What Goes Up Must Come Down

Despite all the fun I've had climbing these past few weeks, I've known full well the risk I've been taking bouldering with an injury that hasn't completely healed. It makes me want to just fucking explode, but, predictably, I re-injured my finger this past weekend whilst pulling on some risky holds. I might have even made it worse than it was initially. Why even blog about this? I guess it's sort of like writing a journal and showing it to everyone despite how annoying and embarrassing it can sometimes be. Perhaps someone will find some insight in the course of events that led me to disregard my own gut instincts and 'go for it', as it were, until something failed. What failed, predictably, was the weakest link:  my healing-but-not-yet-healed collateral ligament.

Over the past month, I was pretty keen on getting back into climbing as my finger injury seemed to be healing well. In fact, it was feeling positively great. Some light use of it seemed beneficial and of course as time went on, I began to try harder and harder, always with the idea that I would back off if it seemed like too much. Well, that chance is not always offered in this life. I had plenty of warning: soreness while climbing, especially on a certain crimpy problem that I should have avoided like plague. To make matters even more ridiculous, I had already done a 'higher' standing start and wanted to do a sit start that added one move. It already was making my finger hurt. Before the ill-fated attempt, I sat in the sun, chalked up and listened as my inner dialogue warned me strongly against what I was about to do. I had a very clear sense that my body was telling me almost verbally to back off and keep sitting in the sun instead of climbing. It being impossible to learn from past mistakes (three of them up to that point, now four; all identical), I of course scoffed at what turned out to be a rather prophetic warning. I pulled onto the rock and climbed the problem. I tried to avoid using my bad finger on the worst of the holds, but clearly failed to do so. As I pulled onto a stance before the 30 foot slab topout, I realized something didn't seem right. Fuck. As I pulled onto the top of the boulder I knew without a doubt that something was very wrong. Double fuck.

Conclusions? If I'm lucky I'll have them from the doctor in about 10 hours. I have a terrible premonition about what might be amiss but I will wait for the X-ray to hopefully prove me wrong. The moral of this story is so annoyingly simple that I probably don't even need to type the relevant cliches. But hey, why not?

-Listen to your body. If you have a very strong 'gut feeling' about what course to take, it's probably the correct one.

-Don't expect injured body parts to be able to sustain full activity until they're healed.

-Most importantly: don't be a fucking idiot.

That is all.

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