, the puny one, the runt.

She dedicated her life to work. It came above and before everything else. 

Work was noble, especially if you were working and still sick as a dog.

Now, in her seventies, she struggles to maintain her image.

If you are sick. She is sicker.

If your knee, ankle, whatever are swollen and sore, hers is worse.

And yet, no matter how sick she is, or how much pain she professes, she continues to work, to wash windows for friends friends, to mow the lawn, walk the dog, shop, to eat what she pleases and play.

With no repercussions at all. 

So, if you cannot put any weight on your foot, know that if she were you she would be toe dancing at the met.

Who will win this race to the grave?

Who is the sickest?

Who is really ill?

The winner loses all.