A friend of mine took a class that required writing 50-word essays. Fifty words. Exactly.
This summer has taught me a lot. The biggest lesson I've learned is the difference between the things I want and the things I need. I now realize how big of a difference that is.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
On the other hand...
I really had no idea how much I use my hands until last Saturday.
Anchoring guests on IWU's rock wall is pretty much routine for me at this point. I did it all of last summer, some during the school year, and then again this summer. The process is pretty simple: You climb with a rope hooked to you and I stand on the ground holding the other end. If you fall, my weight keeps you in place.
At least, that's how it's supposed to work.
A week ago today, I was belaying my first climber of the night. Everything was, as is always said before something bad happens, going normally until he fell. Still, normal. I've caught my fair share of overly ambitious climbers.
But this guy was different. Partially because he was probably about twice my weight. But mostly because when he fell, as often happens, he didn't stop.
For reasons I, nor any of the other people at the wall that day can explain, he kept falling. I tried to hold on to the rope to slow his descent, but it just kept rushing through my hands. When he landed, perfectly and miraculously unharmed, I realized my hands felt like they were on fire.
Second degree [rope] burns was the diagnosis. And the fun kept coming. While being driven to the emergency room, I partook of my first car accident. But wait, there's more! Since my hands were temporarily out of commission, I wasn't even able to buckle my seatbelt before we left. Again miraculously, I walked away from that wreck with the same amount of injuries I had going into it.
So all of that left me with two stubs for hands and enough painkillers to knock out a charging rhino. I was stuck like that. I couldn't open doors, tie shoes, take a shower, or even eat without the help of a friend. It was (and still is) an incredibly humbling experience, one that taught me a lot about pride, humbleness, and yes, being grateful for my hands.
As I type this, completely overjoyed that I have six available fingers to use, it's now hard for me to think of any aspect of my life that wasn't affected by this injury. I could try to pull some kind of deeper meaning out of this whole incident, and it might work. But really, I don't think I need to. Because I went a week without my hands. It wasn't easy. And I never want to do it again.
But on the other hand, if I take as much out of it as I hope to, maybe I'm glad it happened.
Anchoring guests on IWU's rock wall is pretty much routine for me at this point. I did it all of last summer, some during the school year, and then again this summer. The process is pretty simple: You climb with a rope hooked to you and I stand on the ground holding the other end. If you fall, my weight keeps you in place.
At least, that's how it's supposed to work.
A week ago today, I was belaying my first climber of the night. Everything was, as is always said before something bad happens, going normally until he fell. Still, normal. I've caught my fair share of overly ambitious climbers.
But this guy was different. Partially because he was probably about twice my weight. But mostly because when he fell, as often happens, he didn't stop.
For reasons I, nor any of the other people at the wall that day can explain, he kept falling. I tried to hold on to the rope to slow his descent, but it just kept rushing through my hands. When he landed, perfectly and miraculously unharmed, I realized my hands felt like they were on fire.
So all of that left me with two stubs for hands and enough painkillers to knock out a charging rhino. I was stuck like that. I couldn't open doors, tie shoes, take a shower, or even eat without the help of a friend. It was (and still is) an incredibly humbling experience, one that taught me a lot about pride, humbleness, and yes, being grateful for my hands.
But on the other hand, if I take as much out of it as I hope to, maybe I'm glad it happened.
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