Back to Work: Stair Master!

Well, it’s hard to believe that this week was the first working week of 2015.

As much as I adore Christmas (and always enjoy being able to laze about the rest of the time in clothes I would be mortified to be seen in public wearing), I have to admit to a wee bit of relief that I’m back to routine. I do like a routine.

Anyway, to celebrate my return to work, I decided to do a quick update of how my first week went.

I say week yet I’m a loud and proud part-timer so my week consists of just 3 days. Not even that - but saying two and a half days just sounds smug!

It’s a brand new year so, of course, that means lots of wild and fanciful thoughts about being a ‘new’ person at work and being all organised, professional and etc.

*Coughs*

That lasted the walk up the stairs to my office.

The reason? One of my work resolutions was to walk to my fifth floor office rather than taking the lift.

Yes - fifth floor.

Nutter.

However, there were some positives to this plan. I would be a little more healthy and I wouldn’t have to make small talk in the lift. For five whole floors.

To show you how much the second thing is a problem for me, you should know four things about me if you don’t already.

1. I am an introvert.

2. I have depression.

3. On top of the above two things above, I am a little bit odd.

4. I’m not capable of hiding that I’m a little bit odd while stuck in a steel box with strangers.

Anyway, my first mission was to find the stairs. No really - I had no idea where the stairs were. (I don’t want anyone thinking that I hadn’t received any kind of induction at my work place. I assured my colleagues that if the fire alarm went off, I am not the kind of person that would fold my arms and refuse to leave my seat and follow them safely out of the building because I hadn’t been told the exact route to take! Even I’m not that odd.)

Upon finding the stairs, I was pleased to see that the early hour meant they were deserted. I have a funny feeling that the first three items from the list above would apply when forced to walk up five flights of stairs with a stranger, too.

So up the stairs I went.


Ground floor: Look at me going up the stairs. I’m awesome at resolutions! *Smug smile*

First floor: Woop - first floor! I am going to be sexy and svelte in days.

Second floor: How does that say ‘second floor’? I’ve been walking for hours. Can I speak to a manager, please? No, never mind - just keep going.

Third floor: Seriously - who turned down the oxygen? Now I know what people who tackle Everest feel like.

Fourth floor: *Breathing heavily and on hands and knees* Must. Keep. Going.

Fifth floor: I made it! I’m here! I’m alive! *Dripping with sweat, I lie on the landing for a while to compose myself before entering the office.*



I wheeze out a ‘happy new year’ to my colleagues as I pass their desks as quickly as my shaking legs will take me.

Slumping at my desk, my mascara has run, my hair is sodden, I have droplets of sweat beading on my brow. My breathing is laboured and far too loud for the occasion. I look for my bag only to realise I’ve sat on it and squished my sandwich as I’ve fallen into my chair. My lunch now resembles a pancake of bread and meat mixed with some fluff from my skirt. Yum!

My boss comes over and asks where I’ve been - I’m 20 minutes late. Then she sees my white pallor and beads on my upper lip. “Oh - you’ve been ill, poor thing.”

Yes, that’s it. I have been ill. Very ill.

There’s no way I’ll tell anyone the truth. The truth that at the bottom of the stairs I was early, poised, professional, decent and dry.

So much for my work resolutions!


And for reference, these are the pretty outfits that I thoroughly ruined this week with my blood, sweat, sweat, sweat and tears.