Spending an afternoon in a chalk filled place pulling plastic isn't the best way neither to treat your lungs nor an injured wrist.
I did quite bad at the Regionals. Most of all, I climbed very bad. Flashed problems missing hand and foot holds, and never got into it, with the injured wrist always there, in the deepest back of my mind, taking away concentration and will to crush.
I texted my frustration to Keith, and he really cheered me up, but at first didn't suggest me the right strategy to victory: thinking "what would jerry do?" obviously.
Anyway, I'm pissed because I found myself behind people that I think are assholes: namely the stupid guy I found one time at the Melloblocco who told me: "yes we're here too, you know, just for fun, we are used to have the valley all for ourselves, you know, we used to come here many years ago, now everybody's here...".
I'm glad past year I crushed him, and I'm sure he cheated, even if I know it's not true and it was impossible because there were judges.
I'm pissed, I'm pissed, I'm pissed. I was in top form, tip top condition, as Ben Moon would say in front of a Sloggy advert in Font, and I injured my fucking wrist. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The guru crushed the place. He's the man and he deserves it.