Starting the week on a Monday is a bad idea. Mondays suck. They should start with a Friday instead.
The day was going really well up until I left for work this morning. Which means, the good part of the day lasted about one hour. Then I waited for the bus for half an hour in the freezing cold at 6 am and it never showed up. I had to wake my husband to drive me to work, where I finally arrived late, stressed and in a bad mood.
Health-wise I wasn't doing much better. The irritation in my throat that started yesterday headed south to my stomach making me feel slightly nauseous. Nevertheless, I was set on going climbing after work today.
I should have gone home instead. I did not complete a single route. I just couldn't make my arms and legs do what I wanted them to. The grips were miles away from me, or too small, or too big. My feet hurt, squeezed in the tiny climbing shoes. The final straw was that I somehow managed to fall, half a meter from the ground, swing to the left and hit the corner of the wall with my shin with all the force carried by a falling body. My leg is now swollen and sports a lovely, colourful bruise. I shouldn't complain, really. The initial pain when my shin hit the wall was so intense, I thought I'd broken it. After that, I decided it was time to throw in the towel and go home.
I'm not surprised that climbing didn't go well, although I wasn't expecting such spectacular failure. I have not recovered from Saturday's Grand Adventure and I am kind of ill. It's ok. The running memories are still fresh enough in my mind to compensate for any climbing setback.
The day was going really well up until I left for work this morning. Which means, the good part of the day lasted about one hour. Then I waited for the bus for half an hour in the freezing cold at 6 am and it never showed up. I had to wake my husband to drive me to work, where I finally arrived late, stressed and in a bad mood.
Health-wise I wasn't doing much better. The irritation in my throat that started yesterday headed south to my stomach making me feel slightly nauseous. Nevertheless, I was set on going climbing after work today.
I should have gone home instead. I did not complete a single route. I just couldn't make my arms and legs do what I wanted them to. The grips were miles away from me, or too small, or too big. My feet hurt, squeezed in the tiny climbing shoes. The final straw was that I somehow managed to fall, half a meter from the ground, swing to the left and hit the corner of the wall with my shin with all the force carried by a falling body. My leg is now swollen and sports a lovely, colourful bruise. I shouldn't complain, really. The initial pain when my shin hit the wall was so intense, I thought I'd broken it. After that, I decided it was time to throw in the towel and go home.
I'm not surprised that climbing didn't go well, although I wasn't expecting such spectacular failure. I have not recovered from Saturday's Grand Adventure and I am kind of ill. It's ok. The running memories are still fresh enough in my mind to compensate for any climbing setback.
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