One of the things I like about trying new sports is being bad at them. At this point in my life, I generally do things I’m good at, incompetency sort of makes me feel like a child again. So on Sunday, when I went rock climbing, I took some comfort in my awfulness. I had trouble getting up the easiest pitch and even belaying was a challenge. The next day, my hands were so sore I could barely hold a pen.
I also banged myself up pretty bad. I hit my legs against the rock several times, a rope fell on me and I tripped. But this isn’t a complaint. I like showing off my black and blues. It’s perverse, but I’ve always been proud of my injuries. I have pictures of 15 year-old bruises from summer camp.
I’m not really sure why this is. Maybe it’s a fascination with my healing body or the chance to tell a story. I know I’m not alone in this, but it isn’t a universal pleasure. Other people hate getting hurt, and for good reason.
What do you think about black and blues? In my blogging experience, I know open threads only work if people read your site. So, my 23 Google Reader RSS'ers, I’m counting on you.