Rock Climbing, Identity, and Pretty Girls

I'm in my cousin's old Mercedes. Great sound system, booming electronic tunes. Drum & bass, specifically. I’m driving, fumbling with the last bit of my cigarette while I pull up to the gym.

                I park in the dusty lot. Gym bag. Swipe card at the entrance. Automated machine recording is heard throughout the gym “Have a great workout.” I mock it, saying to myself in a deep voice “have a great workout” thinking of all the tools that are there to pump the iron…Imagining the fellows I saw last time at the punching bag. But I rethink that as I look at the chubby lady on the treadmill that I have a respect for, and the redhead next to her--she isn’t bad. Then an older man walks by in his short shorts. And I mean short. Like something out of the 70’s. Nice shorts, I wanna say, but my thoughts on gym etiquette and gender roles assure I keep the comment to myself.

                With pride I stroll by all the machines. Head held high. I care only for the climbing walls located in the back of the gym. Don’t get me wrong…I respect everyone is doing their own thing working out and all, but I love climbing. I realize at this point I’m just as much a snob as any d****e there. And half of why I go is for the girls; we have that in common.

                But there is more to it than the girls and loving it. I’ve recently had an identity crisis of sorts. It comes with the territory of being as explorative and open-minded as I am, leading me to question at all times who the hell I am, what I am doing with my life, whether or not there is some form of divinity…till I breakdown like I have recently. This time I have been able to recognize it for what it is. And I have been expressing myself. That helps. And I am realizing my drug induced identity was unrealistic and unhealthy. So I picked up rock climbing, which I did previously when I lived in Philadelphia.

                Rock climbing is my stress release. It is my identity for the few weekly hours I spend grunting my way up the walls. It is recognition and attention from other climbers that I do not obtain as easily in writing or art. And that’s all I want in life: Someone to share this journey with and some pure recognition to feed my narcissism.

                So anyways, back to the gym…To the right is the top-rope room, meaning climbing walls in which you are required to use a harness and a rope. But since I have joined, I haven’t climbed in there. I climb to the left, in the two bouldering rooms. Instead of ropes, the climbers rely on a web of mats that suffocate the floor. Without the ropes, I feel free to roam as I please...

                But the place is a labyrinth, or more like a dungeon, composed of blue mats and blue walls. It’s so much blue I want to show up with a roller and a five gallon bucket of green or grey or red…anything but blue. The blue makes me feel like I’m at sea and I’m drowning. What makes it worse are the abstract scribbles and drips of paint that are pink and red and yellow. It’s a mess, really. But it’s the only climbing gym in town, and even though it may look like hell, it feels like heaven.

                I get in there and do my little bit of dynamic stretching. That’s just a fancy word for moving your body around in groovy, repetitive motions. I do it because some forum off of google tells me it’s the best way to prepare for a climbing session. I have an internal struggle every time I warm up. One part tells me it looks silly and I’d look a lot more “boss” if I just jumped onto a hard climb. The other little guy on my shoulder reminds me I just need to do my thing, act as if no one else is around me--not even the cute redhead--and I’ll do better climbing later.

                If you’ve never seen indoor rock climbing, imagine the walls and ceiling in your house cluttered with hundreds of pebbles, big rocks, rocks of all sizes, shapes and forms. It looks like that, except all the rocks are artificial of course. And there's tape...lot's of it. Each color or pattern on the tape indicates a specific climb, also called a route or a line. So I start out traversing, which is climbing side to side on the walls. It is easier and builds endurance, acting as part of my warm up.

                Then I go into the second, bigger bouldering room. I like this one more since it feels less like hell--I think it’s because the ceilings are higher. But tonight there’s a mob of climbers with their backs perched on a wall behind them, all staring at a climber in front of them. There’s always one in each group who is as active as whoever’s taking their turn climbing the wall. He’ll chant something along the lines of “you can do it, man!” and “good control on that hold, dude!” I walk by all six or seven of them. And since I’m new I know they’re all looking at me out of the corner of their eye.

                I could have done some climbs in the room that was empty. But half the reason I come over to this room is to see how good they are. I go to the wall in the back. Still in their view? Check. This wall is my specialty. It’s a series of climbs that require a lot of slow, balanced climbing. So I do a few and Mr. Enthusiastic comes over to cheer me on. Turns out he’s pretty nice. Asks if I’m working on any particular climb--In rock climbing, it’s the equivalent of talking about the weather. The true purpose is he’s measuring me up. And I’m doing the same with him. I’m not the best climber, but they’re a bit intimidated because. I’m the new guy. I’m tall. And I don’t talk much.

                There’s this girl climber I had talked with a little last week. And honestly, I’d been thinking about her all week. I regretted I hadn’t gotten her number. She was cool. And she seemed genuine. That’s what I’m going for lately. The first girl I fell in love with a long time ago-- she was extremely social. My first girlfriend was anti-social to the point that she would repeatedly tell me, “I would be a lot happier if I was the only person on earth.” And recently things didn't work out with a confused artist girl that constantly induced herself with drugs and sex. So I am ready for someone balanced and honest. My intuition tells me this is that kind of girl.

                Well there I am talking to Mr. Cheer You On when I see one of the girls in the pack is the girl. I notice her after she looks at me. Her cute little nose and brown hair. Fit body. She puts on her snug backpack saying she’ll see everyone later. And there I stand. Paralyzed. Her on the other side of the sandwich of climbers dividing us. One half of me screams get her number you p***y or you’ll be regretting this all week. The other half is scared of the crowd that she is part of and rationalizes that I’ve seen her twice so I’ll be sure to see her again. Second half wins.

                She leaves. I don’t shout out her name. I don’t follow her out and tell her, “I know this is crazy and we barely know each other but could I have your number? You seem really honest and I like that about you.” I just stand there, watching her wiggle her cute little shorts into the distance.

Reviews

[Susie]

This made me smile. Very sweet. Fresh.
The second paragraph really described a "human" mind brilliantly. Even the best-meaning people need to filter their motives.
Hats off to you. You make the simple things in life wonderful. Don't know how you do it... only brilliant writer could do that!!!

[Mr. Color Blind]

Thank you, Susie. Is that what you go by? I always smile after reading your reviews. They always provide a genuine boost in motivation for writing. Well i better get some sleep...ZzzzzzZZZZzz

[Susie]

Goodo. Well I'm enjoying your work.
Sleep tight.