One of the most grueling parts about playing football when you’re 34 years old? Pizza. The lack of pizza. Sunday night after a win last fall. Frank Gore’s living room. The Indianapolis Colts’ running backs had gathered around the TV, there to catch the late game but also to unwind, to (briefly) enjoy the spoils of victory. They’d beaten the Tennessee Titans earlier that afternoon. Hence, the pizza. A rookie brings over a pie, sets it on the table, tells everyone to dig in. Most don’t give it a second thought. But the oldest player in the room does. Gore eyes that pizza up and down, staring, smelling, damn-near salivating. It’s forbidden fruit for a 13-year pro who’s been dodging Father Time for half a decade. This was about discipline more than it was about pizza, and Frank Gore knows something about discipline. So while his teammates scoop up a few slices, he sits back. He holds firm. “Sacrifices,” teammate Robert Turbin calls it. Gore knows something about sacrifices, too. He signed with the Colts in 2015, smelling a championship. “I think we can win a Super Bowl if we go to Indy,” he told close friend Andre Johnson during free agency that spring. “I was thinking the same thing,” Johnson shot back. A week later they were Colts. Two-and-a-half years later, everything’s changed.