Oh, the Carnage

Recently, climbing at my gym has become less about the difficulty of the grade I'm climbing and more about how many scrapes and bruises I can manage to inflict upon myself before I've finished for the day. Just yesterday, I was climbing a 10d, which is quite challenging for me, and I made it to the top without falling off. However, just as I reached for the last hold, about to enjoy my triumphant arrival at the top, I somehow dragged the back of my exhausted hand across the sandpapery wall. This resulted in two bloody holes just above my knuckles. They were seeping blood by the time my partner lowered me to the gym floor. I washed them off, they kept bleeding, and, because I'm either a total bad-ass or a complete idiot, I figured now would be a good time to attempt to climb the crack.

For those of you who don't climb, the crack is basically a crevice in the wall, into which a climber jams her hands and feet as deeply and possible, hauling herself up using only the friction between her appendages and the concrete or (when outdoors) rocks. It's really quite counterintuitive to shove one's hands into an unknown like that. The space is dark, pointy, and potentially dangerous on so many levels. And yet, yesterday, I jammed my already bloody hands into it. I got a good portion of the way up, too. Whee!

So, I guess what I'm saying is that the people at my job think I regularly get into bar fights.