Taking the Stairs

Since no one actually reads this blog, I can post whatever I want. Even if it is random and incoherent. Like this post below:

One of my children is crying.

I hurry up the stairs.

As rapidly ascend the 15 steps, I have a revelation.

“I don’t sprint up the stairs anymore,” Self says to Me. “I hurry, but I don’t actually run up the stairs. There is no bounce in my step and I certainly don’t take more than one step at a time.”

“Hmmm….” Me replies. “That is very interesting.”

So Self and I (that’s Me’s nickname) have this little conversation.

“When did I stop running up the stairs?” Self asks.

“Not exactly sure. We didn’t live in a house with stairs for a long time.”

“That is true,” Self agrees. “Did I stop running up the stairs when I was pregnant?”

“Well most certainly,” Me says. “It’s difficult to run up the stairs with that monstrous belly.”

“But why didn’t I go back to running up the stairs once the children were born?”

“Hmmmm…..”Me thinks. “We don’t run up the stairs now because we always have things to carry. It’s difficult to run with a baby on our hip or a laundry basket.”

“True, true. But we go up these stairs at least 100 times everyday. Why don’t we run some of the time?”

Me nods. “Let’s try that.”

So I spend a couple of days sprinting up the stairs every chance I get.

As I’m running I have a new revelation.

To Me I say, “This hurts a bit. But not so bad. Didn’t quit running because it hurt.”

Self replies, “We have become lazy.”

“No. I don’t think that’s it. We’re just old.”

“Well that’s ugly.”

“Old, ugly and slow. What a lovely revelation.”

Morale of the this story: Sprint up the stairs unless you can’t. No one wants to be old, ugly and slow.