Please excuse the post title; it’s just the English major in me trying to be dramatic. Let me put it another way: This summer is kinda lame so far. I’m still working full-time and also taking two pre-req summer classes to prepare for grad school in the fall (one just finished last week, thank gawd). The only thing that’s getting me through is knowing I’ll be living back in Boone in a about a month, and that I’ll have 3 weeks in August to do nothing but climb and creek swim and take a few side trips. As it is, I’ve made it out climbing twice in the last 5 weeks. That, my friends, is pretty weak sauce, even for an injured geriatric in the heat of summer.
This weekend me and Melissa went to our apartment in Boone (that we’re having to rent all summer to lock it in for the Fall). We spent most of the time studying but we did make it to the swimming hole that’s near our place and to Beacon Heights on the drive home. As soon as we set down our pads at Beacon Heights it started raining…hard. So we climbed a couple of lines and high-tailed it outta there before the thunder and lightning got too crazy. I didn’t even really get warmed up! The good news is that I didn’t have time to tweak my shoulder, either—it feels great today. But I’m sticking to my plan of not climbing anything hard this summer and slowly building the strength back up. I’ve been having some interesting thoughts on the dangers of technique to injured climbers, as well as a non-western perspective on how to think about climbing grades. All of which I’ll post about soon. With injury and no free time, I’m having to get all philosophical about climbing. Ah so…So here's my one last deep thought for today: Moving to Boone as an injured climber is like going to a feast with a stapled stomach. And this thought truly keeps me up at night lately.
Melissa on some of the fun slabs at Beacon Heights:
We escaped to the car in a break in the rain. Grandfather was looking pretty stormy.