What it's like to run stairs in extreme heat

Thursday 7/2/26

It was even worse running stairs at City Hall today. I only did 2000, and for each of the last ten times up--2000 stairs being twenty times up and down--I was bent over at the top with my hands on my knees. Brutal, brutal, brutal. But it was a notable day for the stair-running resume in its kind of way, just not as flashy as a twenty-circuit day in the Bunker Hill Monument. It is all for my work. Everything is for my work. To be able to keep going. To somehow endure. To keep creating. To be around if things ever change. And create more and more. To withstand what I'm up against, one must be strong in mind, body, and soul. It's all part of it--every last stair, every last word, every last decision to force myself to keep going.

The problem with running stairs in extreme heat is when you first start sweating profusely. Not that it's a pleasure trip before then. The air is thick--it doesn't make for good breathing. It feels harder to get down, and like you're getting less out of it. But once you start sweating, you heat up, and you don't cool down. The heat stays in you, on you. You're like an oven. Your core temperature goes up. Your heart has to work harder to pump the blood to where it needs to go. I've conceivably underestimated the impact of heat and humidity and perhaps been a touch unfair in assessing my performances and where I'm at.

It doesn't take long when you're running stairs in these conditions that you feel like you're in a bit of trouble. I don't mean that I'm going to keel over and expire. But I find myself thinking, "Okay, realistically, how many sets can we do here?" I take stock. It enters my mind that I really don't want to pass out or something like that.

Besides the fall and the fallout of the fall, I'd be embarrassed. I'd take that as a real knock against myself as well. But I also don't not want to have something like that happen simply because I stopped. I want to be okay, be strong, be stronger than others would be, pretty much regardless of who they are, and know I could keep going if I absolutely had to, but without also being a fool and needlessly pushing. Make sense?

Everything weakens. You get tired. Like you have to shake yourself awake. Not that you're sleepy per se, but if you think a lot about where you put your feet and being careful like I do--I don't take not falling for granted; I'm the stair-running version of a defensive driver--it's as if you're reminding yourself, "Okay, get with the program here, be sharp, you don't want to break your neck." Actually, it's more like fatigued. Tired and fatigued are different. The latter is deeper set in the body. Sometimes in the psyche.

I was already sweating just from doing a set of twenty push-ups in the hall before I left. By the way: 100 push-ups yesterday and today.

For the second day in a row, I didn't wear a headband either. Why? Because as I mentioned, my head is two colors at the moment. I'm two-toned. I look like a scoop of sherbet ice cream. It isn't subtle. This is a result of always wearing a headband or my Red Sox hat, and also the haircut I got on Tuesday, which exposed more of my scalp. I'm trying to get back to being one pigment, which in turn has meant a lot of sweat running straight into my eyes.

A comely woman came over to commend me. As she approached, I thought she was perhaps going to scold me in a concerned manner--you won't see anyone running or anything like that in this weather. Perhaps very early. But you know what? It's so hot and oppressive, I'm not so sure anyone would have been out then either.

I take this as a good sign, because if I looked like I couldn't handle it or might get myself into trouble/danger, I doubt a person would be complimenting me. Someone would likely need to think that here was a Zulu warrior, or words/sentiments to that effect, if they weren't versed in the exact terminology.