Easter weekend, flush with sun and new friendships, I fell. I skidded forward on a trail and fell backwards. My palm was bruised, my ego knocked down a peg, but it wasn’t a big deal. The next week at Vantage with D. my wrist started to feel a little twingey. I figured I just slept on it funny.
Fast forward four weeks with constant pain. X-ray, scaphoid, brace.
Climbing has been the organizing principle in my life for the past two years. My friends are mostly climbers, my weekends are mostly climbing. My gym is a climbing gym, my yoga is to increase my balance and strength for climbing. I used to joke that I don’t need to date– my boyfriend is climbing. (Rather confusing to say that to someone who accurately thought I was single… as he looks around to find my boyfriend on a wall, not realizing I mean the wall. But that’s a different story). Climbing helped me find my strength.
I went for a second check-up yesterday, positive that the doctor would tell me we needed an MRI and that I had to take the whole summer off. I’ve been walking around like a glass mostly shattered and I was pretty sure this would be the final knock. Instead, he told me– ok, brace off. Don’t do a ton of push-ups, but you can work past pain now. Call me in a month if it’s still hurting, but you should see good progression this month.
I feel foolish. Many people suffer injuries that are way worse than a tiny fracture of the scaphoid. My friend R. has been out for months with a shoulder injury, and there are people who take falls that result in snapped bones and years off, not just four weeks. Four weeks isn’t a very long time. It was enough time to do some lovely hikes, to meet up with some non-climbing friends, to focus on building a brewery and see live music and make excessive dinners.
But climbing. Hi baby, I’m back.