The Bane of My Existence

I HATE stairs. Actually, I loathe them. They are the bane to my existence. Everywhere I go has to have either an escalator or an elevator or I try not to go. I can’t avoid stairs when I go home though. My apartment with my friend is a one level unit on the first floor. Perfect. At home, though, there are 17 steps from the garage to the main floor. I start off ok. The first four or five stairs are good depending on if I’ve recently eaten. The remaining stairs get worse. First I start getting out of breath. Then I can feel my legs start to get weak. I’m good on a flat surface but my knees struggling to hoist me up a stair. I have to pull my body with my arm, too. By the time I’m at the top I’m trying so hard to regulate my breathing so no one notices how hard it is for me. It takes about 2 minutes to get back to normal and by then I’ve plopped on the couch resting my legs. I hate stairs. They’re the only time I have a hard time getting around.