It’s 4:30am, it’s been seven hours since I last climbed. Sitting here without moving I can count five different areas in my body that hurt from climbing. In the back of my mind I’m still working on the moves for the problem I didn’t finish and I could tell you how many hours it is till I’m back at the wall, trying again.
Some of my favourite hours of the day are these early morning ones, when everyone’s asleep and the world is quiet. There’s a business and bustle to the day time hours that keeps your soul trapped inside your body as you bustle along with everyone else. But at night, stillness settles, everything stretches out, thoughts travel further at night.
Climbing brings the peace of the night hours into the chaos and noise of my day time world. I love chaos and I love noise but it’s easy to lose myself in it. To slide along the surface of things without giving much of myself. But not at the wall. It asks me for everything. My body must stretch and crimp and balance and pull harder and then harder still. My mind has to stay calm, has to remember the plan it made on the ground, the slight foot adjustment that will make the difference between falling and reaching the next hold. The wall asks me for everything so I give it everything. Sometimes I wish the world asked more of me because I feel I have more to give, I just don’t know how.
It’s 6:45am, I can hear the creaks of a world beginning to wake; my body is gearing up to head out into it. I know how many hours it is till I’m climbing again.