Adieu to the badass climbing girl — tori klassen

I’m staring at a mess of gear that I’ve been hauling around with me for over six years, move after move, including one halfway across the country, in the vain illusion I’ll be a rock climber again.

Time to face facts. Since I’ve moved to the west coast I’ve been to the gym maybe 10 times, if that. No outside climbing whatsoever.

My rock climbing days are over.

And if they’re not over, I’ll need new gear anyway.

Let’s face it, I’ve had a hard time letting go of the climber girl inside.

My climber girl was badass – hardly anyone in Regina, a small prairie city, was a climber. I got strong when I was a gym rat. I challenged myself in ways I never thought possible before I climbed. I used to do laps on the double overhanging wall at the tiny climbing wall at the Regina Court and Fitness Club – listening to passersby say “Look at her back! She’s ripped!”

Climbing gave me such a sense of wonder and accomplishment. Facing fear on the side of a cliff, knowing the only way was up, ass hanging out over a sheer 800-meter drop – it really put life into perspective. The immensity of the Rocky Mountains made me see how small and insignificant my puny little problems are in the grand scheme of things. Paradoxically, that profound fact made me feel so much more important and alive than I had ever felt before.

I remember going home to my husband after a hard workout or a weekend of climbing with aching fingers, hands and forearms. My fingertips were made of thick calluses for years. He would massage them back into suppleness but I never wanted to lose the calluses, exposing the sensitive skin underneath. Hard skin grips rock better.

The husband is gone, the climbing buddies have moved on, I’ve taken up trail running and I’ve just never had the opportunity to find a climbing partner as good as Pete, my old buddy from Saskatchewan.

It’s time to clean out that closet, both in reality and metaphorically.

What do you do with a used 60 meter dry 10mm climbing rope? Or some twice resoled sticky boots that were themselves hand-me downs? Or a rack of gear (draws, some trad stuff, daisy chains and assorted lengths of rope)? Or a heavily used women’s harness, and a hardly-used adjustable men’s harness (my husband and son used it a couple times)?

The gear, except for the rope, is probably still useful for another climber. The rope needs retiring. Even though it’s still pretty soft and I kept it scrupulously clean, I would not forgive myself if someone used it and it failed, causing an injury.

Canadian Who's Who, 1992

Frommer's Portable Cancún

ABA Journal

ABA Journal

Frommer's Amalfi Coast with Naples, Capri & Pompeii