Kelly signed up
online
for one of those
charity fundraisers
where you run up
and down
the stairs of a
skyscraper.
This particular
skyscraper
had 94 stories.
Kelly was not
what you’d call athletic.
She’d stop on
the second-floor landing
of her apartment
building,
coughing and
panting.
God, I need a
cigarette,
she’d think when
she opened her front door.
She registered
for this stair run
while drunk
after sending
several very embarrassing
and unwelcome texts
to her
ex-boyfriend.
When she awoke
in the morning,
she saw what she
had done.
What on earth?
she asked
herself.
The registration
fee had not been cheap,
and it was
unrefundable.
Well, maybe?
She had three
months to train.
I’ll start tomorrow, she decided.
First thing tomorrow.
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