A Small Life
Next Monday, I began.
The climbing club occupied three floors of an old warehouse near the river. From outside, the building looked abandoned. Inside, ropes hung from the ceiling, coloured holds covered the walls, and people willingly paid money to drag themselves towards places gravity clearly did not want them to reach.
I liked it immediately.
My Everest assessment had been brutally honest.
My endurance was good.
My balance was better than expected.
My upper-body strength, according to the trainer, needed “serious attention”.
He said it while looking at my arms with the grave disappointment of a farmer examining a failed crop.
So I trained.
I woke before sunrise and ran around the lake near my apartment. On weekdays, I spent two hours at the climbing club. Three ti
