I start a mountaineering class tomorrow. I think this means, like, rock-climbing and also how to not die if you start falling down down snow into a crevasse. I have that vague idea.
Every time someone hears that I'm taking this class, their response is, "Are you going to climb [the Mountain That Overlooks the City]?" and the answer is no. I am not going to climb the Mountain That Overlooks the City, and the reason why I am not going to climb the Mountain that Overlooks the City is because that mountain has a bad habit of throwing large rocks on people's heads at random and killing them, or dropping people into crevasses (presumably, although we don't actually know because the people are never found). So no, I will stay off that mountain, thank you very much.
(I reserve the right to change my mind about this. BUT, if I do, I will take a Mountain Locator Unit. I want to be findable.)
Nonetheless, I am taking the class.
Yesterday I trekked off to one of the mountain stores, where I put on harnesses and hung from the ceiling for a while. Yeah, that's a thing you do. You want to be only somewhat miserable, not totally miserable, from straps cutting into your legs and waist.
I learned the following:
- Despite having fairly skinny chicken legs, I have to open the leg holes all the way to fit them on my thighs. How...?
- No matter how tightly I cinch the waist belt, even to the point of pain, I can still twist my fingers around between the belt and my waist. You are not supposed to be able to turn two fingers when you put them between your skin and the belt. It's like I'm just mushy or something.
- It seems that I have a narrow gap between my ribs and my hip bones, because the expensive, wide belts dug into my ribs like whoa. Saved me 20 bucks!
Actually, I haven't made the purchase yet (the harness is on hold), because apparently we get a coupon at class tomorrow night. Winning.