“158… huff… 159…. 160…. pant… 161… 162?  *sigh*”  This was the third evening into Alan’s trip to Puerto Vallarta.  He had decided that stairs were cooler than the elevator, so he decided he should hoof it between the pool and his room.  This was not uncommon, since he enjoed taking the stairs in previous years, but this year was slightly different:  He was on the 11th floor.  Walking up and down 10 floors three or more times a day gets boring…
So, to keep his mind busy, Alan decided to count stairs.  Once again, not particularly unique for him… most days to work he counted the number of strides from the parking lot to his office. (143 if he followed the crosswalks and sidewalks, 131 if he cut through the gravel). But, Alan’s body wasn’t used to traversing so many stairs.  After three days, around 10 round trips, he still was unable to count correctly.  He knew the answer, since there were 8 steps per flight, 2 flights per floor, plus a magic extra stair on the first floor.  Often, around floor six or seven, he would notice his stair count didn’t add up to an odd number, and he would know he was screwed… but fixing the number would be cheating, and stopping counting would be giving up.
“Oh well,” he sighed, “I should stop writing on my blog in the third person and try again, maybe this time I’ll get 161.”

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