7:00 am: Wake up an hour late because you slept through your alarm because you stayed up late working on a paper.
7:02 am: Stumble into the kitchen and get a cup of coffee brewing. While it percolates, pee, throw on some dirty clothes (smell check), text your climbing buddy you're running late, sync iphone with new episodes of your favorite podcasts for the drive.
7:08 am: Pour your delicious go-go juice in a mug, grab your rack, rope, guidebook, crashpads, etc. and go.
9:30 am: Get to the crag after a two hour drive, divvy up the gear and start the approach trail down into the gorge. Take advantage of this intimate time with your belay partner for deep cerebral discussion about existence and the plausibility that the events in Ice Cube's "Good Day" actually happened in a 24 hour time frame.
10:02 am: Arrive at your warm-up route. Flake the rope, lace up, chalk up, tie in. Complain about how stiff your body feels, how sore your fingers are, how bad your toes hurt, how this feels like it's going to be a "high gravity" day.
10:08 am: Ask "is it lunch yet?"right before getting on the rock.
10:11 am: How do I already have Elvis leg? Oh God, I hope he doesn't notice my Elvis leg. This route is a total sandbag. 10a my foot! This is the hardest 5.10a I've ever done. "Are you sure this wasn't an '11'
in the guidebook?"
Maybe 10a for somebody over six feet tall. Did Dikembe Mutombo bolt this route? "Clipping!"
Is that backclipped? No, good. Man, imagine Dikembe Mutombo climbing. Focus. Breathe. But this is definitely a tall person's route. I wish a little bit taller...
10:20 am: Partner hops on "warm up route." Flashes it.
11:00 am: Climb your second route. Make it count. Warmed up but fresh, this is the best you'll climb all day.
11:43 am: Run and jump from a 45 ft tall ledge (while on top rope) to get the flannel shirt you took off mid-climb out of a tree. Boy scouts on the top rope wall down the corridor watch your bad example. It doesn't matter because they're boy scouts and will all most likely end up playing Grand Theft Auto in their mother's basements when they're old enough to really climb.
12:27 pm: Most likely your "project" or your muse. Flail around and hang dog for an hour. "Clipping. Clipping. Clipping! CLIPPING!" Followed by a contrite, "Sorry I yelled at you." You make it to the anchors but not without pulling on a draw. Maybe another day.
1:30 - 5:17 pm: Walking. Talking. Climbing. Whipping. Climbing. Somewhere in between climbs, while walking along the cliff you notice exquisite lines with beautiful holds and aesthetic moves. You anxiously look it up in the guidebook and realize it is not remotely in your league of climbing.
6:00ish pm: Climb way less than you planned on on account of the time it takes to hang dog, red point, clean, coil, walk, flake, tie, climb, hang dog some more, get spit off of routes. Forearms burning, fingertips bleeding, stomach growling, and heart happy you make the way back to the cars. Continue discussion about Ice Cube and existential crises.
7:30ish pm: Crawl into the booth of a questionable Mexican restaurant in Podunk, Tennessee. Order the burrito, enchilada, and taco plus a pitcher of margarita. Celebrate the day's victories and whippers while old, white, probably racist rednecks examine your ratty clothes, dirty feet, and girly beverage choice.
In the words of the great 20th Century urban philosopher Ice Cube, "I gotta say that today was a good day."
