Why I enjoyed rock climbing

I wasn’t supposed to go. She’d asked me on a whim, inviting me to go to dim sum, and then explaining that everyone else would go rock climbing afterwards. The two of us would go somewhere else—Borders, perhaps. She wasn’t allowing herself to think about rock climbing, and it was my responsibility to make sure she didn’t talk herself into it.

We decided to accompany the group to the health club. We’d stay with them until the rest of the people coming trickled in, and then we’d leave. I sensed the danger as soon as we found the building. There were amazing pictures posted on the walls of daredevil climbers, and a video of professional rock climbers played in a loop on the TV. The danger I felt wasn’t the danger of falling—it was the danger of being coerced into doing.

There were two rooms – a big one with ropes and about 30 people already scaling the walls, and a smaller room with fewer people. We’d find out that the smaller room was called the boulder room, the kiddie version, where people would attempt various levels of walls without ropes. In there, we would see a pint-sized girl swinging on the wall at an astonishing height, her hands chalky and her feet sure. Her calm demeanor amazed everyone.

My friend grew quiet as the rest of the group put away their things and started stepping into gear – climbing shoes and a ridiculous harness that made me think of cowboys. Then the employees started baiting us. “Scared?” they’d ask, daring us with their eyes. I shrugged it off, prepared to walk away, but I watched my friend’s forehead knot up more and more by the second.

“There’s a smaller room,” the employees added, “if you don’t want to climb the bigger walls.”

She finally came over to me and asked me if I wanted to climb. “Not really,” I said, although I wanted to say I wasn’t scared. I wanted to prove those guys with smug smiles and long hair that I totally wasn’t scared, but I couldn’t do that without actually climbing a wall. “I can’t afford it,” I added, as an excuse, which was true. Her eyes lit up; she’d found a way. “I’ll pay for you,” she said.

“But you need that money for books,” I pointed out. She shrugged that off. Somehow, we managed to work out a plan – I’d pay her a quarter per week for the next ten years. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

I was definitely not dressed for climbing, wearing jeans and a tight tank top underneath a sweater. That tank top would get me into trouble later, revealing too much skin at awkward times and resulting in one of the guys in our group asking for my phone number (he never did call, thankfully).

The first wall defeated my friend. She got about a third of the way up, but it was just a difficult wall. After texting someone, our guide finally decided to find us a different wall. Once he did, it was my turn to climb. The first thing I realized was that jeans are not suitable for climbing walls. The second was that next time I go rock climbing, I’m wearing a leotard. I made it to the top, fairly easily, touching, with trembling hands, the bar that held my rope, wrapped around it twice.

“What do I do now?” I called, looking down to see the skin exposure, and hurrying to rectify the situation. They got me down, and I remained embarrassed for the rest of the night: all four hours worth. My friends made it up the wall easily, as well, and then our guide pronounced some sort of mutter over us, probably thinking that we were going to kill each other since we couldn’t remember the terms, and then he left. We were belay certified. He’d texted the entire time, pulling out his phone when he thought we weren’t looking. He was quick to show impatience when we slipped up, but even more obvious was his complete disinterest in being there. I made fun of him later, when we were in the boulder room, pulling out my imaginary phone to send a text: “Sorry we’re that boring.”

Of course, I hadn’t helped matters much by saying “ondalay” instead of “on belay,” but the guy had no sense of humor.

We fooled around in the boulder room for a bit—well, the guys in the group fooled around. My friend and I stood around for most of it, trying to garner the courage to climb a wall without the security of a rope. We found an easier trail, and she went first. Then it was my turn. It wasn’t that high, and when I made it to the top, I decided to jump. In this room, softer mats were set up all along the walls, to make up for the lack of ropes. The instant I let go of the wall I regretted it. I smacked into the mat with a thud, and it scared the bajeeves out of me. I was surprised to learn that I wasn’t hurt after the initial shock wore off. It appears that fear is more of a disabler than actual pain.

Shaken, I declined to try any other small wall seriously. We managed to start some other trails, but didn’t get much farther. “Wanna try the big room again?” I asked, enviously watching the naturals scale walls with Spider-man-like skills. She agreed, and we went back into the other room to face our deaths.

