Believe it or not, the next article will deal with a serious issue revolving around the future of our sport. Basically, as the number of indoor rock climbing gyms increase exponentially across the nation, the potential for over-commercialization of rock climbing grows close.
Or does it? I contemplate whether or not all publicity for climber's is good publicity or perhaps the inherent purity in climbing is sliding dangerously close to deterioration as more teenage-mutant training farms explode across the country. But then again, an increased public awareness serves as the base for athletic recognition, which in turn could lead to the development of an intramural sport. Paid athletes? And not just Sharma and Tommy. Perhaps, whole teams on a High School level.
And who is better to comment on the past, present, and future of our capricious climbing culture than Mark Richey, a world-class rock climber and mountaineer of unparalled proportions; not to mention the past president of the American Alpine Club and current representative for the UIAA.
Coming up next month...Mark Richey and the future of rock climbing: media covered sport or isolated individual endeavor?
And some more Dawson's Creek with Little Jimmy (below)...maybe...if I don't get in trouble first...
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A Story of Unrequited Love: 1st Installment
Jimmy Jacob Jr. sat hunched over in the corner of the cave fervently admiring the bursting veins in his forearms.
“Jumping crocodiles -- these monsters could kill!” he thought to himself. “I hope some girls notice them. They are primed right now!”
He loved his forearms, especially when they were extra-pumped and exceptionally robust after a stellar performance in the plastic jungle. After losing interest, he moved onto his pecks, subtly flexing one after the other while shooting furtive glances around the gym to see if anyone was watching. Unfortunately, they were not.
“Damn it,” he thought. “I suppose I could do a few more quick laps and then walk around for a bit with my arms splayed out to the side -- sort of like a gorilla.”
Super plan Jim.
There was no doubt that little Jimmy Jr. had a dynamite idea, but suddenly his self-indulgent theatrics were fractured by the impromptu appearance of a beautiful, young stallion. A lady climber. He watched her flash a purple ID card at the front desk. Jimmy new right away that this could only mean one thing: she was a certified MetroRock lead climber.
“More like a certified MetroRock babe!” he thought to himself.
It was more than clear that Jimmy was overwhelmed by her seemingly omnipresent allure. As she floated through the entrance onto the inviting carpet of blue, ankle-sprainer padding, the suave and sophisticated Jimmy “Debonair” Jr. deflated with the recoil of his pompously puffed-out chest. Floundering with nerves like a school boy at his first school dance, he began to chalk up with such enthusiasm that it looked like he was trying to start a fire by rubbing the very skin off his palms. Sweat began to percolate around his brow.
Easy little Jim. One step at a time.
Luckily, she spun around before approaching any closer to throw her gear in the convenient, pre-school cubbies. MetroRock loves their little, green cubbies. Giggling among her friends, she returned to the vast blue sea of flooring to begin her pre-crush stretching routine.
This gave Mr. Jimbob just enough time to chalk his hands up about 36 more times; all the while meticulously composing his precogitated dialogue. Jim, somehow managing to break away from the chalk bag before injuring himself, clumsily stumbled in for the first move, snagging a foot on the carpet. Sometimes that velcro-tape holding the foam strips together can sneak up on you. Nonetheless, he continued unhindered.
She noticed him bumbling across the gym as if he had just learned to walk. Naturally, she could not help but smile. Its important to recognize the fact that this was not a “oh look he’s cute” smile, but rather a “oh look at the huge dork flailing” smile.
Regardless, Jimmy was pleased to see that he was noticed.
“Hi. How ya’ doin? I’m Jimmy. You can call me Jimbo. So did you come into climb today?” Jimmy asked with lightening quick speed as if she might sporadically evaporate before he could finish his sentence.
Well, of course she came into climb today you big dufus. Come on Jim, get it together.
“Hey Jimbo. I’m Cynthia,” she replied somewhat uneasily with a hollow laugh splintered with trepidation. “Yeah, I think I’m goin’ do some climbin’ today.”
“Oh good. Nice….nice. Nice,” echoed Jimmy, searching for words that would not come.
Awkward silence.
“Me too. Are those your shoes?” he said with matched vivacity and quickness, pointing at the La Sportiva Ferrari’s already laced up and cutting off the circulation in her feet.
“You mean the shoes on my feet?” she politely asked with a raised brow.
Jim vigorously nodded his head up and down like a jackhammer on concrete.
“Um…yeah. These are mine. I like em’ a lot.”
“I like -- I think we should date,” Jimmy belligerently fired off with eyes as wide as an owl.
“What did you say?”
Before Jimmy was given the opportunity to mollify the disastrous calamity he had just created, Cynthia’s attention was quickly displaced by two approaching stud-muffins: Chris and Rob, Gods among mere mortals of the MetroRock kingdom.
“We got some new -- totally burly problems for you to try Cyn,” boasted Chris, arms crossed as if he were the gatekeeper of some unknown plastic, pulling paradise.
