Stairs, stairs, stairs

Sometime last year, I decided to become a stairs person. I actually wrote it in my 2015 resolutions: 'Always take the stairs.' (Mentally caveated for situations involving luggage, heavy groceries, people presenting an obstacle by sleeping in the staircase, etc.)

I meant this not only literally, but also figuratively, in the sense that I don't just want to take the easy way out every time. Sometimes you have to huff and puff your way to the next story, and then you appreciate it all the more than if you just, say, took the elevator with everyone else, music blaring through your earbuds.

So at this point, stairs are my friend. Which is good in that I climb quite a few of them. It's 36 stairs to my flat, and 142 to my desk at work, which I usually take in the morning and at lunch. So I probably climb 310 per day on average, not exactly setting a record, but still enough for me anoint myself a Stairmaster, mainly because that's a hilarious word that I'd like to self-appropriate.

I actually like those 142 stairs. No one else takes them (which is good because I don't exactly look my best by the time I've panted my way to the top). So it's usually just me and an empty stairwell, and a few extra minutes before I have to put my gameface on for work. Maybe I'm just a dork who takes pictures of staircases on her lunch break...or maybe it's actually one little character-building action that makes me just a tiny bit stronger, every day.