Never follow the lead of the man in the muscle shirt. Believe me: It will save you a lot of pain if you heed that one simple piece of advice.
Of course, that’s not so easy to do when you visit the Santa Monica Steps, since most people walking, huffing, puffing, strutting and ““ yes ““ running up the 189 steep steel steps overlooking the Pacific Ocean in one of Santa Monica’s most affluent neighborhoods either wear muscle shirts or at least a pair of spandex shorts.
Taking a jog ““ or, in my case, simply surviving a few trips ““ up and down the Santa Monica Steps proves why L.A. tourists or non-Angelenos see Los Angeles as a city of fit, healthy, beautiful and wealthy people.
On weekends, approximately 1,500 runners ““ according to a CBS News Report ““ flock to the steps, making the region so packed that locals complain about the lack of parking in their neighborhoods and the congestion created by the swarms of joggers challenging themselves with some serious cardio.
With celebrities such as Brooke Burke and Queen Latifah spotted wheezing away too, no wonder this is an exercise hot spot.
Foolishly, I figured that a bunch of steps couldn’t really be that bad. I’m not in bad physical shape, but allow me to make one fact clear: I only exercise when I feel like it, and I don’t feel like it very often.
My walk to class usually gets my heart pumping enough to satiate my daily adrenaline-rush desire, and besides, I’m more of a “drink-hot-chocolate-in-bed-with-a-book” kind of girl, if you know what I mean.
But perhaps I should make another fact clear: I crave novelty, and my wimpy side can’t always stop my curious one from people-watching and ocean-view spotting.
On the weekday that I visited, I didn’t catch the famed hordes of exercise junkies, but I certainly wasn’t alone.
Located on Fourth Street and Adelaide Drive just north of San Vicente Boulevard, the steps loom in an area known as “the Canyon,” where a cluster of upscale homes and an elementary school are nestled. The steps were originally designed as a way for students to get to school if they lived on Adelaide Drive above the Canyon area, but of course now, nobody would want to make the trek up and down those steps with a heavy backpack.
At the entrance, an elderly woman, knobby-kneed and hunched over with a fanny pack, stretched out her hamstrings. I smiled.
If this old lady could take the workout, then I sure as hell could. I jogged in place to warm up and attempted to crack my neck Rocky-style. It was time to own these 189 steps.
Yet once I looked down the steps, I felt paralyzed.
Below me, the steps twisted and turned into what appeared to be a winding, unending labyrinth of steel, lost among overgrown foliage.
Craning to see the end of those steps proved a completely fruitless endeavor.
These weren’t just steps; these were the steepest, most narrow steps I had ever seen, surely conceived by someone with a warped, exaggerated world view.
As I walked down to the bottom of the steps, I feared missing one step, slipping and rolling down flight after flight. Each step could probably only fit two people walking side-by-side at a time. I placed one foot in front of the other slowly and deliberately. The pretty people emerged marching, plugged into their iPods, breathing regularly and totally in the zone.
Faces blank, they seemed like tanned, toned exercise zombies.
Upon reaching the bottom, though, my confidence felt restored. I had not really exerted any effort yet, so I decided to ““ get this ““ jog up the first set of steps.
Bad call.
My thighs burned and I realized slowing the pace was the only way I’d make it to the top.
A man in a tight, black muscle shirt worked his way up methodically in front of me, and I timed my own steps with his, trying to concoct strategies to make the most of my exercise.
Yet he worked an even, fast clip, leaving me breathless once I arrived at the top.
Upon completing my one trip up and down the steps, though, I felt a strange surge of confidence and accomplishment.
Yes, my breathing was ragged, and yes, my calves felt stretched and sore, but I seriously wanted to do it again.
Although my body felt tired, my brain told me, “Jenae, that wasn’t so bad. One more set! Heck, two more sets even!”
I ended up discovering another set of steps a few blocks down on Seventh Street and Adelaide that seemed a little more merciful.
Wide and wooden, the steps on Seventh were more crowded and a little less fantastical-looking, yet I imagined they would be a better alternative for the more claustrophobic sorts.
Four combined trips up and down the steel and wooden steps later, my legs started shaking.
I feared the next day waking up from my exercise indulgence, yet somehow I had proved something to myself: With enough competitive drive and determination, even the most seemingly intimidating set of steps with some of the most intimidating and beautiful people can prove a satisfying and ““ dare I say it? ““ fun experience.
If you’ve ever been able to keep up with a dude in a muscle shirt, then e-mail Cohn at jcohn@media.ucla.edu.