We picked the wrong wall. It was her turn first, and without the guide there to make sure I didn’t mess up, I felt much less confidence in my abilities to keep the rope secured. She made it about half way up the wall, but then wanted down. She’d gotten scared.

It was my turn, then, and I started up the wall. I got stuck, and dropped into the harness. My weight held as I dangled off the wall. I wanted her to let me down, let me go, but the extremely uncomfortable harness, digging into my legs, had the reverse effect. I can beat the pain, I decided, and I grabbed for the wall again. What followed was the longest moment of my life. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get past that point on the wall. My hands were too slippery. I was too weak. My feet weren’t staying where I wanted them to stay. Then I started hearing snide comments. Whether they were about me or not, I had no way of knowing. My face was in the plastic hand holds, and I couldn’t see anything. But the comments were mocking – some saying that I—or someone else—couldn’t do it. Others were more encouraging, but the mocking comments stuck in my head. I wanted to prove them wrong. I flung back my hair – which was loose, because of course I didn’t have a hair band – and I tried again. And again. And again. And somehow, I managed to break through, and get the next hand hold, and the next, and soon, I was reaching for that metal bar again, grazing it with just the tips of my fingers.

The air gushed out of my lungs in a huge sigh as I sat back into the harness, and then I turned to look down and ask her to let me descend. I’d done it—I’d finished—and somehow, it was suddenly and singularly one of the most difficult and gratifying things I’d ever accomplished.

The next day, I had the bruises and the aches to prove it.

I make up words when I'm lonely

Hup-lah (hoop-la) (noun): An epic trip that usually takes place after college graduation to stave off the real world. For example: Abigail plans to go to California after May to go on a huplah with her friends.

Huplah must not be confused with hoopla (bustling excitement or activity; commotion; hullabaloo; to-do), even though spelling and meaning are oddly similar.

--

I had been thinking of going on a huplah to Peru. After all, when would I really ever get the chance again to blow some hypothetical dollars using a credit card and have the adventure of a lifetime, all without worrying about classes (because they've ended), and student loans (because they're not due for six months)? My sense of adventure is not as strong as Jamaican rum, however, and, as a result, I want to share my huplah with someone. That someone is a good friend who lives in a cozy little town somewhere north of Sacramento, California.

Which means, of course, that I've got some plannin' to do. Huplahs have very specific guidelines, especially because they signify the end of freedom as relatively carefree college students know it.

I don't know who you are, but I'm sorry I wasn't there

I missed a call this morning at 11:08 a.m. I was putting the finishing touches on my old bedroom, which included giving it the once over and vacuuming like a loony toons character because was I was about to be late for work if I didn't leave soon.

Today, I moved from the apartment I lived in since the beginning of the summer. I moved in with a friend, someone I'd spent the last eight or so months getting to know. On a whim, I'd asked if she wanted to be my roommate, and to my surprise and delight, she said absolutely.

Walking to the train, I listened to the message I had missed. Someone, let's call her Mariam, was turning 20 today, and her sister, let's call her Faris, was throwing a surprise birthday party. Faris wanted to know if I could come-she got my number off her sister's phone-could I call to let her know?-she understood if I couldn't come-she even understood if I had to come late.

I couldn't make out the names and it sounded like no one I was familiar with anyway, and I decided not to call her back.

On the way home from work, I received a text:

Hey girl, this is Mariam's sis Faris. Just wanted 2 know if u can come! Trust me u dont hav 2 get her anything. Just u coming is a big surprise! Plz reply ty.

Ah, I realized that Mariam must have been one of the girls in my group presentation last week. We'd exchanged numbers and email addresses, but I hadn't really learned anyone's name--I only knew them by face. I certainly hadn't expected anyone to put my number in their phone, or for any sisters calling me to ask me to come to a surprise party for someone I only knew in passing.

It wasn't worth a lengthy text explanation, I decided. Faris must have called dozens of strangers asking them to come to a surprise party. That's unnerving, difficult work, even for a sister you loved. Keeping with the spirit of the day, I texted her back:

Unfortunately, i can't come. :-( But thanks for the invite! Please wish her happy birthday for me.

