Friday, November 6, 2009

Life, and the need of one.

I really do need a life.

I feel like one of those pathetic girls who goes to work, does what she's told and goes home to wait for her boyfriend to call.

Seriously. That's exactly how my days have been going so far. While I love my job and think my boyfriend is a pretty great guy, I feel an itch to be doing something more. I was kicking around the idea of an evening class at the nearby JC, but obviously, that's not something that can happen right now since we're well past enrollment. Maybe next semester.

In the mean time, I'm dying to climb again. I have no calluses on my hands. No rock climbing muscles . . . I used to love climbing so much. (And from a girl-who-is-trying-to-watch-that-figure's perspective, you'd be amazed at how many calories you torch in an hour of climbing -- upwards of 800. No joke.)

During the summer after graduation, I recommitted to the sport that I'd only engaged in a mild flirtation with -- and I ended up with a broken heart. Okay, that's a bit dramatic, but I did rip open a few of my fingers and sprain my ankle when I fell about 15 feet off the rock wall and I wasn't clipped in. (Yeah, not one of my brighter moments.)

Getting back into climbing after that was tricky. Initially, I'd go back to the gym, clip myself into the auto-belay and try to climb on. I never made it to the top, I'd drop myself down before getting 3/4 of the way up. The first try was the most successful, but I compulsively checked my waist to visually confirm that, yes, I was clipped in, I was secure, I was fine. However, looking at my waist also meant peripherally looking down, which would catch my breath and drain the blood from my face quite literally.

About a week later, I was at the gym trying to get back on the horse (er, wall). I grabbed holds, put my feet on the wall and climbed another two holds. My feet were about five feet from the floor, my head closer to ten, but I couldn't do it. Every time I dared reach higher, nausea hit my stomach and I felt lightheaded, fuzzy and faint.

I've never been an especially skittish person. I've not shied away from many challenges, but those walls were so beyond daunting. It took actually belaying with a friend about a month after the accident to help me feel more secure (I could feel the tension in the rope- ergo, I knew I couldn't fall.)

Yet I miss it.

The Arillaga Sport Center (the most accessible rock wall for me) at Stanford offers membership to Stanford employees for $20. Total. For that bargain price, I get a badge that I swipe at the door and I can climb to my heart's content.

So back to my original point of getting a life . . .

I've also filled out a volunteer application with San Jose Animals. I'd like to volunteer at a shelter, socializing dogs and cats to be adopted. But I also signed up for customer service work as well. Wherever they'll have me, I'll go.

Between the gym and animals, I think I'll have a much more interesting life. Or so I'm hoping . . .


Robyn said...

hey robyn! I came across your blog randomly. totally weird we are both robyns, left-handed and are obsessed with coffee? I'd say so. Keep up the good work! If you'd like to visit me, my blog is:

Jackie said...

Welcome to my life... or my lack of one. I feel ya.