Chapter
Aug 04 2014
In an ideal world, I go climbing at least once a week. But climbing with Sister feels more like a Mini Adventure than a workout. I’m training to be a better climber; she’s training for American Ninja Warrior. Our routine goes like this:
She drives us to Rock Spot in her Mini Cooper, Shelly, and we listen to a combination of Disney songs, psych songs, and Disney psych songs.
After checking in at the gym, we gear up and stretch whilst sizing up the scene: a children’s camp group on our warm up climbs or legit dudes in cut-off jeans attempting the hardest routes on the wall where we can only do one?
We start on VB’s [B for beginner]. I down-climb and Sister hops off half-way down, rolling onto the mat: PARKOUR!
Easing into V0’s and attempting our V1 and V2 projects, we take longer breaks, which are excellent for dissecting Survivor and Big Brother strategy. And for dream casting Benedict Cumberbatch in Shakespeare, Harry Potter, and everything else. Occasionally we watch, bewildered, as a guy conquers the problem we’ve been attempting again and again in a quick go, whilst holding a conversation with his friend. It’s even worse when it’s a small child.
One time as we are warming down, a kids’ party is in the party area that overlooks the top of the gym. As Sister reaches the top, she’s greeted with cheers. Awesome! I shake out my fingers and go for a V0 instead of a VB. At the top I hear applause! Topping out, I turn around, expecting to see maybe five or six kids. It’s more like 20.
When I was little we would only go climbing at birthday parties. Sister promised to take me to Rock Spot on my birthday, if I was still in town – so a rock climbing birthday party it was.
P.S. for more insights on climbing and life, see Becoming My Own Heroine.
