Now, far be it for me to complain needlessly, but we moved to a new place a week ago. The apartment complex in which we used to live, Kimberly Club, I must label as the very spawn of the devil himself. Why? Because the building in which we lived had two flights of stairs up to our apartment, yet the stairway was narrow and the landings practically nonexistent.
Why does this matter? Because after about a week of packing, we had to carry large, heavy objects down these stairs. Including Saturday and Sunday, we went up and down those stairs multiple times for over twenty total hours. 25 hours in two days; you do the math. We had help… for a total of six of those hours. Now, to put things in perspective, it took us about 1/5th of the time to empty the U-Haul as it did to fill it. Yes, those accursed stairs made the truck five times harder to fill than to empty.
I had already pushed myself to the limit around 4pm Sunday, and yet I kept working until 1am that night. After going to bed at 2am and not sleeping very well, I got up at 6am so we could empty the truck and return it at the 9am return time. I’m surprised my legs didn’t detach themselves from my body and beat me into an unrecognizable mass for what I did to them. Now, my bedroom in the new house is on the second floor… imagine my surprise as I tried to take one step down those stairs and instantly screamed in agony.
Yup, that’s right, my legs would no longer bend in the slightest, and any time I tried, it was like being hit by a bat. Going up the stairs was the same story, except it was a different set of muscles. I had to hold on to the walls just to make it up or down the stairs alive. This continued for about three days. Walking was the same story. Due to the almost 15 solid hours of walking up and down two flights of stairs carrying various objects, I had horribly broken my poor, innocent body.
Like I said: Ow.