All of it.
Every midnight felting session. Every decent hike. Every not-so-decent hike. Every hour I should be sleeping but am instead taking advantage of these precious few moments to do…anything.
It hits me the next day like a freight train. I am blogging at midnight and tomorrow, bleary-eyed, I will regret it. Exactly when did I crawl into this older than I feel body? I’m that crumbly, disintegrating old rubber band you find in the back of a drawer who used to be fresh, taught and snappy…and useful.
Yeah, so anyway, I’m going to start climbing again. I know it’s been eight years, but it’s the only part of my pre-C life that I want back. Just acknowledging it awakens the muscle memory and the desire to really get back into my body and push my physical limits. It was such a well-suited sport for me in so many ways, the perfect balance of mental/physical exertion and spiritual connection with the earth. I loved everything about it and then I gave it up for the sake of plunging every bit of myself into a shiny new romance. I left a four-year relationship with the climber boyfriend for a man I married within three months. And C prefers to jump from rock to rock through a creek bed rather than to scale them vertically. The passion for granite just slipped slowly away…
…or so I thought. It’s really just been hanging about in a dormant state waiting for me to come back around. And there’s a place only a short bike ride away where I can train…I used to teach Performance Indoor Cycling there, ha ha.
Perhaps it will help me gain the five pounds (of muscle, she says hopefully) I need in order to give blood this year. I’ve never been able to and it’s a wee goal of mine to make it happen at least once.
Another Rain Day tomorrow. I think we’ll make tissue paper butterflies.