I had another bruising night at the gym. After getting crushed and tearing my hands to bits, we went to Rachel's, one of the many restaurants that will seat a bunch of girls covered in chalk and sporting inexcusable hair. At Rachel's, we compared our calendars and mapped out our training schedule for the summer. We will be climbing Mt. Washington, Mt. Marcy, and if Sri has her way, we'll be going out to Colorado to climb Snowmass Mountain. We will also be hopping Breakneck a whole bunch of times and we'll do Gertrude's Nose a whole bunch too.
After reviewing this training schedule in its full glory, I started to feel a little bit trembly and squeamish.
Have I mentioned I am thick and ordinary? Have I told you I have been face first in a plate of cookies for the last eight months?
Yes. I have mentioned. I have told. You totally know.
Guess who else knows? My awesome (but mean) friends, who staged what might be categorized as a climbing intervention last night by saying, in no so many words:
We are not going to Africa and leaving a climber at camp five. We are ALL summiting. Time to come to Jesus, Nina.
OK so perhaps they didn't mention Jesus, seeing as one is Jewish, one is Buddhist, and the other is Muslim. But isn't it Jesus who is supposed to hook you up when you are short on whatever goodness you need to do better?
Tune in tomorrow for a Larry update. Yes, there is one.