Wanderings and Maunderings

Schedules, illness, vacation, and postop recovery all finally failed to prevent me from a real climbing session yesterday. Woot.

I started right where I left off in late April, too, with a bunch of 5.9s and an a-l-m-o-s-t 5.10- (I managed to touch the top hold, but couldn't get a grip on it to finish the pitch; I suspect I will nail the hell out of it next time). Double woot.

Most of the rest of the climbing group had other commitments, so it was just me and L., who doesn't do much climbing on the ropes, which means no breaks between pitches for me, which means an awesomely exhausting workout and a lingering guilt that I'm taking base advantage of her good nature. (Not having a particularly good nature myself, I am unsure of the protocol for taking advantage of same.) Anyway, I knew it was a good workout because I tried to finish by climbing a short 5.6 pitch, and failed to get even halfway up. These were huge, friendly holds, that even a complete newbie should have no trouble with, and I couldn't grip them. Good thing I keep Aleve in the car, or I mightn't've managed to drive home.

So to L., thanks again, and to the rest of the climbing group, pooh to you, sirs. ;)

Missed climbing on Monday because everyone else in the group couldn't make it for various reasons, and I am incapable of approaching strangers and asking them if they'd like to tie me up. Which is dumb, because one member of our climbing group is a guy who did just that to us when he was at the gym alone, and apart from his appalling ignorance of popular '80s music*, he's been a great addition.

But Thursday, there were three of us on the walls and it was good. I'm still not back to form from missing so much time from the flu and its aftermath, and my skills and stamina were both oddly spotty. The latter probably because of the former; when I was finding holds easily and balancing well, my stamina was fine, but when I was taking bad routes and swinging back and forth like England**, I just didn't have what it took to finish the pitch.

I managed to finish one 5.9, and a couple 5.8s, but the 5.7 I finished on, I got to the penultimate hold and it was big and chunky and everything you could have wanted, but my left hand just would not close on it, so I could not lift up to the target hold just a foot or two higher.

On the other hand, even though my competitive brain wants to finish every pitch, and move on to the next, tougher one, my rational brain (such as it is) knows that a night when I get most of the way up the wall and fail is a better workout than if everything's coming easy and flowing well.

*Technically, not his fault. Sid was in the ground three years before he was even born. (He at least knows who Sid was, so give him that.)

**I will give you this one, since it dates back to '65, well before even my time.
Roger Miller, "England Swings":
England swings like a pendulum do
Bobbies on bicycles, two by two
Westminster Abbey, the Tower, Big Ben
The rosy red cheeks of the little children