18,000 stairs ran in the Bunker Hill Monument in three days

Monday 8/17/26

As I wrote earlier, I've been trying to run stairs every day without a break on account of feeling like I'm not doing as well with the stairs, whether that's because of me or the heat or both. It has been hard to get a gauge on where I'm at.

My sense is that I have struggled more than in past times and that I shouldn't be struggling like I am, but it's also been an extremely humid summer, one of the most humid of my life, if not the most humid. We are scorching this earth and the summer hasn't felt as it seems like a summer should.

I thought if I went every day or close to it--which, to be honest, isn't all that different from what I've done for many years now--then when the temperature and humidity decreased, I might find that I'm right where I should be.

Yesterday was my thirteenth day in a row of stair running. The Monument was open all five days of this past week from Wednesday to Sunday. The week before, it had only been open on Wednesday and was then closed the next four days because of the heat and humidity--the humidity more than anything--so I countered those closures by running stairs at City Hall.

I did okay but not amazingly at City Hall. For instance, 3000 stairs on both Monday and Tuesday, without stopping. The humidity had come down some. With the Monument being open again, though, and having lost those days the week before, I wanted to put in a decent five-day showing.

On Wednesday and Thursday I ran five circuits of stairs each day in the Monument, and did my 100 push-ups and walked three miles. These weren't easy days. I had a hard time. Humidity was again a factor.

On Friday I did the same amount of push-ups and walked the same number of miles, but this time I did ten circuits of stairs in the Monument. On Saturday I ran another ten, walked six miles, did 100 push-ups. Then yesterday I ran ten circuits of stairs in the Monument for the third day in a row, walked three miles, did 150 push-ups.

It isn't all that common to do ten circuits three days in a row in the Monument. That's a total of 18,000 stairs. Add in the two days before that, and that's 24,000 stairs in the Monument in five days over the course of forty circuits.

I've been slow and choppy, but these bottom line numbers are pretty good. I don't know how I really could be getting worse. I do this so much and it isn't like there's been time away. I am, of course, pretty hard on myself. I called my mom on the way back. She was heading over to my sister's later to watch my buddy, Amelia. The older kids are in Rhode Island with their other grandmother.

In the course of talking to her and walking for a while, I'd gotten something to drink and was beginning to dry. I felt perfectly fine. Strong. I've been making a point to stretch more lately. Normally I don't stretch at all. Bad, of course, so I want to remedy this.

I'm probably the only person who could do workouts like these and then immediately thereafter start feeling guilty about not having done more. I told my mom I really should go back, that I could do another ten, that would tie the single-day record and also, I believe, the one-week record.

We keep talking about whatever, and she says, "You're going to go over there again, aren't you?" It's true, I was rather conflicted. But I ultimately determined, no, I came into the weekend with a number in mind, I reached the number, there will be time later, and soon, to put up all kinds of numbers.

I felt so strong, though, you know? Fresh and rarin' to go. Frankly, I think just replenishing fluids has a lot to do with it. Because I'm not drinking anything while I'm in the Monument. Not a sip.

Instead, I just did a few more push-ups--that's where the extra fifty came from--and went down to the cafe to read after I showered and let myself have a skim latte. Yesterday also marked 3682 days, or 526 weeks, without a drink.

Aside from my reservations about my pace and what seems to me like more struggle than I ought to be having with these workouts, I feel better physically than I ever have in my life. Or as well as. There's no pain, no soreness. A little something sometimes at the bottom of my left leg in the back, at the ankle level, but that comes and goes and is part of the reason why I've done extra stretching.

I haven't taken any Advil or anything because I don't have a need. I feel the same after running stairs, pretty much, as I do before. I went to Haymarket and Trader Joe's as well. I'm trying to eat a banana every day for my heart on account of the potassium.

The Fisherman's Feast was raging outside the building for four days, from Thursday to rather late last night. The out-of-tune marching band going up and down the street. Most people in my building leave for these days. I sit here at the desk trying to work, stopping only for these workouts I've documented.

Sometimes I'll have a thought flash through my mind about how I used to live and eat. The amount of garbage I'd consume. The fatty, salty meats. I saw where someone posted a question online about the Fisherman's Feast, wanting to know if they should eat breakfast at home or have it at the feast and what were the prices like.

Breakfast at the feast? The feast as all-day eating event? But that's how people treat it. There's nothing good for you at this thing. It's called the Fisherman's Feast, but it might as well be the Artery Clogging Festival.

In answer to this other person's queries, someone basically itemized what they and their spouse ate at the feast the day before and the prices. This was stunning to me. Pizza, a meatball sub, sausage, and something called Nutella bomboloni.

That can't be good, right? Nutella bombolini? Sounds like a bomb for your heart. But the whole thing read as some "listicle" tutorial as to what you'd eat if you were trying to give yourself a heart attack. "Bring it, Reaper!"

"Yeah, I just need a bombolone to top off that pile of meatballs, sausage, and pizza I got inside of me."

And here they were talking about this, easy as you please, like this was normal. Probably because it is. These are the people who say, "Wanna feel old?" and "I'm so old" and "We're old lol," etc. when it makes no mathematical sense.

You mostly likely feel old, you made yourself old, because you sit there. You don't try. You do as little as possible and shovel garbage down your gullet.

You're not old at thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy. You should be fine in most cases, if you are doing the things you should be doing. Then you just feel like you've felt. That's how the body is supposed to work if you're not screwing that up.

But curse that Father Time, he always wins! is how people prefer to think of it because they don't want anything to be on them. And there's nothing they love more than an excuse, unless it's doing less, which, ironically, makes their lives worse. "Damn I'm old." I hate that attitude. I hate the shirking of culpability and the wilful ignorance that's almost always a part of that process of shirking.

Can you even imagine me saying, "I feel old" or "I'm so old"? What age am I? I can't conceive of someone thinking of me as being an age. You want to be a force of nature. That should be the goal. And people don't think of forces of nature as being an age. Nor do forces of nature.

Put down the bombolone and run some stairs.