“Dude, please. She is going to absolutely crush those problems,” retorted Rob. “You set piles anyway, brahem.”
The trio hurried off to warm up, leaving poor Jimmy behind with nothing but an empty chalk bag and an equally empty heart. He had to get her back, but impressing her while she cranked with the likes of the Ruggedly Ripped Rob and the Cool Handed Crushing Chris was about as likely as Jessica Simpson correctly reciting her ABC's.
Jimmy headed for the front desk to change the music to his special Matrix theme mix, with a splash of Justin Timberlake for added flavor. He had a new plan...
“Jumping crocodiles -- these monsters could kill!” he thought to himself. “I hope some girls notice them. They are primed right now!”
He loved his forearms, especially when they were extra-pumped and exceptionally robust after a stellar performance in the plastic jungle. After losing interest, he moved onto his pecks, subtly flexing one after the other while shooting furtive glances around the gym to see if anyone was watching. Unfortunately, they were not.
“Damn it,” he thought. “I suppose I could do a few more quick laps and then walk around for a bit with my arms splayed out to the side -- sort of like a gorilla.”
Super plan Jim.
There was no doubt that little Jimmy Jr. had a dynamite idea, but suddenly his self-indulgent theatrics were fractured by the impromptu appearance of a beautiful, young stallion. A lady climber. He watched her flash a purple ID card at the front desk. Jimmy new right away that this could only mean one thing: she was a certified MetroRock lead climber.
“More like a certified MetroRock babe!” he thought to himself.
It was more than clear that Jimmy was overwhelmed by her seemingly omnipresent allure. As she floated through the entrance onto the inviting carpet of blue, ankle-sprainer padding, the suave and sophisticated Jimmy “Debonair” Jr. deflated with the recoil of his pompously puffed-out chest. Floundering with nerves like a school boy at his first school dance, he began to chalk up with such enthusiasm that it looked like he was trying to start a fire by rubbing the very skin off his palms. Sweat began to percolate around his brow.
Easy little Jim. One step at a time.
Luckily, she spun around before approaching any closer to throw her gear in the convenient, pre-school cubbies. MetroRock loves their little, green cubbies. Giggling among her friends, she returned to the vast blue sea of flooring to begin her pre-crush stretching routine.
This gave Mr. Jimbob just enough time to chalk his hands up about 36 more times; all the while meticulously composing his precogitated dialogue. Jim, somehow managing to break away from the chalk bag before injuring himself, clumsily stumbled in for the first move, snagging a foot on the carpet. Sometimes that velcro-tape holding the foam strips together can sneak up on you. Nonetheless, he continued unhindered.
She noticed him bumbling across the gym as if he had just learned to walk. Naturally, she could not help but smile. Its important to recognize the fact that this was not a “oh look he’s cute” smile, but rather a “oh look at the huge dork flailing” smile.
Regardless, Jimmy was pleased to see that he was noticed.
“Hi. How ya’ doin? I’m Jimmy. You can call me Jimbo. So did you come into climb today?” Jimmy asked with lightening quick speed as if she might sporadically evaporate before he could finish his sentence.
Well, of course she came into climb today you big dufus. Come on Jim, get it together.
“Hey Jimbo. I’m Cynthia,” she replied somewhat uneasily with a hollow laugh splintered with trepidation. “Yeah, I think I’m goin’ do some climbin’ today.”
“Oh good. Nice….nice. Nice,” echoed Jimmy, searching for words that would not come.
Awkward silence.
“Me too. Are those your shoes?” he said with matched vivacity and quickness, pointing at the La Sportiva Ferrari’s already laced up and cutting off the circulation in her feet.
“You mean the shoes on my feet?” she politely asked with a raised brow.
Jim vigorously nodded his head up and down like a jackhammer on concrete.
“Um…yeah. These are mine. I like em’ a lot.”
“I like -- I think we should date,” Jimmy belligerently fired off with eyes as wide as an owl.
“What did you say?”
Before Jimmy was given the opportunity to mollify the disastrous calamity he had just created, Cynthia’s attention was quickly displaced by two approaching stud-muffins: Chris and Rob, Gods among mere mortals of the MetroRock kingdom.
“We got some new -- totally burly problems for you to try Cyn,” boasted Chris, arms crossed as if he were the gatekeeper of some unknown plastic, pulling paradise.
“Dude, please. She is going to absolutely crush those problems,” retorted Rob. “You set piles anyway, brahem.”
The trio hurried off to warm up, leaving poor Jimmy behind with nothing but an empty chalk bag and an equally empty heart. He had to get her back, but impressing her while she cranked with the likes of the Ruggedly Ripped Rob and the Cool Handed Crushing Chris was about as likely as Jessica Simpson correctly reciting her ABC's.
Jimmy headed for the front desk to change the music to his special Matrix theme mix, with a splash of Justin Timberlake for added flavor. He had a new plan...
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