My friend and I went to the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego for the weekend. Our room was on the third floor. The Del (as they call it) was built in 1888, and it has a lovely courtyard and elevators with stairs that wrap around them. My friend and I were standing at the elevator waiting for it to come, when two twenty-something bitches came trotting down the stairs from the floor above and passed us by heading down the flight next to us.
She looked at me, and I looked at her, and she said, “Thin girls take the stairs you know.”
The elevator door opened, we got in, and I asked, “Both ways?”
“Yes,” she said sadly, “up and down.”
I remember a doctor talking to me at a dinner party years ago about StairMasters. He said that our knees were not meant to climb the Twin Towers every day and that it was not a good thing to do. Better to walk. I tried to summon his comments up for her in the ensuing conversation about skinny girls, and she just looked at me like “don’t even go there.” And, of course, she is right. He wasn’t talking about two flights at the Hotel del Coronado. He was talking about climbing thousands of stairs on a StairMaster.
I looked down at my feet that night and had a conversation. “You have been really good to me feet. You have carried me virtually without complaining. The longer it’s been, the more I’ve asked. And narry a word. I want you to know that I appreciate your kindness over the years and I’m going to notice you more, treat you better and lighten your load. I’m glad we had this little chat.” I then went and took the stairs down to the beach for awhile. My feet and I had a swell time at the Del.
