I just finished my first international stair climb race.

I have been climbing for almost 20 years back when stair climbing was not a “thing”. When I was married I started training on a 12-story building where my now ex used to work. I had a key and could go after work and on weekends up and down the 12 flights when I had the building to myself.. I used a sticky note at the top and bottom of the stairwell to mark each flight up and down. It was brutal in the beginning and my calves were on fire but my butt got a bit of a lift if you know what I mean. Much better looking than it is now.

Now I have to climb in 3-5 flight garages and apartment buildings here is Spain. I miss that 12-story building way more than I ever did my ex. I wish “access to the building” was written in the divorce contract as an afterthought.

All those years ago I was so nervous about my first race; “climb for air” as it was called as it was for a charity benefiting the cystic fibrosis foundation. I remember training 2-3 times a week until I could go up and down 12 flights 20 times. I was trained for 200 flights. Incredible.

The building used for the race in Dallas was only 50 flights. I did it in less than 13 minutes. It was all over so fast I didn’t know what happened. And in those days we only got a plastic coin at the end, not a medal like today. But I was hooked. I liked the activity of vertical training versus running horizontally. I was also very lucky to have access to a building with stairs. Training for races needs real-life training that mimics the actual event. Running outside on roads or trails for marathons and trail runs. Swimming for swim events, climbing ropes, and jumping for obstacle races. So stairs for stair races.

As the years have gone on I’ve over-trained for many races of many kinds. Stairs, obstacle races, and half marathons. But nothing ever beats the stairs in my opinion outside of obstacle races, my other favorite.  I even formed a team of friends and we called ourselves “Tower of Power” with neon yellow shirts back then. We competed in so many races we were often on the races’ own websites advertising the very races we were in as we stood out like a sea of neon, go Tower of Power.

Well since living in Spain, I haven’t done any climbs. The last big race I did was 300 flights in Reunion Tower in Dallas Texas. 300 flights was a half mile, unheard of in stair climbs along with a 600 flight full mile challenge that brought climbers from all over the world.

I did the 300 flights and it was my best time ever. I was 55 years old. And two years out from cancer. Not bad overall and I was still alive.

Fast forward to Spain and my health has been nothing but a challenge. The cancer I had at 50 and its subsequent radiation damage to my groin and hips has left me with inflexible hip flexors and one leg often drags some when I lift it. And to add insult to injury I developed chronic bilateral hip pain to go with my toe issue from a past surgery. Pain is an everyday event since I arrived, unfortunately. But I don’t care, I just say to hell with it and keep going and take lots of Tylenol.

But the taste of a 52-story race only one hour from me was too enticing to pass up. I registered for the race and for the last three months have trained in the stairs of my apartment building. Unfortunately, it’s only five flights, and going up and down 15-20 times has not always been easy. I’ve trained only 1 x a week in addition to always walking 3-5 miles a day as part of my daily routine. And I admit I’ve been lazy, choosing tapas over training one too many times. The chronic pain in my hips and bad toes have left me feeling depressed and tapping a tapa and wine has added to my slowness.  But heck I’m in Spain be happy, how many folks get to eat and drink fantastic cheap wine (like $1.50 a glass) and take a siesta every day? At least that’s my excuse.

In any event, It hasn’t been as fun without my team in Texas. But I’m more than capable of training alone when needed. The problem is the damn hip just screams at me for days after each one.

But where there’s a will there’s a way. And I’m just stubborn. I made a commitment to a race and damn it I will show up.

So, I’ve dragged myself out and climbed most weeks. Except when traveling, which as some of you know I have a trigger finger for and have traveled way more than I should. (is that a bad thing?)

Either way, It means I don’t train when I’m traveling and I eat too much.

Bad chiffon bad

So here it is the day before my first international stair climb in Spain. I’m not up to snuff on the stairs. I knew it just walking up the five flights to my apartment that morning, I was huffing and puffing, and it was too late now.

We drove to Benidorm a large mostly expat-crammed city on the coast about an hour from here.  We checked into a modest hotel nearby for the race in the morning; a big fancy hotel near the beach. We picked up our packet for the race as soon as we got there and they gave us each a bag with two oranges, a pack of Bbq sauce and aioli (garlic mayonnaise ). Ok, whatever.

My number was 431. Hmm add it together and it is eight. That’s good luck in feng shui my mother would have said. I thought I just don’t want to look like a fool on the stairs and finish, that’s all the luck I’m looking for.

While there we check the race schedule. The time to start was changed. Holy crap 11 :15 was my start!

