Santa Monica 4th st stairs

I've only been hearing about them for next to forever. 

 

I pulled up to the spot all fresh and peppy. I found myself in the midst of other pansies all huffing and puffing, drenched in sweat. Have these people never worked out before? We're just running a few stairs here. So, I took my place in line- 
Wait wait wait. Stop right there. In line? Really? To climb stairs? For fun? This doesn't make sense. 
Anyway, there I was ready to make my debut on the infamous Santa Monica 4th st stairs. And I take off, conquering those stairs one at a time. Only slowing to wait for a gap to pass the slow pokes and wishing I had some type of a horn to warn them out of my way. I went for the pass and made sure they knew they were getting passed- wishing I had a way to advertise the fact that I'm also a first timer none-the-less. I felt like yelling, "All night long baby...all night long" just to rub it in even deeper. Instead I just breathed steady and swung my arms like a sprinter.  Which was probably defeating the desire to have them know I was a first-timer. Because I'm sure I looked real professional. 
I made it to the top, winded but proud. Whoa whoa whoa....this wasn't the top? Follow the curve, Gay Gay. There's another set. But I'm young and fresh and peppy. Another set can't defeat me. So I regrouped as I walked to the first step and took off, admittedly as a slower pace. I reach in my bag of tricks for a survival tactic. And start counting the stairs, "1.2.3.4......" This would usually be distracting...but I reach somewhere in the 30's,- panting like a dog in heat- look up to find the finish line. Which proved to be a huge mistake. I was met with a view of stairs....that had no ending. So I slow even more but am holding on to that inkling of determination. And to the fact that I'm a first-timer. "I mean, how was I to know? This is only my first time. This is pretty good for a beginner, right?"
I shouldn't have wasted an ounce of energy hoping people knew I was a first-timer- that cocky sprint up the first half-set had first-timer written all over it. 
By the time I reached the real top, jello thighs had already been achieved. Which proved to be a bit of a hiccup on getting this body back down the stairs. Walking down a steep set of stairs with NUMB legs feels anything but natural. Ripped that security blanket right out of my hands.
And to think that I had committed to doing this 3x. I'm sure it comes as no surprise to hear that by round #3 I was strategically taking my place behind the 65-year-old with heavy metal blaring from his head phones, praying I'd be able to keep up. And then if these legs gave out on me- as was a real possibility- and I fell face first that I puh-lease wouldn't bring him down with me. Prayers were answered and we all survived.

{On the way home I for real felt like I was going to throw up. I don't remember ever feeling like that after working out. Combine it with the crazy, turn-y canyon roads I was passenger on for a whole 2 minutes, and I was done in. This is us pulled over, jacket stripped bc I'm hot as a meno-pausing mama, and needing nothing less than fresh air.  I heard Christy shuffling around as I was hanging my head out the window. I assumed she was checking her emails or maybe freeing her hands to kindly hold my hair back when the vomiting started. Huh uh. Shout out to a girl always looking for the next story. She thought I was getting ready to puke and ....pulled out the camera to document. Sorry to disappoint...we evaded the vomiting. And she didn't catch me w my head out the window}

The Santa Monica 4th St stairs. I finally did them.

Truth be told, they did me. And did me in.

Tell me you've found yourself in a similar predicament before........
That I'm not the only one whose blood is drenched with pride and ignorance running through the same vein...