On Friday and Saturday, my chi dipped to dangerously low levels. Fortunately, Jesse had registered us for an indoor rock climbing instruction class at Stoneworks Climbing Gym in Beaverton on Sunday afternoon. If it weren’t for that commitment, I may have remained in bed all day, sulking.
A sleepy, bored-looking canine princess named Paris greeted us upon our arrival at the very nearby rock gym. We were given very snug climbing shoes and were independently relieved when the expected third class participant failed to show up; a private couple’s lesson – sweet! I didn’t start to feel nervous about this venture until our short-statured, overly bulging bicep-laden instructor started climbing across the walls like Spiderman. I’m not the strongest girl in town, you know?
We first learned how to “boulder,” which is moving more-or-less horizontally across the artificial rock features bolted to the wall. This technique depends on several key movements, which are somewhat difficult to engage all at the same time. Feet wide and balanced, hands only on the features marked with pink tape, hips in toward the wall, arms out straight, hang low, push with your legs, push with your legs.
Next we moved on to the more complicated and more dangerous “top roping.” This style incorporates a climber attached to one end of a rope which is run through a pulley system and attached to another individual who serves as the “belayer,” or guardian of life. Jesse climbed first and I was given strict training on the many safety elements of operating the belay. Then we switched and I had to climb up the massive wall into the reaches of outer space. This was challenging. I’m not overly height-phobic, but I had to calm myself by thinking “don’t look down, don’t look down.” I couldn’t quit…I had two athletic guys watching me. I reached the top and Jesse lowered me back to the ground. We were certified and set out on our own.
Go figure, Jesse was an enviable natural, clamoring to be hooked up to the climber’s rope and scaling more and more difficult routes. On rare occasion he would need a break from climbing and would let go of the wall while 20 feet up. His weight would pull him downward a short distance, meaning my body, attached to other end of his rope, would rocket upwards and forward into the hard, craggy surface in front of me. Good fun.
A sleepy, bored-looking canine princess named Paris greeted us upon our arrival at the very nearby rock gym. We were given very snug climbing shoes and were independently relieved when the expected third class participant failed to show up; a private couple’s lesson – sweet! I didn’t start to feel nervous about this venture until our short-statured, overly bulging bicep-laden instructor started climbing across the walls like Spiderman. I’m not the strongest girl in town, you know?
We first learned how to “boulder,” which is moving more-or-less horizontally across the artificial rock features bolted to the wall. This technique depends on several key movements, which are somewhat difficult to engage all at the same time. Feet wide and balanced, hands only on the features marked with pink tape, hips in toward the wall, arms out straight, hang low, push with your legs, push with your legs.
Next we moved on to the more complicated and more dangerous “top roping.” This style incorporates a climber attached to one end of a rope which is run through a pulley system and attached to another individual who serves as the “belayer,” or guardian of life. Jesse climbed first and I was given strict training on the many safety elements of operating the belay. Then we switched and I had to climb up the massive wall into the reaches of outer space. This was challenging. I’m not overly height-phobic, but I had to calm myself by thinking “don’t look down, don’t look down.” I couldn’t quit…I had two athletic guys watching me. I reached the top and Jesse lowered me back to the ground. We were certified and set out on our own.
Go figure, Jesse was an enviable natural, clamoring to be hooked up to the climber’s rope and scaling more and more difficult routes. On rare occasion he would need a break from climbing and would let go of the wall while 20 feet up. His weight would pull him downward a short distance, meaning my body, attached to other end of his rope, would rocket upwards and forward into the hard, craggy surface in front of me. Good fun. 
For my efforts I was rewarded with a long-awaited platter of vegetarian lasagna and spaghetti with brown butter and mizithra cheese from The Old Spaghetti Factory. Somewhat embarrassingly I used to work there and I developed a fairly serious addiction to their succulent yet affordable pasta.
We got home and set out on a sunset bike ride, savoring the last warm hour of the day. We discovered, of all things, a nun cemetery within a block of our house. Also nearby we found a paved bike path running through a relaxing, leafy quarter that seemed much removed from the bustle of the nearby highway. It was a lovely, renewing Sunday. 
