Friday, February 24, 2012

Why Climb?

I am a social climber. Every Thursday my girl group meets up at the gym for a sweat session. Afterwards we rehydrate with wine and refuel with a meal prepared by one of us. We are amazing women. Each one of us adds our distinctive flavor to the group...

Our brassy blonde bombshell, we call Spice Rack. Our group is not above adopting Men's Locker Room talk and bending it to our own devices. (Truth be told, we kinda revel in it.) Spice Rack took up climbing when, early in my climbing career, I begged her to come and learn to belay me. She came and stayed to climb. However, it took her MONTHS to cease getting her nails manicured. She wears tight, low-cut workout clothes and does not hesitate to bend over to retie a shoe in front of a cute climber, thereby showcasing her trademark "rack." She gets attention. She is hilarious, lewd, and cannot sleep unless assisted by a cocktail of anti-depressants and Ambien.

Her polar opposite is Pakalolo, who earned her nickname by being as laidback as Hawaiian pot. She is my "featherweight friend" from an earlier post. Her build would enable her to climb 12s if she trained at all. But, being Pakalolo, she'd rather show up and climb however the mood strikes. She sets no goals, but does feed off the energy of those around her who are more driven. Then she effortlessly climbs strong. She is passionate about her teaching and her friendships.

Sweet Sister is the Saffron in our group. She has exotic, expensive tastes. When she cooks dinner, we know that we are getting the top-shelf of deliciousness. She often leaves the gym early on her nights so she can finish prepping. When we arrive, we may still wait a good hour before the appetizer is ready. She is multi-faceted. She has an eye for design, and her discriminating taste translates well into the web design she does for a living. She's creative, perfectionistic, and reliable. Yet she is chronically late. She'd give you the shirt off her back but she might not have it quite ready 'til hypothermia claimed you. I love her to death.

Cayenne is our flower of Hawaiian-Japanese descent who out-climbs us all. She's a genius of fluid, flexible movement. She has long, lustrous black hair that gently, swayingly follows her up whatever crimpy and/or overhung 11 she is working. She is Cayenne because she is full of piss and vinegar. She is fierce and driven. When she falls, she seizes the rope and reclimbs it with vicious tugs, really the only time I see her that she doesn't look utterly graceful. I've pretty much settled on being her when I grow up.

We five have a lot going for us and a lot going on in our lives. But when we come together, it is us Spice Girls and no one else. We are sickeningly in love with ourselves. Like parents of a firstborn, we gush over our cleverness, our hilarity, our fun, the bond we share. We are obnoxious and overwhelm the gym on Thursday nights. Take us separately and you might find an ounce of reserve. Take us together and we are a force.


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