Because if I can't run, I will climb

Last night I went rock climbing for the first time. I'm not sure why it took me 30 years to do this. I love heights and I spent my childhood on monkey bars and climbing trees. But like anything else that is new and potentially epic, it was easy to make excuses and talk myself out of it.

What if I'm terrible at it? What if I can't make it to the top? What if I fall? I don't have a partner to go with and then I'm going to be that loser standing around by herself. I started to think, what if I'm so heavy that no one can hold me and I break the ropes? And then I thought, 'Seriously, woman? You are being completely ridiculous right now.'

So I told myself, just try it one time and if you hate it, you never have to go back. But of course I loved it. I was pretty terrible, but I enjoyed it. I made it to the top a couple times. I fell even more times, but that was just as fun. Everyone was really nice and it turns out one of my high school friends was there. Plus there was pizza! When I woke up today, everything hurt in that slightly uncomfortable way that's indicative of awesomeness building up inside ye olde body parts. And I knew then that it would be more than a one time thing.

I can't say I'm happy that I'm still injured and can't run. I'm not there yet. I may never get there. But in a weird way, it has been more of an opportunity than a limitation. Sure, I miss the long runs and especially the camaraderie of the running community. But it forced me out of my comfort zone, out of some things I didn't want to admit weren't working for me, and opened me up to new adventures and hopefully future marvelousness.

Lyric of the moment: "And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb, looking for a little hope..."