From getting old to being old

Sometimes the Complete and Total Loser is reminded that he's in his declining years and that he's not getting old, he is old. Yesterday, that reminder came in the form of a woman who rode past him during one of his rare rides in the heart of his city. She did it with little effort. 
Look at her thigh. Powerful, young. Solid muscle. 

This young bike rider put the Loser in his place.

Young Flesh and the Loser

There have been warm days in the Complete and Total Loser's Mid-Atlantic city. Heavy clothes have been shed.
The Loser's route from work to his squalid apartment cuts through a park and he sees young women running. He's on a bicycle and too polite and aware of his ugliness to stare at them, yet his eye can't help being caught by their thighs.
Thigh. Such a lovely word to the Loser. It even rhymes with "sigh." 

He's struck by how robust those of a college age woman are. Powerful cylinders of muscle flashing as they propel firm torsos, ponytails waving behind. It stirs him. At times he has to take a moment to tell himself how ridiculous it would be for him to even consider something other than a workplace relationship with women that age, he being an aging, failed cripple, and the rising sap is blocked.
Each spring, he needs to tell himself this with decreasing frequency.