One person

Yep, one person in the entire freakin' world reads my blog. He or she asked me to update my blog, somewhere in a comment that followed on from me bleating about my sore finger. I fixed all that shit. My hand surgeon (that's as if I own the dude. He's not mine, I just go to him when I hurt, which is most of the time) rammed a needle into my finger and squirted it full of cortisone. I was so hardcore I didn't even flinch while he did it. A week later, my finger deflated and the pain started abating. Getting less, in other words. I ripped off the splint and got back on my project.

It was the bomb. I headed out on my own, set up my rope and did all the moves. I had to change things a bit on the crux because my finger still isn't great, but I could work around the issue.

Then I went shopping.




Warming up. Vents allow cooling below the knee caps.


Pink leggings with zips. I took my daughter along when I bought them so I could pretend they were for her.

At some point between then and now I reached a high point. So now I am two moves from the big holds. I have to hold the mono ring lock that I fall out of, slap to a crimp and then pop to a big hold. From there it's yarding some big pulls to the summit. Unfortunately winter has intervened. So the road has washed away, the crux crack has been seeping.

Whatever.

Quit Bitching.

Now here is the problem:

In the same spot as above, wearing slightly more subdued kit. That's not the problem. The problem is that the hard climbing is only just beginning. On my left is the rampant, soaring line of The Dream I Knew, which I might add, is 32. I say so because it's my route. Anyway, by this point on the latter it's all big jugs and jams. Butch but fun. A description that applies to some people that I could mention. On my current project it's not juggy as such. Fiddly locks. Dodgy Gastons. This sounds like it's the story breaking and entering in the backstreets of  Marseilles.

The hard bit is actually just below the 3rd unclipped bolt, and ends at the big hold above it.

Living under a bridge

So there I was, thinking that I might never post anything on this blog again, when my good mate Cobus chucked in his job and went to live under a bridge. That made me think about life and what it is all about. So I put together a little piece and sent it to all my friends, including Cobus, although I don't know if he is still getting email because he lives under a bridge.


This is what I said:

I have a dream (one of my friends has a penchant for bursting into song without being provoked - you can imagine how worried I was at this point). I am going to move Spain for a year to learn how to climb. You are welcome to come along if you are a girl. If you are a guy, just be aware that you aren’t sleeping in my tent. So you are also welcome, but with conditions. Out of 365 days I am going to take 3 rest days. Once I have done that I shall be able to scoot up the twin tufas on Humildes like Chris except I won’t even need to breathe and I am better looking. Those of you who don’t come along have to pay for the trip as your forfeit. I know it doesn’t seem fair right now, but eventually you will realise it is only right and just.