Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Until I can sling webs...

Guess who has rock climbed?  That would be me!

I know, you’re thinking “but hey, don’t you really hate heights?  And isn’t the general goal of rock climbing to climb these rocks up a wall?  Generally into the air?  Higher and Higher?  Until, eventually, you are very high up?  At a point many might describe as a height?  And shouldn’t you hate that?”  And these are smart thoughts you’re having right now.  Good you.

But as it turns out no!  There’s a whole long story about medicated head and floaty dreams and bright sounds and loud colors (and I know that it’s long because I originally started this blog post with this story before I realized that it was so long and REALLY not the point) which ends with me dreaming about rock climbing and, in the dream, loving it.  And you know how some dreams just haunt you for a while?  The rock climbing dream – it haunted.  It kept whispering to me “go.  Climb the rocks.  Touch the ceiling.  Find out if these crazy dreams you’re having are truly crazy, or if you were meant to be a climber of rocks.”

Stupid talking dream.

But I couldn’t shake it!  The talking dream wouldn’t shut the hell up!  So I forced poor, supportive, ever-eager Queen to go with me and we went to the local rock climbing gym’s ‘ladies night.’ 

‘Ladies night’ at the rock climbing gym is just like all the other nights at the rock climbing gym EXCEPT the rates are a little lower and the place is chock-a-block full of chicks.  But strong, nimble, super-confident chicks who are climbing the walls but in a good way!  We got there and put on the special equipment, which consists of special shoes and a harness.  The point of the shoes are to cover your feet so tightly with shoeness as to practically be bare of feet.  Your toes are wedged right up into the tippy-toe part and the shoes lace around your foot like a strong shoe hug. 

The harness, on the other hand, is not sexy.  And not hot.  And not lovely.  The harness is all about “how to be ok with hanging twenty feet in the air by one lone rope, held there by some person down on the ground who is also just holding on to that one lone rope.”  The way to be ok is to have your ass-parts wrapped up with this totally safe harness.  It cuddles the buttcheeks and snuggles the thighs and shows serious lovin’ to the waist.  And not the place that all the jeans keep telling us are our waist, but our ACTUAL waist.  The equator between tummy and chest.  The harness is strictly your proof of safety for that moment you have to hang back and let somebody lower your big, old bones to the ground.

So we spent the night with the climbing chicks and we climbed.  We scrambled our bodies up the walls over and over, going higher and higher.  I touched ceiling several times, and this is a ceiling that is at least 2 stories tall.  I figured out some tricks and had some others given to me by the tremendously experienced ladies who literally showed us the ropes.  (oh, and can I just marvel at these women, who were somewhere in their older years, probably their 50’s, with handsome grey-streaked hair and creased faces, but rock-hard abs and arms made from cabled steel???  Holy CRAP do I want to be them when I grow up!!!)

At the end of the night my arms and legs were all jiggly-muscles, but I definitely loved it.  I’ll be going back.  Not right away, because the last two days after the climbing my shoulders and hips reminded me every second of the day that I am old and crumbling like an elegant but ancient coliseum, as well as OW, OW, EVERYTHING HURTS ALL THE TIME OW!  But I’m definitely going back.  After all, this is one of the last pieces of the “becoming a super hero” puzzle, right?  This, leaping tall buildings in a single bound and the invisible jet.  I’m so close…  

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