Tuesday, February 7, 2012

How I Almost Died This Weekend

Yeah, I know it's Tuesday. I was crazy busy yesterday wiping the dust off of my baseboards and eating DJ's birthday Twinkies. (Amusing sidenote: My husband doesn't necessarily care for Twinkies, but for some reason his sisters think that he loves them. Every year he receives a box for his birthday. I eat them. The end.)

On Saturday our friends invited us to go rock climbing with them. I've only rock climbed a few times in my life, most recently in 2001. Let's do the math...that was eleven years, four kids, and one husband ago. I've been in the mood to test my fear and anxiety threshold lately--I also tried Zumba last week--so we agreed to go.

DJ was a trooper. He came straight from work in his Levis and gave it a shot. For those who've never climbed before, usually you wear these tight little climbing shoes that make you look like a nerd. We don't know anyone who wears a size 13 climbing shoe, so DJ went in his nice work shoes.

Macey and Olivia tried it out, too:

I didn't get really great pictures of Olivia, because while she was climbing my other kids were taking pictures like this one:

At one point it was my turn. I borrowed my friend's tight little shoes, strapped into the Climbing Girdle of Joy and Flatteringness (TM), and deliberately made my way up the cliff face. I climbed for what felt like hours. Eventually my arms began to weaken.

"I don't think I can do this," I told my friend.

"Everyone says that. You've got it," my friend replied calmly from the rocky desert floor hundreds of feet below.

My legs began to quiver with fatigue. The bones in my arms liquified until my entire upper body had the consistency of Jell-o. "No really, I can't do this. I don't want to die today."

"See that crevice about seven feet above your head?" my friend asked. "See if you can reach that with your right arm."

I reached, but couldn't make it. I lost my footing. The world spun around me. My life flashed before my eyes just like a bad cliche. I plunged down to my waiting death...

...five feet below.

I climbed five feet before I fell. It felt a lot higher. Given the right shoes I could've jumped from five feet up and been okay.

You're probably wondering how I almost died this weekend. It wasn't the rock climbing. It was the Twinkies. Roll credits.
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Paxton said...

ha! you make me so happy! i love reading your posts! seriously! i can't even think of anything funny or witty to say to go with this awesome post :-)

Meegan, the Evil Stepmother said...

I HATE heights. And yes...five feet counts as "heights.". So good for you for even agreeing to that insanity. Chicken, that's me! 🐔

So, no twinkies for DJ, huh? Good to know. Did you see the Chevy commercial about surviving nuclear apocalypse and they were snacking on twinkies? Those things will preserve you from the inside out...