Céline Zahno | Dutch stairs
On my recent holiday back home in Switzerland, my mom asked me why my legs had become so strong. No mountains to climb and no hills to run on, what a foreign concept to an inveterate Swiss parent. So, I told her how I had become a Westerpark jogger – thanks to Dutch architecture.
Take Dutch stairs. They are viciously narrow, a dangerous obstacle for sleepy students late for their morning lectures. Any misstep may cause a fatal downfall. And beware of forgetting something upstairs. Together with the rushed bike ride to university, a renewed ascent would fully deplete your daily energy resources.
One night – I was about to throw myself into Amsterdam’s nightlife – my roommate mentioned that the stairs work perfectly well as a drunk test. Manage to pass them safely? You are good to go! If you fall, you better stay home. Over time, however, my legs had gained an unmatched precision and strength. I was too well-trained from many overslept morning alarms. I gracefully arrived downstairs when others would have probably plunged down the hallway head forward.
It was only when I exited the door into the cold winter night that I realized I had committed the infamous mistake: I had forgotten my bike keys upstairs. A timid glance back at the stairs sufficed; I was going to walk.
The sun had already risen when I made my way back home the next morning. It must be a Dutch phenomenon to be bored by walking; the landscape passed tediously slowly and I felt a rush of air when an early riser passed by on their VanMoof. Since I had already stamped 25000 steps into the ground of a techno bunker, I decided that I might as well overtax my fitness level some more and started running.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by a lot of green. I had reached Westerpark, and the heavy breathing behind me signaled I had encountered a Westerpark jogger. He passed me with a bright smile that angered my approaching hangover into spiteful jealousy. Luckily, my legs were trained, and I overtook him with competitive speed. He was taken by surprise and raced me until my doorstep.
Out of breath I stood there now, facing the stairs that arose in front of me like one of those codes you must crack to enter a common room in Hogwarts. I had probably overestimated my legs after all. Unable to take even a single step up, I finally decided to declare war on my Dutch nemesis: I would become one of the annoyingly bright-smiling Westerpark joggers myself. Armed with the growing muscles in my thighs and calves, I never had to look at the stairs timidly again.
“No wonder the Dutch are a fit folk”, my mom said.
Céline Zahno is a Political Science student at the UvA. She is from Switzerland.
