Chapter Twelve – Pushing an elephant up the stairs

When he was about 10 or 11, Harry said to me; “Mum, how old you have to be before you stop running upstairs?”  This stumped me then, and it still stumps me now. 

When I was a kid, I always ran upstairs.  Now, I always walk.  I’ve no idea when the transition occurred, and whether it was gradual or sudden.  But somewhere along the way, it got harder to run, so I walked.

It ought to be easier to go up faster.  If you’re driving up a hill, it’s best to have a bit of a run at it.  Horses don’t often go upstairs, but when they do, they tend to go for it at a fair lick, and I’ve never seen a rabbit go uphill at anything less than breakneck speed (though that might just be due to their little front legs).

All of this leaves me no nearer knowing why I walk upstairs, or when I started to do so.  But one thing I do know – stairs are assuming a frightening significance in my training routine.

I work on the 5^th floor of a large office block.  I park in the basement.  Between car park and desk, there are more than 170 stairs – equivalent to over a dozen domestic flights.  I am now resolutely walking up every day, and I even have plans to run (maybe every other flight to begin with).

The aim is to strengthen my pathetic, pasta-like quads.  I’ve started to get some knee pain, and I suspect it’s because of a quad/hamstring imbalance.  The process of running up the office stairs may not be pretty, but I’m hopeful that the outcome will be. 

Thunderthighs to ironthighs in four months – surely that’s possible.