A Formal Complaint Regarding Stairs
To Whom It May Concern,
I would like to formally lodge a complaint regarding the continued existence of stairs.
Following a recent leg workout—undertaken in what I can only describe as a moment of misplaced confidence—I have discovered that stairs are no longer a mode of transportation, but rather a coordinated attack on my inner thighs, dignity, and future mobility.
Each step is a negotiation with the void. Each descent is a gamble with my brittle bones. At one point, I considered setting up permanent residence at the top of the staircase to avoid further incidents.
I request that all stairs be replaced with:
Ramps
Slides
Or a respectful escalator system
Until such time, I will be taking all movements slowly, dramatically, and with the audible groans of a man betrayed by his own muscles.
Respectfully,
A Formerly Mobile Citizen
There is a moment in every man’s life when stairs stop being infrastructure and become an adversary.
It happens without announcement or ceremony. One day you’re bounding up them two at a time, maybe even carrying something heavy just because you can. The next, you’re standing at the bottom, staring upward and considering abandoning the second level of your home.
This week, I found that moment.
I’ve been getting back into working out. Not the way I did at 20. Not even the way I did at 40. This is a more… negotiated arrangement. A 20-minute truce between me and a collection of machines that all seem designed by medieval men who want me to renounce chocolate cake in the name of health.
And then came leg day.
Leg day, as it turns out, is less a workout and more a declaration of war. Not in the moment—you feel fine in the moment. Strong, even. This leg press machine ain’t nothing. You think, I still got it.
You do not still got it.
What you have is a delayed response system. A body that takes notes and tracks every rep. An internal accountant wearing one of those visors and a change maker on their belt who makes notes in a ledger of every increase in reps or weight you had no business attempting.
And then, 24 hours later, he sends the bill.
My inner thighs, in particular, have unionized. They are no longer participating in day-to-day operations without protest. Standing up from a chair requires planning. Sitting down requires commitment.
And whose idea was it to put toilets so low to the ground???
Walking is now a series of carefully negotiated steps between what I intend to do and what my body is willing to allow.
But stairs… stairs are something else entirely.
Stairs require trust. Trust that your legs will lift when asked. Trust that they will hold when you descend. Trust that halfway through, they won’t simply decide they’ve had enough and this is where we live now.
That trust is shattered like so many dreams on the leg press machine.
In its place is a cautious, sideways approach, one hand firmly on the railing, the other holding onto what remains of my pride.
And here’s the thing: I’m going back tomorrow.
Not because I enjoy this. Not because I talk about ‘the burn’ like it’s a personality trait.
This is how changing my shape from round to human starts again; show up, make a series of decisions, keep in mind I am not 20, and deal with the consequences one stair step at a time.
I used to think getting older was about wisdom.
Turns out it’s mostly about learning how to sit down without making grunty noises.
If you’ve been reading along and enjoying it, paid subscribers get this a day early. No pressure—it just helps keep it showing up each week.
Tony
(Photo by cottonbro studio: https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-in-back-vest-wearing-green-cap-5920857/)