Janathon: Day 26 - Stairs.

I live in a tower block in Central London. I like to think of it as chavvy-chic. Shush, you. There is a point to this, I promise. I live on one of the top floors of said tower block. Look, here's the view:

Tonight, I was being damn lazy. I gave in to that little voice in the back of my head that was whining "But I don't want to go outside, it's coooooold". Then the drill sergeant voice that lives in another part of my head piped up - "Just get your f*cking lycra on and go outside. NOW." The whiny voice got whinier. It continued like that for a little while, till they reached a compromise (obviously the Sergeant needs to toughen up) - I'd run up and down the stairs in my building. I'd be inside, but working my legs in a hideous mix of cardio and resistance.

So off I went. There are 15 floors in my building, and two flights of 13 stairs per floor. I started at the top (because I'm not stupid). The first trip to the ground floor was a breeze, and I thought I'd have no problem doing the round trip five times - it'd take no time at all. Then I turned around and came back up. Oh. Not so easy, but doable. By the fifth floor, I was tired. But onwards and upwards to 15. The trip back down again was a nice recovery for my already achey legs - not looking good for five reps.

At the bottom, I stopped to gear myself up for the pain I knew was coming, and promised myself a rest if I got to the eighth floor without stopping (at that point I could tell myself I was over half way to the top - it's all about tricking your brain). It took a lot of grunting and squeaking, but I did it. And then the other seven, after my sweet, sweet rest. This is getting a little boring now, no? Here are some pictures of the stairs:

Up                                                               Down

Exciting! Anyway, by the time I got to the top for the second time, I was ready to go home. Doing this five times was simply not going to happen. But I wasn't dead yet, so I convinced myself to do it one more time. When I got to the ground floor, red and sweaty and gross, I bumped (quite literally) into a lady letting herself into the building. We both let out a wussy squeal, and she gave me a dirty look for getting sweat on her coat - I can't blame her. Thing is, I didn't recognise her and had no idea what floor she was going to, but I didn't want to bump into her again on my way up. So I stopped at the bottom for a couple of minutes and stretched. When I finally dragged myself back up to my floor (the 13th, I left the top two out), I was very nearly on my hands and knees. 1,118 stairs.

I don't know why I didn't just go out for a bloody run.