The Postscript: Climbing the stairs

I told my husband, Peter, when he first announced the idea, that I thought it was dumb.

I probably didn’t say “dumb,” because I try to be nicer than that. But I let him know that I thought his idea of getting exercise by climbing stairs in the stairwell was, well, kind of dumb.

“Find out if I can access the stairs in the stairwell!” he told me, after we had purchased this condo, sight unseen, during the pandemic. We didn’t see it for almost two years. When we were finally ready to move, the movers were late, and we had to change our airplane tickets. So I flew out to see our condo for the first time without Peter.

I’m going to tell you honestly, it was not impressive.

The condo had been occupied by the woman who bought it when the building was built in the 1980s. She died right there at home, and things had gone downhill toward the end. Other than a fresh coat of paint on the walls and ceiling, very little updating had been done. So I was seeing all this for the first time, and Peter’s big concern was whether the stairwell was accessible so he could climb the stairs.

It was, I reported. But I couldn’t imagine how that would be any fun at all.

When Peter finally moved in to the condo, he started climbing the steps in the stairwell — 12 rounds a day. The building is 20 stories high, and the top 17 are accessible, which means he climbs 238 stories every day.

That works out to 2,856 stairs, if you are interested in doing the math.

While I walked the neighborhood and admired the old mansions and the manicured gardens and the friendly dogs, Peter climbed the stairs every day, seven days a week.

If this wasn’t dumb, it certainly seemed a little crazy to me.

But the thing I didn’t count on is that Peter didn’t go down the stairs. That would be hard on his knees, he explained. He took the elevator down to the third floor and then climbed up those 17 stories. Then he did it again. And every time he took the elevator down, he had a conversation with a different person in our building.

He got to know the young working professionals and the retired folks. He got to know the housekeeper who cleans up the public areas and the maintenance man. He got to know all the dogs who were going out for a walk and all the people who owned them.

And Peter became kind of famous.

He started carrying business cards with our name and picture on them and handed them out when he met new people. “You’re the wife of the guy who does the stairs!” strangers said to me.

So when there was a vacancy on the condo board, it should have come as no surprise that Peter was asked to fill it. Campaigning for a seat on the board was about the last thing Peter would ever do, but everyone on the board knew him by now, and he seemed like a smart choice.

Of course he was.

Now Peter spends a lot of time reading documents and attending meetings for his new duties as board member.

Eventually, after the weather warmed, he bought a bike, and he started riding around town. I have to believe this is more enjoyable. But if there is rain in the forecast, Peter doesn’t hesitate. He climbs the stairs.

And when the weather is fine, I’m sure everyone in the elevator misses him.

Till next time,

Carrie

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Carrie Classon is married to Havre native Peter Heimdahl. Her memoir, “Blue Yarn: A Memoir About Loss, Letting Go, & What Happens Next,” was published in 2019. Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.