73 Steps

The walk around my suburban Seattle subdivision, in and out of every cul-de-sac and up and down every hill, measures about 1.5 miles (give or take). And I’ve gotten to where I can do it pretty easily without going into cardiac arrest. So, last week, I decided to add the seventy-three steps to the mix.

What are the seventy-three steps? They’re a concrete “ladder” that leads from the area where I live into a small housing development closer to the Green River. I can tell you that it isn’t difficult going down those seventy-three steps—anybody could do it—and walking the ¾ mile loop along the other neighborhood’s sidewalk is a breeze. But, coming back up? Whew. Just thinking about it makes my thighs ache and my lungs squeak. I have to stop twice on the way to the top!

Recently, I was talking on my cell phone with Sandra (in North Texas) while walking—gasping, groaning, grumbling—up those stairs and she said, “I’m not going to hang up this phone until I’m sure you’ve made it to the top.” I wouldn’t have argued with her, even if I’d had the breath to do so. When I told her I’d reached the last step, she cheered.

I wonder what Seattle-area 911 would say to an emergency phone call from North Texas? Maybe that’s something we should research. In the meantime, I’ll take my aerobic exercise one step at a time.