I am fortunate to get together with some really great friends on a regular basis to do the stuff women generally do together: eat, drink, and laugh. There's really not much to it at all. Easy-peasy. The most energy is spent trying to figure out which drink to order.
And then I got invited to Ladies' Night. At a gym. To climb a wall. Of rocks.
A rock climbing wall? I can just see myself now, grasping on for dear life by my fingernails, wine glass gripped in between my teeth, trying to find some form of footing...
I used to be athletic. Surprisingly so. I could run 7 miles without much effort on a regular basis. My arm strength was my best asset. (Which practically saved my life when I was in the Army. Do you know how many times snarky people get dropped by a drill sergeant? A lot. I have repressed memories of hours worth of push-ups, but that's a story for another day.) I used to run up and down stadium stairs because I enjoyed working out. That was years ago. Today I'm contemplating installing an escalator so I can carry laundry up and down from the basement without having to stop mid-staircase. I barely have enough hand and arm strength to grip a pen and sign my bar tab. Like I'm going to be able to climb a wall of protruding objects? And it's not like they give you enough room to heft your arm up and hang out for a bit. These "rocks" as they call them are like an eighth of an inch. I've bitten down all my nails so I have nothing to hang on with!
The other ladies? One runs marathons. The other works out on a regular basis and leads tours in countries where you have to walk like everywhere. And the third? The one who planned this little outing? She climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. A freaking MOUNTAIN! That's like asking Octomom to birth a single child; she doesn't have to blink and she'll be finished.
It's obvious I'd be the one they choose to eat first if we were ever stranded.
And then I got invited to Ladies' Night. At a gym. To climb a wall. Of rocks.
A rock climbing wall? I can just see myself now, grasping on for dear life by my fingernails, wine glass gripped in between my teeth, trying to find some form of footing...
I used to be athletic. Surprisingly so. I could run 7 miles without much effort on a regular basis. My arm strength was my best asset. (Which practically saved my life when I was in the Army. Do you know how many times snarky people get dropped by a drill sergeant? A lot. I have repressed memories of hours worth of push-ups, but that's a story for another day.) I used to run up and down stadium stairs because I enjoyed working out. That was years ago. Today I'm contemplating installing an escalator so I can carry laundry up and down from the basement without having to stop mid-staircase. I barely have enough hand and arm strength to grip a pen and sign my bar tab. Like I'm going to be able to climb a wall of protruding objects? And it's not like they give you enough room to heft your arm up and hang out for a bit. These "rocks" as they call them are like an eighth of an inch. I've bitten down all my nails so I have nothing to hang on with!
The other ladies? One runs marathons. The other works out on a regular basis and leads tours in countries where you have to walk like everywhere. And the third? The one who planned this little outing? She climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. A freaking MOUNTAIN! That's like asking Octomom to birth a single child; she doesn't have to blink and she'll be finished.
It's obvious I'd be the one they choose to eat first if we were ever stranded.
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