on love, and other superpowers
"I think I need a montage," I said, taking greedy pulls from the weak Utah beer in my hand. It's been a good long time since I was surrounded by people I don't know, doing things I have no idea how to do - and seeping with cover-your-mouth-awful poison oak, at that.
The girl who had never done more than amble up to a higher rock with a beer was suddenly pressed to outrun looming rainclouds by scrabbling up the sheer walls of a slot canyon. The girl who had all but rolled her eyes at the thought of a 30-foot ascent for a prettier view of Joshua Tree was suddenly vaulting up chimneys to a 600-foot-high exit point. The girl who didn't much like the idea is suddenly very, very keen for sticky shoes and a harness and some rope and some clinky things.
My upper body is as sore as my poison-plant rash is itchy, and that's sayin' somethin'. So worth it.
The balance of hand and foot and slide and stone has done interesting things. Commuting back from work on the bike today, I realized an eerily appreciable change in my balance - I perched my bike perfectly over its dead-stopped wheels for a solid few seconds before I realized I was doing it. It was startling. It was good. I want more.