Thursday, March 06, 2014


In an effort to stay in better shape and not lose sight of last year's health and fitness goals, I've been walking more stairs and using less elevator. In the morning, I park my car and wander down the six flights of stairs to the ground floor of the building.  In the evenings, I head down the ten flights of stairs inside, then outside in the parking garage I  head back up the six flights to my car.

Down 6.

Down 10.
Up 6.

Day in and day out, I wander (mostly) down, then back up the stairs.

At first, I would huff and puff and feel like death going both down and up. Then… not so much. Down, down, up... down, down, up. Every day it got easier. So, I started taking the stairs when I would go down for lunch or to mail a letter. Gravity was on my side after all.

But today. What an idiot.

Today, I decided to go back up the stairs in the office. It’s only a few more floors that the parking garage… A few more floors on which to sit down and die as your heart pounds right out of your chest before bloodily bouncing down all those stairs.

Ground floor: Golly gee! I think I’ll take the stairs back up! Wouldn't that be an awful lot of fun! Super plan!

Sixth floor: Are these flights of stairs taller than the ones in the parking garage? Oh well, almost there! Keep moving champ!

Seventh floor: Really? That’s what one more floor feels like? Crap.

Eighth floor: Oh! They have a card reader on their door. Maybe I can get out of this death tunnel on this floor! *BEEP* Nope.

Ninth floor: Sweet Jesus, only one more floor. With You I can keep going! No need to sit down now.

Tenth floor: Well. Huh. No card reader here. Why did I not remember that? Should I just go back down? Down isn’t so bad. I like down.

Halfway between the tenth and eleventh floors: Dear diary, there is something so discouraging about being so out of shape that stairs make the blood pump through you with such intensity that it sets off a veritable drum circle in your inner ear. My calves are burning with the intensity of a thousand suns. An icy hot overdose couldn't be this unpleasant. Is it possible for the heart of a 34 year old woman to actually burst in her chest? I hope not, seeing as though I’m a 34 year old woman… alone… in a stairwell… If anything happens to me and someone finds my body, please make sure Koda is taken care of and that David waits at least a year to start dating again.  Oh and tell people I made it to a higher floor… in heaven.

Three steps up from halfway between the tenth and eleventh floors: Oh. God. Take me now.

I’m not sure if the Lord actually came down and created a footsteps in the sand type situation where he carried me up the steps like a holy firefighter, but it’s pretty much an exercise induced blur after that. Somehow, I made it to sixteen where my access card worked and I was able to take the elevator back down to ten.

Interestingly, having sat here just long enough to pump out this short little post, my legs don’t hurt anymore.

Perhaps I’ll try again tomorrow.

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