There are sixteen stairs between the ground floor and the first floor of my house. I am ever so careful with them, because they go straight up. As well as down. Falling down the stairs would not be too difficult to imagine, and especially if I got distracted. Or if I would hold anything dainty in one or both hands. That could easily be the very last time I went downstairs. But I love the stairs otherwise. They provide quite a bit of exercise from day to day. I have never counted, but I must go up and down the stairs at least twenty times a day. As of late, I am running whenever I go upstairs. And it is an enormous joy to run up sixteen stairs. I run downstairs on occasion, as well, but it is not even nearly as much fun as running upstairs. Of course, I am fully aware that I look like an old geezer trying to keep in shape. But I do not mind looking ridiculous. Not at all. Running upstairs is just a joy, and that is all there is to it. Although I am almost seventy, I can still run every single time I happen to go upstairs in my house. And the sixteen stairs are my gym. There, dear reader. Laugh you heart out if you please.

Addendum (September 23, 2016)

I love this piece, and I always return to it with a smile on my face. The sixteen stairs in my house are a real joy for me. But two small corrections are in order at this point in time. To begin with, I go up by taking two stairs at a time for at least a year now. While doing so, I twist my whole body both left and right. Thus I exercise both my spine and my hips. I sometimes run up two stairs at a time, but that is rather rare. Perhaps less important, I rarely run downstairs any more. Too dangerous by half, I am pretty sure. Otherwise, my stairs are my gym to this day. No matter how ridiculous I look, the last laugh is surely mine.