When the wheels fell off in Gladlyville, I told Pete we couldn't go back to the climbing gym for a while. There were just too many college students in close quarters, in a building with sketchy ventilation. We hadn't climbed in six weeks. Last night, though, we went back.
Our new case counts have been down (although we do keep setting new records for hospitalizations), and last night the climbing gym's visitor counter showed that they only had a single-digit number of guests. I said we could go and check it out, but I cautioned Pete that it might be a quick trip.
You guys, it felt so good. I thought I was saying yes because it would make Pete happy, but wow, have I missed climbing. There were a bunch of new routes, one of which used some familiar holds in a new configuration. I paused for a minute to listen to my internal monologue: "I am going to put my HAND on that BLUE HOLD and I know just how SOLID it will feel! This is AWESOME!!!" -- accompanied by a little fireworks show of endorphins and dopamine in my brain.
It was a little bizarre, honestly, but in an extremely pleasant way.
You can't skip six weeks of climbing and jump back in where you left off. I have some work to do on the mental part of it as well as the strength part, because it's kind of a weird choice to entrust your life to a slender rope while you propel yourself upward-- 40, and then 50, and then 60 feet into the air. But Pete and I are watching the gym's guest counter, and the county's case counter, and looking forward to our next opportunities to climb.
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