Monday, 3 August 2009


My life is a battlefield. I want to go bouldering, and others try to hinder me.
I am prepared, I have grown up facing this everyday battle.
Yesterday I was asking myself why some people seem to hate climbing this much, then I realized it's not the climbing discipline itself. People hate the commitment. People hate to see someone who gives himself entirely to a foolish, useless pursuit like climbing a small bit of rock. People hate this because they are envious, envious that someone can be so happy in doing something.
The fragility of a climber's mind is the epitome of fragility, is the Platonic idea of fragility. A climber's mind, my mind, is the most fragile thing on earth, the one that walks on the thinnest, most delicate of lines.
The idea of facing an entire month without serious training possibilities has crashed on me with its heavy load of terror. Visions of a fat myself that can't pull on shit for the end of august appear in my nightmares.
Gyms are closed in august. My only chance is to, once again, turn myself towards the only sureness I have. A sureness that I made myself, with my own hands, just one year ago.
That's why today The Mother of All Fingerboards will rise again its beautiful shape in my bedroom. Ok, it will make that room completely impossible to use, give its dimensions, but that's a minor issue.
Jerry lived three years in a cave, I can spend one month sleeping in a chalk filled bedroom.


Stallion said...

"Only 3 people could sleep in that bedroom....You, your girl, and her best friend."

lore said...

that' exactly why i train so much. when my g/f will drop me, at least it will be for someone weaker than me!