A couple of months ago I signed up for "The Big Climb". It is a fund raiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society which basically involves climbing to the top of the tallest building in Washington State, via 69 flights of stairs. At the time the opportunity arouse to sign up with my boot camp girls, I was recovering from a nasty injury sustained when I was on the receiving end of two third graders in motion. Not good. So I looked at it as a challenge for a great cause and an opportunity to redeem my pride. I responded with my typical cougar cry of "hell yeah, I'll do it. "
Now those of you that know me know there are two things about me that are certain. One.. I am clumsy. Really that word does not do justice to my ability to trip, twist, fall, you name it over pretty much anything in my path, real or imagined. I'm pretty sure that I actually hooked Sean as my future husband based upon the fact that the night we met I fell down an entire flight of stairs and walked away from it without so much as a tear. Never mind the boatload of blood running down my legs at the time. I was wearing boots, he never even knew!
The second fact about me is that I am tremendously afraid of heights. I have been known to spend several heart stopping moments on the roof after I have climbed up the ladder because I'm too scared to turn around and go back down it. Yes, if I was a dog I would certainly be in the Lab family.
So what am I doing in less than 48 hours? Climbing 69 flights of stairs to the top of a building. Does anyone else see a problem with this scenario? I can only hope that I don't trip, fall and take down the entire rest of the competitors behind me like a bad game of mouse trap. And if I don't, heaven help me when I make it to the top and then they can't get me back down again because I'm petrified like a poorly done gargoyle from the Clash of the Titans. This was not my best idea yet.
The only possibility I have for saving the day is the fact that I am the most competitive person on the planet. Sorry Mom and Dad, I agree I must have been adopted because I come from the least competitive family on the planet. Seriously, we didn't even play sports. However I'm the one who shows up at a race, scouts out the person with a cane to sight my competition. No it's not pretty and this isn't something I'm proud of, but hey, who doesn't have some awful little thing lurking in their background? At least I'm upfront about mine.
So, as I puff on my inhaler and try not to look too far up, or trip over nothing, I'll be scanning the crowd for that competition to power me through. The only justice in it all is the knowledge that I too am the incentive of someone else who is thinking "well I'm sure I can beat that old inhaler toting cougar" Bring on the stairs!
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