Wtf? This is a race, it’s going to be in a stairwell, it will be hot and now we are going to start nearly at midday? Who’s idea was that? Then I remembered we are in Spain. People don’t get up early. And they move slowly. God forbid anything starts before 0900. But it’s a damn race shouldn’t we get it over with??? Can’t ya’ll move it a little? Come on…

Then I read the bomberos  (firemen) start first as they should. I read they were to start at 0900 ok, then at least they can get going early as they will be wearing all their equipment. But looking closer,  their time was moved also to 10 am!. Jeese these guys will be in full uniform. Tanks and all and you’re submitting them to a late start. Let’s test them for heat stroke, why don’t ya!

Fine, whatever. But I thought ok, then they will fly through as it’s only 52 flights then we will get going surely by 10:30.

But I was wrong.

So we go back to our hotel to hang out and see the ocean. We get our towels etc and walk down the stairs. Just as we turned to go outside, I go to walk down an incline to a hall, but instead, I step off the incline to the left thinking it was a flat floor. It wasn’t. It was a two-inch drop.

So what happens? I step off not noticing the drop coming and thanks to getting old and depth perception now going, I suddenly feel myself fly forward,  the bag I’m carrying goes with me through the air. I land hard on pale yellow ceramic tile flooring on my hands and knees. . Bam! Jorge heard me and came around. I was on all fours and not in a good way. I just stayed that way for a full minute. The wind nearly knocked out of me.  What the hell just happened?

I felt like one of my patients. “doc I was standing one minute and on my knees the next.” I have no idea what happened, and I wasn’t drinking yet either. Now I can say “been there done that” right along with them.

This fall was classic just like my geriatric patients describe.  I fell and there I was. My right knee was bleeding. My right toe caught the lip and got smashed. All I could think of was muther f**** I have a race in 14 hours. Now I’ll be limping up the stairs. “Tower of Power” woopeee ,  more like the tower of failure. Thank God no one was watching. Jorge helps me up and I’m lightheaded. Damn it to hell is all I thought.

Getting situated I insisted we go out to the beach anyway. I limped along, the sun was hot, and going down. Good, I can sit, listen to the ocean, and hate myself for getting old. As if one can stop the aging process. When will they invent age-reversal Botox anyway? Shit. You know, something that gives back your balance, depth perception, and flexibility and improves attitude. Beam me up Scotty, I’m not in Kansas anymore. I’m on the floor.

So, the next morning stiff as hell, and limping I take two Tylenol with my coffee.

We ate a light breakfast at 0800 at the hotel. Then we wait, I’m aggravated at the late start, and I remember a fellow Spanish racer tell me a while back,  you know those Americans; ‘they are all at the race location bright and early before 8 am.”  Of course we are, we didn’t become a superpower taking siestas all day. Somebody has to get shit done.  Show up and get your ass going and avoid heat stroke. Gee, what a concept, I thought sarcastically.

So, we screw around killing time, and pack our bags. At 9:45 we walk out and head to the hotel where the race is. I’m still limping from busting my ass the night before.  Thankfully I’m wearing my loosest running shoes that won’t rub the screwed-up toe on the left and now the stubbed big toe on the right. I wore long black leggings to keep the bandage covered on my knee in case it starts bleeding, no one will see it.

So, we walk to the race location; the “Unnamed hotel.” I hear music and see a firetruck outside. There are flags and a roped-off area with blow-up start balloons outside the hotel entrance. I hear them announcing the names of the fireman as they run from the outside up the few steps to the door and the announcer holds them and then lets them go. They are in full gear as I expected. Its 10 am. Ok, so they are doing it one person at a time calling out names, ok….. well, that’s a bit slower I’m thinking, but ok.

So I decided to go inside and pee and see if there is a bag check for our backpacks. But there is a problem.

There is a guard at the other entrance not letting any runners in. WTF?

Now this hotel was huge inside with shops etc. 200 people could easily mingle inside without any crowding. Yet everyone that wasn’t a guest was waved away. I went up anyway in case he would let me in just for a bathroom run. “Nope, nada, go away he said. I was dumbfounded.

How many times had I said WTF already today and now I had to say it again.  I was never in a race that disallowed using their bathrooms or at least had outside porta potties.  

Now I’m pissed. Who organized this?  And I mean a huge expensive hotel that easily could have sold several hundred cups of coffee inside their lobby café to make a little money and basically could get free advertising of their hotel with this event, didn’t allow anyone in. Racers were there from all over the world too; Mexico, the USA, the Netherlands,  Canada  Australia, you name it, including elite runners with their coaches vying to win monetary rewards.

What idiotas I thought. And yet you complain you can’t make any money here.

Wow was all I could say. No one here makes much money, yet you don’t want free advertising for your hotel? What the heck, 400 people are outside waiting to race with spectators, and you deny entrance. An American company would be doing everything to advertise their hotel with a race like this. “come on in see our lobby! Buy an expensive coffee, and stop in our shops! Use the bathroom and remember us next time on booking.com!! But not this one. My knee was throbbing and now my attitude was too.

