Sore forearms, wounded pride

Last night’s climbing session didn’t go as well as I would have liked. On the first route I attempted, I came to a bit that was missing a handhold and despite using all my grit and determination (which was, admittedly, a bit lacking from being out late the night before and then suffering through another long day at the office), couldn’t quite make the tips of my fingers (all ten) hold my weight on the two-inch square blob anchored above my head. Not enough to be able to leap up to the next handle and get myself to the overhang, at least. And also? The sweat did not help. After an eternity of grappling with the wall, the rope, and a deflating ego I had had enough. Take me down, this isn’t going to happen, I called to Climbsalot. Are you sure? He replied. Yeah, it’s getting ridiculous up here.

So he lowered me down, we switched places and, like the strong, agile monkey that he is, Climbsalot scaled the wall, conquered the faulty part of the route, and slithered up the overhang and out of sight. Um, you’re supposed to be saying things like “oh my, this is really difficult” so I don’t get too depressed I yelled. WOW THIS IS REALLY HARD he shouted down from the clouds. For some reason, I doubted his sincerity.

When he was finished making it all look so. damn. easy, I lowered him down quickly (and have the rope burn to prove it, rowr!) as he tried to raise my (weak, puny, no good) spirits. We moved on to another climb which went considerably better than the first one (it was also a lower rating, so go figure) and I wish I could say I left feeling every inch the “badass” he deemed me last week, but, not so much.

Last night I dreamed about the incomplete climb. I woke up thinking about it. I wanted to call Climbsalot this morning and analyze it, plan the next attempt, and make him promise to give me the chalk bag before I start climbing next time to combat all the Clammy (because yes, that is exactly what the problem was- not my wimpiness, but a devastating chalk shortage). It is threatening to haunt me all weekend. In fact, if my parents weren’t in town this week (see how I slipped that in but am not talking about it? Especially not the family drama that is going on concerning my brother and his breakdown? And how hard it is not to just come out and tell my parents how badly they’ve fucked up their children? But that it’s okay, because that is what parents do? And that is a big reason why Monk and I are not going to become parents? Because if I’m going to fuck anyone up -and that’s pretty much guaranteed- I’d rather it be a consenting adult? But all this is another post for another day and isn’t it good that I’m not talking about it?) I’d be at the climbing gym this week, trying to master that damned (faulty!) route.

Unfortunately for my now-consumed-by-the-climb state of being, I have family dinners, children’s theater, a birthday party, several uncomfortable conversations, work (office), work (massage) and two nights of class to get through before I can try again. Meanwhile, I will be plotting and obsessing (and possibly cackling maniacally) and next Wednesday evening I will make that wall my bitch.

(Although “my bitch” might possibly also mean “strip away my last remaining shreds of dignity and self-esteem and leave me crying in the corner.”)

1 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

That's really interesting that you have family drama you can't really talk about either. My brother got married. My sis got wasted and created a scene. My mom made excuses for my sis -- something she's done all my sis's life. And well, it was a great day... except for that last part.

Ahem. SOrry. I had to vent. Cause I'm still pissed about it. BUt anyway. (Deep breath) Just reading about your climb made my hands sweat. SO you are a way better chick than I am. I would have wimped out two minute before I had to get out of the freaking car! I hope you make it your bitch. Do it for all of us other weenies!

1:09 PM  

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