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Workin’ for the weekend

I love this photo… Matthew just looks more natural on the ceiling than on the ground.

Aaaannddd a new pony to whoever can guess what I did with my Saturday night. Hint: If you guessed “unsoberly drytooling in the woodshed” or “listening to techno?” then you’re on the right track.

If you thought “dry? tooling? That sounds both dirty and uncomfortable.” You’re with me. And you’re right, though probably not in the way you thought.

To be honest, I cannot crawl around on the ceiling with icetools yet. I tried without much success to do more than one pull up, then gave up and took pictures instead. The next day I was sore and slightly hungover, but it didn’t matter because this happened:

After running all over the woods of Hyalite looking for some ice without six or more people

rapelling! Ice! Both things I used to not do last week!

already on it, we made it to a climb called Hangover and proceeded to get really, really cold. About thirty feet off the ground I realized two things at once: One, that my fingers were already flopping like useless rocks in my gloves and two, that I’d forgotten to attach leashes to my tools. NOooooOOb.

Stricken suddenly with a fear of dropping them and stranding myself, I did something perhaps even more stupid and actually took my gloves off so I’d have enough tactile feedback to attach my leashes mid climb.

There’s something inspiring about the screaming barfies… sure you want to toss your cookies (or in my case, scones) and curl into the fetal position, but to me it’s kinda cool to learn that your extremities have the tenacity to come back to life so violently. By turning into angry red sausages and making you want to puke, your fingers assert their right to be attached to your body. I like that.

The rest of the climb was thin but sticky, and we had a rewarding thermos of soul-saving, mouth thawing coffee for afterwards. There’s nothing like some steaming caffeine to make butt-sliding back to the car sort of ok.

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