Incredible is all I could say.

I made up my mind right then Ide never ever recommend their hotel or stay in it. What good is your huge lobby and conference facilities and glass outside elevators if you don’t allow bathroom use for 400 potential FUTURE customers, firemen and racers?  Who are the idiots here?

And to top it off, there was no bag check if you had a backpack. Yup

So the guy at the front pointed down the street to go to “Mercadona” a grocery store to use the bathroom and store your stuff in their lockers.

Thanks for that, I’ll tell the 80-year-old walking with a cane to do that. She is here to watch her family member race and now she must teeter on down the hill for a fast pee. Hope she doesn’t fall on the way although with my luck ide be the faller, not her.

So anyway, long story short, I waited and listened to mostly Spanish names get called. I’m standing there with my neon blue “Tower of Power” t-shirt and my bib # 431 outside with all the other racers. I’m thinking I wonder if they will say my name right.

Then I hear my name “Chiffon Kinney! Well, at least one thing was going well. but it was right at about 11:15 am. Yup, nice late start like I said, so much for hoping the other racers would finish quickly and the rest of us could go before fricking noon.

I trot up the steps praying no more falls and stand at the door. The announcer calls three more people and then says go, we jog into the lobby following the ropes to the stairs. And one by one another man points a white scanner at us and says go.

I trot up the first four flights, and each floor ended up being open, not a closed stairwell like every building I’ve ever raced in. Interesting. Each floor is open, and you can see elevators. Hmm if there is a fire usually stairwells are closed with fireproof doors. Not here. Ok.

Up 10 steps, turn for three steps then run 20 steps past the elevators and turn and repeat. The way the sequence of each flight all the way up.

I noticed there was no one cheering us on, and almost no one was with me as I climbed.  A few guys ran past me. And I notice the stairs are also very narrow. But at least have rails.

10 flights I look up, I’m huffing and puffing, and my right leg is bothering me.

Around I go and I don’t look up cause if you watch each floor number your mind will tell you it’s too far to go and will talk against you.

I don’t look up for a bit and suddenly it says 16 flights. I was like really? I don’t think I should be past 12.

I keep going, I’m pulling myself on the rails. And suddenly Jorge passes me.  I looked up, its 24 flights. Wait a minute now I know I can’t be past 20 yet. Then suddenly it’s 29. A hotel guest waiting at the elevators says “Halfway!”

 I keep going. My toe is throbbing, and my right leg wants to drag a little…a few random racers pass me and I see one person with a first aid bag by the elevator, so I deliberately try not to let them hear me huffing too loud. It also felt a bit lonely, so few racers with me and no one cheering.

Then I see a  few people on floor 30 yelling “venga venga!  (come on)

I don’t look at them, I’m suffering, winded and my right leg will not lift all the way. Shit

Suddenly I looked and it’s 43 flights.

I heard someone say “Dos mas! (2 more)

What? I’m thinking, I got 10 more flights and it’s going too fast. I’m slow and I know it I can’t be this far.

along.

I come around one more corner and hear people yelling above me.

The stairs change from cement to industrial metal. I see light. I go up three steps, turn to face the people at the door, wtf? it’s too soon I’m thinking. Someone has a camera, and I take a step on the last two at the top and stumble ready to fly right at the guy, oh crap! I hit my hand on something grabbing the rail but recovered before face-planting.

I come through the door and the timing hump is on the ground right there which is how the timer is recording you, and I hit it and stumble again, this time heading for sure down for a real face plant,  with some 20 people watching me. The camera guy reaches for me, grabs my arm, and says are you ok?

Hell, no I’m not Ok, Tower of Power is about to fall face down while you film it.  

I straightened myself up out of pure willpower and veered to the right to avoid anyone’s eye contact and looked up. Someone headed to me with a can of something to drink. Beer? No some kind of Gatorade drink called “Aquarius”, and another put a medal around me. Phew.

I was so mortified to be wearing my “tower of power shirt” which they got on film as stumbling not once but twice and all you hand me is Gatorade.

Thanks for that.

Well, I finished at 15:15.

I’ll be 60 in less than a week.

I was dead last in the 11am group and in my age group. Yea for me. NOT.

And so what have I done?

I found another stair race in June.

1900 steps, which is twice this one. Or close to 100 flights.

Call me stupid.

But it’s in Germany, near the black forest and I’ve never visited there before and well my trigger finger did it.

What’s the worst that can happen?

We’ll see.

Stay upright, it will do you good.

Somewhere in Spain with a new stair race medal to prove I did it.

Take the stairs next time, and every time.