So I managed to lead one and a half routes.
Wait, one and a half?
Wishful adventurer, bad climber, & writer of unedited poetry. A blog candidly exploring mental health, veganism, & the tiny things that make life worth living.
So I managed to lead one and a half routes.
Wait, one and a half?
Things I learned in Fontainebleau:
I am not good at bouldering.
I have a hilarious bouldering face.
I am really not good at bouldering.
I can’t even believe that a few weeks ago we were able to go out bouldering, able to play around in the sunshine without freezing our fingers off. (I’m still a little scared of falling, FYI).
I can barely believe that back in August I was told there was a 90% chance my BONE WOULD DIE and I’d likely have fusion surgery and it would be all dramatic and terrifying and I wouldn’t walk again and my whole life would change.
A couple of weeks of treats, progress, & novelty outfits.
But when I’m on the wall, when I’m working out the next move, trying not to fall, thinking about placing my feet, my mind is free of everything else. I’m not freaking out about rejection, stressing out about my workload – none of it. It’s bliss. It really is.
This last week has been a quiet blur of autumn leaves, frustration, and pancakes.
From hospital bed… … to being cast free.
“And you’ve already lost all side mobility in that ankle. That’s gone.”
Laying in a hospital bed, high on morphine, I stared at a surgeon who was explaining to me in no uncertain terms that I had FUCKED UP.
A weekend of cuteness, happiness, and shoving misogynistic boys at gigs.