Between an indoor rock and a fun place...

If you read my recent post on turning 40, then you'd know that since hitting that milestone, I have taken to trying new experiences as a way of dealing with encroaching middle / old age. I did the salsa dancing lessons thing which was nice but expensive; I'm doing the compulsive spinning-class thing which is not-so-nice but not very expensive either and I'll be doing the German language lessons thing later in the year - not sure if that will be nice at all, what with all those guttural sounds and all...and images of Angela Merkel dancing in my head. Like, what's with the pantsuits, Ange. Do you and Hilz get a two-for-one offer for heads of state? But I digress...

So to add to the laundry list of cool things to do before middle age officially sets in, and inspired by young Red Karpitz who is a recent convert to the activity (and wouldn't shut up about it), I went indoor rock-climbing with my adopted younger (and significantly hotter) sister Silky Karpitz just last week at a place in Melbourne, called the Hardrock Climbing Centre.

Oh. My. God.

The evening went a bit like this:

6:30pm - Arrive at Hardrock 30 mins ahead of agreed 7pm catchup with Silky. I like to do a reccy.
6:30-6:35pm - Admire strength, agility and overall hotness of climbers.
6:35pm-6:36pm - Start wondering what I'm even doing there.
6:37-6:45 - Have anxiety-induced meltdown. Internal stream-of-consciousness monologue of panic along the lines of - OhGodIhatehowmymotherneverletmedooutdoorsystuffwhenIwasakidIhateherIhateherIhateher...
6:46-6:50 - Start sending Silky panicked phone texts asking if it's too late to back out. Apparently it is and I should just chill the f#ck out until she gets there.
6:51 - Silky arrives just in time to talk me off the proverbial ledge and stop blaming my parents for who I am today.
6:52 - I take the advice Silky gives me along with a deep breath. I'm amazed she doesn't bitchslap me into the next millennium, the way I'm carrying on.

So for the next few minutes, we fill out the required paperwork and collect our gear - a harness-come-chastity-belt-type-thing with something called a 'carabina' dangling off it and a pair of climbing shoes.

I'm starting to get a bit distracted now, especially when the instructor starts running us through the basics of getting your harness right, attaching the ropes and then getting into the actual climbing part. There's two things you need to know - climbing (scaling the walls Batman-style) and belaying (handling / holding the climber's ropes and hoping you don't kill them) - the instructions are fairly straightforward and take around 15-20 minutes.

Then there's a practice climb on a shortish wall with easy hand- and foot-holds. Silky and I each take our turn going up and coming down. Suddenly, I'm hooked.

I'm sure the instructor can see the glint in our eyes now, so she sends us on our merry way with a knowing smile - I bet she's seen hundreds of middle-aged scaredy-cats go through the same internal meltdown before getting up on the wall.

"Stick to the climbs rated 15 or under" she says, so off we go.

And so we climb. We belay. We abseil. We tackle walls that look easy but turn out to be hard, and vice-versa. We wrinkle our noses at the occasional whiff of stale sweat that permeates the ropes, walls and floor. We make it half-way up some climbs and all the way up others. We laugh when each of us hasn't given the other enough slack rope when we try and stand up after coming down (do it and you'll know why that get's a laugh!). We enjoy the attention we get from some of the fit young things around us.

At one point, I'm at the top of my wall and have nowhere to go, so I turn my head to take a good look at my reflection in the glass and notice the expression on my face is not fear but elation and pure joy.  When I look down and I see Silky looking up at me and her sure hands are on the ropes, I know I'm safe and there's nothing to worry about. Apparently she too feels the same way about me when she looks down.

Two hours later, we've finally had enough. There's a pleasant soreness in our muscles and that overwhelmingly delicious languor that comes with the after-effects of an adrenalin rush. Along with an appetite like a racehorse.

Burgers, beer and ice-cream follow. The evening's events are deconstructed and we agree this is the Best Experience Ever.

I go home to Muddy giddy with the after-effects and I promise myself I'll do this again.

Silky and I have a date with a smelly rope tomorrow.  There will be Scotch Fillet steak sandwiches and beer to follow.  We can't wait.