Since the year started, the proverbial rollercoaster that people often talk about to describe their life left the tracks and ran me over. Twice. The emotional state of existence has, if I’m honest, been more akin to having the head thrown in a wash cycle of 90deg and a 1600rpm spin. Add 2 hours in a tumble dryer and scalding with a steam iron after and you’ll see why I’ve not been blogging much of late. I can’t even say it’s settled down now as my head’s just been used as a hex in love’s game of chance. I lost.
Thing is, my life ain’t that bad. Work has been busy, I’ve been away lots, the weather has been amazing at times and even that constant work of failure called climbing has been progressing well. I’m still crap but I’m now comfortable with that and lately it’s been a heady mixture of frustration, failure and fun. Like the above mentioned lovelife.
I managed my first VS route back at the start of May. Onsight and only at St Govans… insert here all those americanisms of radical speak to make you feel like climbing. I then backed off the next five. What a loser. I spat the dummy. Had an hour with a coach, seconded for a while and then cheated and got on a soft E1. Then happily banged out the next three VS routes. The head’s a funny thing and mine seems to respond to a smidgeon of recklessness, a pinch of stupidity and a spoonful of the superficial. Yeah, I wanted the grades. Again, a loser but an ambitious one. A politician in the making maybe.
Yep, well and truly shafted this year and even the Atlantic Ocean got in on the act and pulled my pants down.