Thought you might like a lil peek into Chapter 3. Here y'go :)
Lacing my too-tight shoes and rolling the chalk ball
from my bag in my hands, I head over to the holds near the doorway. Always a
creature of habit, I reach, push, and lunge my way around the cave, before
turning back and doing it the other way.
My hands are still feeling okay, but I don’t doubt that
this new green beast is going to kill me. This will take me a few attempts,
surely.
Some time, and quarter of a Led Zeppelin album later, I
still can’t get past the shitty layback* move about a quarter of the way
around. Whoever set this must be tall—and totally discriminatory to short
people. Sure, the next hold is rather...protruding...but for me, it’s just too
fucking far away.
Lying face-up on the floor mat and rolling my wrists, I
stare intently at the colored, bobbled wall, silently begging the too-far-away
holds to shift a little closer. The music isn’t loud enough to drown out the
two sets of footfalls across the mezzanine floor, or the accompanying voices.
“Seriously, dude. It was a chick that ticked it.”
—Emmett.
“‘Chalked Up’? No fucking way. You didn’t tell me that!
I only pulled that one off twice myself.”—Unknown man.
“I’m telling you, dude, she’s badass.” I smile at
Emmett’s praise. The footsteps seem to pass by the door to the cage.
Giving myself a quiet little fist pump at my “badassness,”
I hop to my feet with a boost of confidence. I wriggle my fingers, chalk my
hands, and take position back on the wall at the layback.
With my feet on separate, reasonable-sized holds, my
hands are spaced around shoulder-width apart. I’m leaning back, my weight
centered just outside my right foot. Adjusting my feet to the next holds, I
look again at the next reach. While it’s not impossible, I’m going to need some
serious momentum.
Focusing on the hold over my head, I block everything
else out. I need both my arms and legs to gain momentum. I swing my whole body
once...twice...three times. At full stretch, I reach, and hold my breath.
My right hand grasps around the next hold. Using my feet
to scramble, I finish with my feet locked around two hook shaped holds, both
hands grasping the large, comfortable plastic shape above my head. Pleased with
myself, I close my eyes and just hang there for a minute, relishing in my own
badassness.
“Nice Dyno*, Chalky!” Emmett’s voice resonates through
the small space, as he gives me a single-man ovation.
“Your name is Chalky?” a silken voice asks. My eyes fly
open.
Standing in the cave opening, leaning casually on the
side of the doorframe with perfect forearms crossed, is the Bulldozer.
Turns out I was right. He is definitely a climber.
