Slo Jo: My Mizunos Run the Santa Monica Stairs

Distance: 6 miles
Stairs: MANY
Wine: Two gl. tempranillo at Bottle Rock in Culver City (necessary after 45-minute attempt to park), then one glass at dinner with friends

Toe-Shoes Tina and I, along with two other friends, have an upcoming race called the Bisbee 1000 Great Stair Climb. This is a 5K that features 1000 stairs. I have been training on exactly zero stairs, unless you count the two flights I usually take in the parking garage when I park at the office. And sometimes? I take the elevator for those two flights. Look, I wear some killer heels.

So today I decided to try out the Santa Monica Stairs. I just realized when I was looking up something to link to that there are two pairs, a wooden one and a concrete one. Never did see the wooden ones. Anyway, there are 189 steps in the concrete ones, which is plenty.

I ran from my friend E's house. She advised me to take 11th Street, which was easy. She also said she heard the Stairs are quite a meat market, so I was looking forward to the people watching. After all, at the Culver City Farmer's Market yesterday, I saw a young man with very very defined arm muscles carefully select a bunch of carrots. So cute. Maybe there would be more eye candy on the stairs.

Alas, no. I would describe the scene as (a) men who look like they are screenwriters and live in Laurel Canyon (e.g., lots of moppy hair, old rock T-shirts); (b) old people who are irritatingly good at the stairs (c) insanely fit young women with no asses whatsoever. There was one young man who would do pull ups at the bottom of the flights. And then there was this lady, who seemed nice but turned into a mad photobomber:

Every time I would stop to take a shot, she would appear out of nowhere and get in the frame. She wasn't even cute about it, like this guy:

Anyway, I went down the stairs, basically clutching the handrail. After my fall on Saturday, I was feeling nervous. I thought negative thoughts to myself about how if I did fall, I would probably break bones and there would be no way to stop my rapid descent down the whole flight. I'm pretty sure this is what they call the power of negative thinking. I learned it from watching OWN.

I only made it back up the stairs three times. Honest to God, it sucked. You go up a long flight, and then there is a landing, and then there's another flight, and it never ends. My heart rate soared to 175, and I would have to stop at the landings and catch my breath. The super-fit ass-less women were having no problems. Maybe stairs are easier without an ass. The moppy-haired record producers were struggling, which was good; they'd probably smoked on the way over to the stairs. The old people trudged up like they were going to school in the snow, uphill both ways, resigned to their fate. They were awesome.

(I took this one for TST, as she has a series of pics of her toe-shoes in scenic environments. Mine are not toe shoes, obviously.)

After three attempts, I was ready to never see a stair again and begin the three-mile run back. Thank goodness I don't live around here or I would think I should go more often and work up to being able to do these better. I have a really good excuse, living in Phoenix, for never returning. That said, I'm worried about the Bisbee Stair Climb. Maybe--just maybe--I'll stop taking the parking garage elevator as a first step.