I hear ya, I was a new EMT at 130 lbs and 5'5", skinny as a rail, too. The first ambulance service I applied at flat-out told me to forget about it and maybe get a hospital job because of my size. "I only hire big guys, it's a tough job. That EMT card won't be much help when you're carrying a 350 pounder down the stairs," said Leon as he showed me the door. So, I went straight to the bottom of my list and arrived at the doorstep of Orange County's version of "F&B Ambulance Service." The owner of the company, his name was Bright, was a short guy, too and he took me under his wing. The guys were completely immersed in EMS lore-not only did they accept me, we enjoyed late-night stories as we dealt yet another hand of poker. Our mechanic, always tricked out in pin-striped gray coveralls well dosed with grease stains, had this "thing" for classic ambulances. His stories were all about custom-crafted units. He'd come back from a road trip with a nifty Stoner Suburban high-top "crash truck" or a beautiful Caddy (I turned 69 today, so, yeah, I'm that old...). He told the best stories about how they were built and designed. We'd relax, way past midnight around the card table and each man, in turn-between drags of tobacco and swigs of black coffee-told a tale of gurneys, sirens, and tough calls. It was like I found a home! Although I never gained much muscle mass, I worked out by strengthing my upper body, Push-pull ups, 20-pound weights curled for what seemed like hours in my downtime. And I began running, down to the beach and back on my day off. (At first, it was mostly taking a long walk until my body wanted to run.) 14 measured miles a day, round trip, with a little body surfing in the Huntington Beach waves to cool off before the jog back home. By the time I was at my fighting weight (135 lbs), I felt better than at any other time I can remember-energized, tough. It only took about 4 months of daily work to transform into a machine, built for stamina if not sheer strength. Stamina is the key to ambulance survival. Later, when I entered the fire service, going from dispatch to the engine room floor, I was training for the rigors of the academy. I had spent 24-hour shifts alone in dispatch getting flaccid after 8 years of service as "the mole in the hole." So, it was time to get back in shape. I would mount the treadmill that was set up just behind and facing the ladder truck's rear. That truck was my target, the big gold letters across her tail, "RESCUE," was my goal and, in my mind, I was running toward it. When you do get re-hired (and you will if you want it bad enough) there will come times where the stairs seem too much to handle as you carry the flat or backboard with its precious, but heavy load. My trick was to get into the mental state of a gritty, mechanized robot, "I am strong, I am a machine..." I saw myself as a metallic lifting machine and that mantra made it easy-mind over matter. After your battle with, and surviving Covid, this task will seem like peanuts in comparison. Good luck, and God bless, the trials are worth it!