Who would have thought after years of saying you'd never see me rock climb, not ever ever ever, that one Kimberley Jane Rothwell not only attempted to climb at a Mt Wellington indoor rock climbing place, but asked to do it more?
Who would have thought, that although she freaks out at escalators and bridges, Ms Rothwell would actually proclaim, after abseiling down a zillion metre high wall, that rock climbing was fun?
And who in the whole wide world, in the history of mankind, would have thought that Ms Rothwell would then say to her boyfriend that she wanted to go every time she was in Auckland?
Not me, anyway.
Derek took me to a place where little kids were scampering up walls like Daddy Long Legs', and other serious, harnessed-up people were sitting around eating energy bars and drinking sports water in a very serious, sporty kind of way. Some of them were talking about 'moves' and practicing on a little wall with big crash mats underneath, as if warming up for the Olympic games of rock climbing. And then there were the two Asian hotties who climbed up (or should I say along) a piece of wall that was as horizontal as a ceiling, clinging to it upside with pink faces but looking otherwise effortless. One of them had his shirt off but wore a wolly hat. Phoar.
I'm not a natural climber, Derek told me, and I bashed my head on an overhangy bit at one stage, but my Miss Puniverse arms hung in there and my former thighs of steel came in handy. I don't think I'd ever catch myself doing it outside on actual rock, but inside, where I know I can't really hurt myself, is ok for now.
Now, where have I left my corn thins?
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