Rediscovering the Inner Tomboy

Climbing on Monday was fantastic! For whatever reason, however, I have a tendency to sacrifice the integrity of my body (by completely disregarding it) when there is a challenge to overcome. Last fall, my friend Liz's mom sent me a card in which she reminisced about watching me compete in a halloween bob-for-apples event at the stable where Liz and I used to train. I remember the event in question well because I was thrown from my Mustang pony about 75 times before completing the challenge and still managed to finish with one of the best times. In fact, I think I might have won...but that's slightly beside the point. Liz's mom sent me the card to remind me of all the times I climbed back on that pony during lessons, events, horseshows and the like until the day came when he could no longer shake me quite so easily. Since then, I have acquired many more bumps and bruises along the way. After overdoing the adventure activities on a family vacation in Hawaii, I will never forget backpacking through Eastern Europe with a severe ear infection, a black eye, and feet that looked like they had taken a trip through a meat grinder. Since I spent the first part of the trip hobbling and unable to ride up any elevators, I'm sure my traveling companion Nell remembers those days (uhh...fondly?) as well! My personal favorite, though, is the time that I re-fractured my foot less than a month before the Belfast marathon and then attempted and finished it anyway. Nevermind that I've gone running less than 10 times in the six years since then, or that the splinter of bone just sort of chillin' in my left foot occasionally stops minding its own business and reminds me that it's still there... I wanted a "Belfast Marathon 2000" medallion, and I got one! We all have our priorities, after all.

So it came as no surprise when we piled into Julie's car after climbing on Monday that my knees looked like they belonged to the corpse of some unfortunate soul who had just irish-jigged cross-country with her feet tucked up behind her butt. Can't quite conjur that image up? Let's just say: black and blue + scratched, scraped, red, and puffy = well, not pretty. And with less than a week to go before braving not only Brazilian beaches but Brazilian beachwear to boot, it was a little disheartening to realize that I had just transformed my pale, freckled skin into a virtual connect-the-dots masterpiece of scratches, scrapes, and mottled bruises. Oh, and let's not forget the odd sunburn on my back that vaguely resembles a sprouting set of wings...everytime I turn around and glance at it in the mirror, I find myself wondering whether or not we'll ever know what becomes of Warren Worthington III if they don't make a 4th X-men movie. Just call me Archangel Meg...

Yet up Mt. Lemmon at about 6500 feet, the temperature was mild (relatively speaking - 80s early on, 90 degrees or so by midday), the views were incredible, and our party of five had a good mix of climbing and getting-to-know-one-another banter to keep ourselves entertained. I wouldn't trade in a single moment of our day for scratch-free skin. The marks on my hide will fade and eventually heal; I hope the memories from Monday never do!

The images posted here are from our first and easiest climb. Unfortunately, my camera batteries died shortly thereafter. Ooops. I seem to have left my spare set behind in the mysterious black hole in which we all managed to leave our cash, sunblock, hiking shoes, and xtra food. When I get back in August and go again, I'll make sure to get more shots...and have someone else spread the sunscreen on my back!

I'll write next from Brazil... in the meantime, keep smiling!