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I just went rock climbing again after several months away from the gym, and, predictably, my climbing was the worse for it. Not because I had lost technical skill or flexibility, which were both pretty much as good as they’ve ever been. Nor was the forearm strength that I had lost to lack of practice a serious impediment to my climbing.
No, it was the fear of heights that really got in the way.
I’ve always been a little afraid of heights, but the more climbing I’ve done, the more it goes away. It seems, now, that it’s come back. I wasn’t too happy about that.
“There’s no way!” I said, halfway up the wall. “Just trust yourself.” Said my mom, halfway down the wall. “I’m not very good at that!” “Just do it.” A few minutes later, five feet from the top: “I’m hyperventilating!”
And I was. But not for long, because I nailed the bugger.
Now my fingers are stiff, making it hard for me to type. But that’s OK, because I spent a little over an hour climbing with my mom, which was quite fun when I didn’t feel about to pass out.
Then, of course, I look at my little brother, the rock climbing whiz. When I climb on a good day, it’s like “Hey, I’m rock climbing, isn’t that cool, look at me go.” When he’s climbing, it’s like “Yeah, I’m rock climbing. So?” Keep in mind that’s on routes I usually wouldn’t even try. If I wasn’t struck by awe at the sight, I might be jealous.
Maybe next time I’ll be back in form.
Aldorel · Sun Nov 25, 2007 @ 06:26pm · 0 Comments |
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