For the past three days I’ve been forced to take the stairs. No, I didn’t lose a bet. Some guy drove into the fire hydrant in the basement of our work building, causing a massive flood and the resultant expiration of an electricity substation. No power to the building (and a couple of surrounding blocks) = no lifts. Fun. Down is not so much of an issue, UP however… my lungs let me down every time. My legs are happy campers, they’ll trudge on for ages. It’s the old spongy air sacks that start complaining at the second floor already. And I’m not even a smoker. Although to hear me huffing and puffing by the time I reach the fourth floor landing you’d think I sucked back six packs a day. Honestly, I can guarantee you the immediate area is almost certainly piggy free within seconds of me dragging myself up the last few metres of banister.
To be fair, it’s getting a little easier as the days wear on. Especially considering I’ve already had to mission up them three times today. Blame it on a broken water pipe in my traitor of a car that had me heading out twice so my dad could help me fix it.
While I AM kind of complaining, I do also appreciate the benefit of this extra activity (however forced it may be). Part of me wants to be all gung-ho and commit to keep taking the stairs, even after the lifts are fixed… but the other part is going “Bitch, please.”
I’ve made that promise before. And I laugh at Past Terri’s misguided optimism and enthusiasm. She’s so silly sometimes. I mean really, take the stairs, by choice? It’s hard. So, so hard. And exhausting. And it’s just so much quicker to take the lift. Even though you sometimes have to wait quite a while for one to arrive, and then by the time one does, there’s a crowd of people determined to squash in with you. Personal space is a luxury now that other companies have set up shop in our beloved (soggy) building. And along with the press of strangers’ bodies comes the appalling mix of stale cigarette smoke and a veritable riot of aromas from at least a dozen fast food joints in the area. All mingling with body odor and frustration.
Perhaps taking the stairs might not be such a bad idea after all.