Steps
About an hour south of us, there’s a set of stairs that cut a path through the trees on the side of a mountain for 2,744 steps. Why, you ask? Apparently it used to be a functioning funicular, which is one of the best things in the world – so it’s really a shame that it turned into one of the worst things in the world: too many fucking stairs.
The first time my husband, in-laws, and I went down to Colorado Springs, one of our tour guides pointed out this long, thin scar running down the side of the otherwise green mountain and gave us the canned history on it. Its specific kind of extreme sport existence particularly resonated with my husband and I and later, when we walked around the tiny town of Manitou Springs where it’s located, we saw shirts for sale, “I Survived The Manitou Incline.” He started saying he’d do this one day – climb it, survive it. I get it, I guess; I’m a sucker for a braggy sports collectible (see also: my love of races and hikes and challenges just mostly for the medals and shirts). But see, the thing is, it’s not a normal race or challenge, it’s a bunch. of. fucking. stairs. up. a. mountain.
We moved down to Parker about a month ago and we’ve been getting to know the area. You know what they have? A little ol’ set of outdoor stairs. (Apparently there’s one in Castle Rock too? Who knew this was A Thing™?) Only 132 steps, this one. Husband, he told me last week, he wanted to go give the small one a whirl. Oh, he tells me, by the way, he also booked his time on the Manitou Incline! He’ll do it in about five weeks when his friends are in town! He did the math and it’s only about 21 times on the Rueter-Hess to equal once on Manitou! No big thing right!!! This is before we’ve even attempted one set of stairs, mind you. So, he’s made this his mission, to practice on this smaller set of stairs until it’s time to do the real thing. Good for him. (I’m just glad he’s not going alone. Christ.)
We went last weekend to go for our little stair-venture on the small version. The Mincline, he says he’s calling it. (Mini incline. We love a good portmanteau in this house.) I brought myself along to give it a go and wow, I hated it. It only took fifteen minutes or so, even with me going pretty damn slow and feeling like I wanted to sit down forever, so it was a surprise to learn it hadn’t dragged on for millennia considering how I felt. Much to my surprise, after a moment or two of reflection, I realized I hated it the way one hates something and then, the moment it’s over, doesn’t think it’s so bad. I assume that’s a generalizable feeling, but maybe I’m a particular kind of person as far as hating-things-and-deciding-they’re-fine-later is concerned. He’s going again tonight. I’m going with him. I expect to hate it again the whole time I’m doing it.
When we were there last, there was a small group of paragliders gliding down from the top of the stairs every once in awhile when the wind was right. At our initial approach up the trail toward the incline, we saw a lime green arc of fabric carrying someone straight toward us. He landed in some prickly brush, gathered the whole thing up in his arms without bothering to pack it neatly, and was on his way back up the stairs. Who can say how many times he had done this before we arrived? By the time we reached the top of the stairs, another paraglider with a red sail was readying their leap – fighting mightily against the wind a few times, having to re-approach, wait a bit, go again. We were on our way down the trail to the bottom by the time the red paraglider went down the full way, once again, heading right toward us. I stood there, watching with no small amount of delight, listening to the sweet, droid-like beeps of the Western Meadowlark, wondering if the climb to the top of those damn stairs was really worth it just to glide through the air for just a little while. I think of that crow, sledding with the bottle cap. The crow seems to think it’s worth it.
I think I am learning, somehow, after nearly 37 years on this planet, that work and play are so closely linked that they converge and then diverge again. I think I am learning how to move through that understanding by giving myself some grace in the moments when I hate-things-then-love-them. I think I need to somehow remember that you can’t climb stairs forever and you can’t glide back down forever either. The thing I’m still waiting for is that moment of lightness, of enjoying the climb… Satisfaction, I guess.
Maybe this time I’ll be able to notice it a little better and determine if, maybe, it’s just the right amount of steps for today.