American Cuisine and the Stairway of Death

Today's topics are completely unrelated. Mostly.

Since I'm trying to make better decisions about what I'm putting in my body (to coincide with the whole getting-fit thing I'm trying out), I decided to have a salad instead of the four-cheese chicken penne pasta. Of course, being the fat-addict that I am, I choose one of the least healthy salad options: the Caesar Salad. One of my favorites, too. From the restaurant downstairs from my office, the salads typically come with a piece of bread. I told the guy behind the counter to skip the bread.

"Do you still want croutons?"

"Of course," I replied. I love the croutons in this salad. Of course, that just means that it's even worse for me, health-wise.

It's also, in true American fashion, large enough to feed a family of four. I will probably eat the whole thing, too.

However, I feel like I deserve it today. We had a fire drill at work. In our old building, that meant that we gathered around the entrance to the stairwell and talked about what we would if there were a real fire. In this building, it meant we actually had to evacuate the building. Oh, and the elevators were turned off.

At least it's down and not up. But even down is more work than I ever would have expected. I started getting dizzy after only about five floors. By the halfway point, I had peeled off my fleece jacket (it's cold in the office) and was starting to sweat. At about the 8th floor, my ankle started to hurt and my calves were feeling sore. By the time we walked a block away from the building, I'm surprised I was still standing. My legs were shaking. Every time I shifted my weight, I thought I was going to fall over.

Thankfully we got to take the elevators back up. My legs are still a little sore, but I think I'll be fine in the end. What I learned about this experience is that in the event of a fire, I better get a five-minute head start - because I took those stairs slowly. I didn't want to fall!