Running the Stairs

They’re noisy – our stairs – because they are made of wood with no covering over them, and because they are enclosed and leading to the basement. They aren’t really deep enough for my big feet and I have to hang on to the rail in case I trip over the edge of one, which I often do. There are 11 of them, if you don’t count the landing and angle to the final 3, which I don’t.

I am trying to run up and down, up and down… and it isn’t going well. First there is the whole motivation thing – a BIG thing, as it involves physical exercise – and then there is the whole “feet” thing – mine usually hurt whenever I am actually using them. And it is all further complicated by the breathing thing and the overheating thing and the sheer boredom thing. I’m not a natural, shall we say, for exercise.

Mark has been “running the stairs” for weeks now – after my comment that I was going to try that myself, because it would at least be inside where it is cool, and not out where dogs could follow me, or where I could otherwise make a fool of myself in front of other people. Of course I failed to follow through, but Mark thought it was a great idea and was off and running, as it were.

And then he announced the other day that it has helped enormously – his butt is cuter. How could I argue with that?

So I am running the stairs myself. Huff… puff…