based on a true story

So, in my life, rock climbing is always that interesting friend of a friend. You may know the type. You run into them sporadically, at a party or an event, and you have good time chatting, and you always end that moment by saying, "we should hang out more often. We should actually be friends." Then one of you flakes. Or really, I flake, because rock climbing isn't an actual person, and this metaphor can only go so far.

But it's true. I've liked climbing when I've gone. I like watching climber films whenever they show up in the Banff Mountain Film Festival, but whenever it came down to how I was going to spend an hour or two of exercise, my tendency was to reach for the bike.

Part of that changed when I moved closer to the city. My shorter commute was less effective exercise, so I had started casting about for alternate fitness options; and getting back into rock climbing would've been a logical choice, but at the time, I was also dealing with nerve damage in my hands stemming from six years of bike crashes and dirt road rides. I had spent a couple of years working with doctors on the nerve issues and had enough of a recovery, that I started climbing again last month.

( on going back to being a first level adventurer )