I’m in a cafe trying hard to forget that I’m low on sleep. The covfefe helps.

What was it again that brought me here, surely not the ever increasing queue of life-admin that’ll no doubt combust in my face should I not crack on.

*sips coffee*

No one:

Brain: Remember that blog post about some Lisp developer changing the lyrics of that Johnny Cash song? Boy that was cool.

No one: …

Brain: We should do that but for climbing.

No one: ?

Great idea! But we can’t do the same song, that would be even lamer than doing this in the first place.

Brain: Do that one from The Sound of Music!

Me: Ugh, ew. Next idea.

Brain: What are your ideas?

Me: …

Well, that does it then.

Here’s my lyrical retelling of an old classic, reimagined to fit with the astute observation that climbers are really just masochists at heart:

Chalk dust in my eyes and toes that are mangled,
Slipping from slopers before the top mantle.
Blisters and bruises, my forearm is cramping,
These are a few of my masochist things.

Crimps that are tiny and slabs very greasy,
Volumes that spin, the footholds they tease me.
Beta so sketchy, the dynos they're spooky,
I can't help but feel my sends are just flukey.

Tape on my fingers, my shoes' stinky odor,
Faking I'm anything more than mediocre.
Tearing my tendons on pocketed swings,
These are a few of my masochist things.

When the skin tears, when the pump hits,
When Iā€™m feeling beat,
I simply remember my masochist things,
And get back to abusing... myyy feet. 

...

There’s more to the song… but I reeally should be getting back to that life admin stuff (unsurprisingly, not one of my favourite things).

Thanks for all the beta, until next time āœŒļø