Climbing small rocks loudly

Climbing small rocks loudly...

Went to the local crag to climb a problem that I have been working on for a while. You know, the whole climbing small rocks loudly thing. Among the various routes were, of course, various peoples. A group of anti-dogmatic dogmatists, a group of four on a date-I am sure the two guys had been out in the woods a few times, and deemed themselves able in knowledge and skill to impress girls with chalky hands and some swings from a rope. On a real pumper route, big jugs and some reaches, were some local iron pumpers with ridiculously out of proportioned arms, big bellies and twig legs, yelling, "arrrrggg,..sstttaaadd!, hoooyaaa!"...falling and falling, big arming there way to exhaustion.
I meandered my way through the chaos, found the route that had been giving me trouble and began to get the blood flowing, a few more manageable routes near by did the trick, and then I went to work. The first move is a left and right match as your body hangs horizontal to the ground, and right leg extends out pushing off a jelly bean pebble, flag-ing the left into space to keep balance. Big right hand to a weird pinch, the top is crimpy, like a pin scare, nothing but finger tips, but the pinch with the thumb on the bottom makes it okay. Left hand to a harmonica protruding at the lip of the ceiling you have to pull over, match again, and then some weird feet to boost to the last four crimpy moves.Right hand to a three finger slosper, reach high left to a pretty chewy one, but the edge cuts the fingers. Finally the last two, plenty of edge, but they are sloped in the shape of a letter 'a'...just makes for a awkward pull. Mainly just got to remember to breathe, weird that you can't think right, or move right without air, who would have thought. I have been working on it for about three weeks now. Working in the climbing gym, and other routes to get strong enough, mentally, physically, spiritually. And today was the day. In the words of Sir Hillary..."well, we knocked the bastard off". It was done, over. Weeks of preparation, sore hands, achy muscles, and lack of sleep obsessing over this problem.
And there in the serenity of the aspens and chill air, I again looked around to the company that I was sharing in the crag. There were many people there, however, I was utterly alone. Finished, a conqueror, I sat at the base of the route for a moment or two, picked up the chalk, changed my shoes, hopped on my bicycle and cruised home, smiling and laughing to myself. There was no hooray, or high five. No "whoa! yeah bro!" And with the wind in my hair and sun in my eyes, pedaling home I realized that I did not want any of that. I was happy, a moment of pure bliss. The personal gratification of conquering myself. Physically, mentally, spiritually.
I was done, and off to find another, something a bit harder, a little higher, and maybe with less oxygen? Hahaha, it is the call of the wild; sounding deep with in our hearts. Calling, challenging us to venture forth to further purify ourselves in Natures testing grounds. Void of the world's and societies' "prescriptions" for happiness, we throw our bodies against the wind, hail, rain, snow, frigid temperatures, hunger, pain, and whatever else She sees our hearts need...and why? So I can ride my bicycle home, wind in the hair, sun in the eyes, and a smile on my face, to walk in the door to be asked, "how was climbing today?", and then be able to respond,..."good, yeah it was good. I will probably go again tomorrow..."
"Get out there! Climb mountains bag peaks run the rivers and breathe deep that yet sweet and lucid mountain air!"...

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