You are doing the thing you will laugh about later: holding the phone at that exact angle, one foot back, chin down, waiting for the machines behind you to be empty enough that no stranger catches you at it.
Look how careful you are. You take four. You delete three. You are certain the light is wrong, that your arm looks strange, that everyone can see the small effort of the pose.
Nobody is looking. I promise you nobody is looking. They are all busy taking their own.
What I would give to have that arm again. Not the way it looks in the photo. Just the way it feels right now, warm and a little shaky, having lifted something heavy for no reason except that you could.
You keep only the picture where you think you look best. From here I can tell you the one you should have kept is the blurry one, the accident, the one where you're half laughing because the phone slipped. That's the one that looks like you.
Send it to someone. Don't caption it. Don't wait for the perfect day. You have more of those than you think, and also fewer, and both of those are fine.
Then go home and eat something enormous.
You earned it, and I remember it tasting incredible.