She responded:

:-( its Ok ... Sure on [sic] prob I will tell her .. Take care bye

Hehe, I thought. I hope Mariam had a good birthday. I hope she was surprised.

And me? My move? It was amazing and painless, except for the poor guys trying to get my sofa bed into my bedroom. They removed some paint from the door frame and it was difficult, but we all gave a rousing "HURRAH!" when they succeeded.

And someone commented: "That's why they have cheerleaders."

That was TOTAALLY WIICKED

This past Saturday, I went corn mazing with some friends. On the ride there, I asked the married couple how they met. The resulting conversation started like this:

Dave: "We met in a fist fight."
Nina: "Katie won."
Me: "And that's when Dave fell in love."
Katie: "He saw me through his black eye."

The rest of the day continued to be awesome.




















So awesome.

I still can't decide what the best part of the day was--one of the best was definitely when KG climbed into the cornstalks to take a picture, then had to go all the way through to the other side very quickly because some kids came down the path, and she was "breaking a rule."

Another awesome moment came when we decided to "think of the children" and attempted to remove a very dangerous, embedded stump from the path.

This is before:




















This is after:





















That is a rock. Yes, we left it the stump as a more dangerous obstacle than how we found it. But we got a TOOTTALLLY WIIICKED video from our valiant attempts. That I won't share, because it's rather embarrassing.

Another awesome moment was Noodles, the Wonder Cat, who climbed through a fence, cuddled with everyone and then tried to eat our cider donuts. I couldn't get a picture of him attacking the bag because I had the camera on one hand, and I was trying to lift him away from the donuts with the other.

I just want to say: go to a fall festival if you get a chance. Get lost in a corn maze. Pick a pumpkin.
















Drink cider. Eat cider dogs.

Watch out for tractors.

Welcome

I have been something of a closet blogger for nearly two years. In January 2007, the spring semester of my sophomore year, I ended my teenaged angst-filled journals and started a blogger account, ready to venture into the world of Internet self-proclaimed writers. I have always needed an outlet for my creative energies, and my journals and then my blog provided something of a relief.

Then I offended someone on my anonymous blog. How can this happen, you ask, if the blog is anonymous? While the Internet in general had no idea who I was, several people I directed to the blog did. Out of malicious intent, I wrote a post that wasn’t very nice. I have now learned from that particular mistake, and I am moving on—moving on to sharing my life with everyone at the risk of offending even more people.

No, really, everyone is over it now, the situation merely remains seared into my memory to serve as a guideline for future posts. I have rules now.

One slow Friday evening, tonight as a matter of fact, I decided to start over. I’ve had some good times on my previous blog, but I have a feeling more people want to know what’s going on in my life. I can’t share that old blog with everyone, because I wasn’t writing it with everyone in mind. With the change, I am hoping that everyone won’t stifle me—I need a certain amount of freedom—but we shall see how this goes.

I am not going to talk politics, but I will discuss religion. I am not going to spread gossip—I am going to try not to spread gossip—but I will most likely relate the most recent stupid thing I did or said. I think of myself as something of a social klutz, and that makes for good reading.

As I started to design the blog, I wanted to come up with something witty and descriptive of me. However, I couldn’t think of anything. Not one word popped into my mind that would be able to conclusively define me.

I quickly conducted a mental survey of friends who were most likely awake, able to respond, and willing to offer one honest, descriptive word. I texted them: Can you describe me in one word?

As I had suspected, the response was immediate:

- 10:00 p.m. No … 10:01 p.m. Beautiful. … 10:02 p.m. You cant describe a person in one word unless they’re a debased moron or a simpleton

- 10:01 p.m. Sweet :)

- 10:01 p.m. One word that comes to mind is reflective :)

- 10:01 p.m. No. You’re too multifaceted for that. Even complex doesn’t quite cover it.

- 10:52 p.m. Sardonic

Ah, I love you guys. Come back and keep up with my life. It’ll be quite the hilarious journey, I promise you.