By Emilie L David, 26 March 2012
It is not uncommon to hear me complaining during the week about how tired I am and how I can't wait until my next race is over so I can just rest. The truth, however, is that recovery days scare me. Recovery days mean laundry, or cleaning my apartment, or any number of boring tasks that will keep me inside all day with only virtual human contact. This is why, on St. Patrick's Day, while other people are having a nice foamy Guinness or Jameson's on the rocks, I am standing on a rock. Or rather, I am on a splinter of rock in Carderock park, and 20 feet below me, attached, to me by a rope, is the guy I have known for 2 hours, whom I am trusting not to let me fall if I slip.
Over my Christmas break I tried some indoor rock climbing. I was not great at it and I tired really easily, but I liked it. I liked the exertion of it, and I liked the puzzle of deciding which part of your body to put on which hold and in which order. And ok, I LOVED rappelling! So, when I found an Intro to Outdoor Rock Climbing course in my area on a weekend after the Princess Half, in a fit of Fearingtherecoveryperiod, I signed up for it.
That is why I find myself standing on what looked like a ledge from the ground, but is actually a tall shard of stone that has broken away from the mother cliff, meaning there is now a chasm between myself and the rest of the cliff face.
So, even though I am anchored securely on my line, and even though there is a giant, vertical crack in the cliff in front of me, ranking this an easy climb, my brain is putting up a fight. What I need to do is reach across the chasm with my left leg and wedge it sideways into the crack. Then I need to push off the floating column I'm on with my right leg and hope I can use my wedged left foot as a fulcrum to leverage my weight up and onto the cliff face. Then I can alternately fulcrum my feet into and up the crack to the top searching for good hand holds along the way.
Here's what my brain is saying to me:
First, what if, while fulcruming yourself up onto the rock face, you sprain or break the ankle that's wedged into the crack? How are you going to bike tomorrow with a sprained ankle? You think clipping in and out is a problem now?!
Second, what if you wedge your foot too far into the crack and you can't get it out and you lose your hand hold and hang there by your twisted foot, bashing the rest of yourself against the rock wall, and they have to amputate to free you from the rock? How are you going to run your ten miler with only one foot?! You don't even remember your own blood type. What if you need an infusion from the amputation? Plus, you just bought a new PAIR of sneakers. What a waste.
Thirdly, and most likely, what if your fulcrum foot isn't wedged in and strong enough and when you push off onto the cliff you just start this slow and humiliating slide down the crack and into the chasm where your cries for help will echo your failure all over the park?
While I am debating my peril (because there is just no way this could possibly work), I look down at my belayer, who is trying not to fall asleep while I make a decision to go for it. I am the only girl who has shown up for this class, and while I am loving being the token girl amongst 6 active, fun loving guys, I am not doing a very good job of showing off.
You know how in cartoons with cats they often show the cat freaking out and leaping stiff limbed and all claws onto the thing they are afraid of? I am pretty sure that's what I look like when I finally launch myself towards the crack. But magically, that fulcrum business actually works. I jam and torque my way, foot over foot, up that crack. There is a little slipping, and near the end, I can't seem to find any hand holds and I end up jamming hands into cracks and hoping for the best, but I finally reach the top.
The top is where I start to make up for the fact that I have been holding my breath by gasp-gulping air while whooping my excitement about being alive. It's a gorgeous day and I am outside getting dirty and tired! My shin is a little ripped up and in a day it will look like both my knees had a run in with Tonya Harding's Ex. But as it turns out, I really like rocks!
Reaching the top of a climb, when you have forced yourself to do something that had you frozen with doubt, that was hard physically and mentally, is not unlike crossing the finish line of a race. There's just a much awesomer view.
It is not uncommon to hear me complaining during the week about how tired I am and how I can't wait until my next race is over so I can just rest. The truth, however, is that recovery days scare me. Recovery days mean laundry, or cleaning my apartment, or any number of boring tasks that will keep me inside all day with only virtual human contact. This is why, on St. Patrick's Day, while other people are having a nice foamy Guinness or Jameson's on the rocks, I am standing on a rock. Or rather, I am on a splinter of rock in Carderock park, and 20 feet below me, attached, to me by a rope, is the guy I have known for 2 hours, whom I am trusting not to let me fall if I slip.
Over my Christmas break I tried some indoor rock climbing. I was not great at it and I tired really easily, but I liked it. I liked the exertion of it, and I liked the puzzle of deciding which part of your body to put on which hold and in which order. And ok, I LOVED rappelling! So, when I found an Intro to Outdoor Rock Climbing course in my area on a weekend after the Princess Half, in a fit of Fearingtherecoveryperiod, I signed up for it.
That is why I find myself standing on what looked like a ledge from the ground, but is actually a tall shard of stone that has broken away from the mother cliff, meaning there is now a chasm between myself and the rest of the cliff face.
So, even though I am anchored securely on my line, and even though there is a giant, vertical crack in the cliff in front of me, ranking this an easy climb, my brain is putting up a fight. What I need to do is reach across the chasm with my left leg and wedge it sideways into the crack. Then I need to push off the floating column I'm on with my right leg and hope I can use my wedged left foot as a fulcrum to leverage my weight up and onto the cliff face. Then I can alternately fulcrum my feet into and up the crack to the top searching for good hand holds along the way.
Here's what my brain is saying to me:
First, what if, while fulcruming yourself up onto the rock face, you sprain or break the ankle that's wedged into the crack? How are you going to bike tomorrow with a sprained ankle? You think clipping in and out is a problem now?!
Second, what if you wedge your foot too far into the crack and you can't get it out and you lose your hand hold and hang there by your twisted foot, bashing the rest of yourself against the rock wall, and they have to amputate to free you from the rock? How are you going to run your ten miler with only one foot?! You don't even remember your own blood type. What if you need an infusion from the amputation? Plus, you just bought a new PAIR of sneakers. What a waste.
Thirdly, and most likely, what if your fulcrum foot isn't wedged in and strong enough and when you push off onto the cliff you just start this slow and humiliating slide down the crack and into the chasm where your cries for help will echo your failure all over the park?
While I am debating my peril (because there is just no way this could possibly work), I look down at my belayer, who is trying not to fall asleep while I make a decision to go for it. I am the only girl who has shown up for this class, and while I am loving being the token girl amongst 6 active, fun loving guys, I am not doing a very good job of showing off.
You know how in cartoons with cats they often show the cat freaking out and leaping stiff limbed and all claws onto the thing they are afraid of? I am pretty sure that's what I look like when I finally launch myself towards the crack. But magically, that fulcrum business actually works. I jam and torque my way, foot over foot, up that crack. There is a little slipping, and near the end, I can't seem to find any hand holds and I end up jamming hands into cracks and hoping for the best, but I finally reach the top.
The top is where I start to make up for the fact that I have been holding my breath by gasp-gulping air while whooping my excitement about being alive. It's a gorgeous day and I am outside getting dirty and tired! My shin is a little ripped up and in a day it will look like both my knees had a run in with Tonya Harding's Ex. But as it turns out, I really like rocks!
Reaching the top of a climb, when you have forced yourself to do something that had you frozen with doubt, that was hard physically and mentally, is not unlike crossing the finish line of a race. There's just a much awesomer view.
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