I am the walrus

Letting my legs decide how far, how fast and in which direction I'd run this morning led me to my usual half marathon round, past horses and sheep and one very surprised pheasant standing in the middle of a field. I had promised J that we'd go climbing later, so I tried finding a balance between running fast enough to get home in time and running slow enough to preserve my energy for later. It was lovely; mild temperatures and a light breeze on my back, like a friendly hand helping me along.

My plan must have worked, because not only did I have time for a quick shower and lunch, I also had enough energy left later to climb that 6B+ that I'd had my eye on. A 6B+ is the hardest I've climbed, and I did it after running a half marathon. I guess it goes to show. But what it shows, I don't know. That sometimes you climb better when you're tired? That sometimes, if you climb fast enough, your puny little skeletal arms don't have to work so hard and you make it to the top despite your lack of technique and strength? I could of course brag about how I run half marathons as a warm up but these kind of bold claims have to be put to the test and I doubt I'd be able to repeat my performance.

That's not to say that it was pretty. I wrote yesterday that I spent the day on the sofa lying motionless like a walrus. Imagine a walrus climbing up a wall. It's loud. It's cringe worthy. Someone always ends up getting hurt and it's not always the walrus (make sure not to stand under a walrus while he/she's climbing). Thankfully the only injury I inflicted on anyone was on myself, and a light one at that: strained muscles and shaky hands.  And a small swelling in the vicinity of the chest area, but that might be just pride.