sailing on restless sea from a memory
Sep. 18th, 2008 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hawkwing_lbAchievements:
Running: 1 mile in 9:20 minutes, 1.5 miles in 15 minutes, something over 2.0 miles in 25 minutes.
Miles treadmilled since 10-09-08: 14.85.
Climbing:
Proving that last night's success was not a fluke, I sent the grey 5+ again, although with rather more struggling this time around. Still. Not a fluke.
Saw some improvement on the black 5+, although not enough to get completely up and over the overhung part. I can put my hand on the hold on the vertical: the problem is moving up from there. Had a good run at the orange 5, except that everything went pearshaped for the last three moves and I ended up playing chicken and coming down, and gave the white 6a a flaily attempt. Still stuck about three-four metres up. Attempted the red 6b: I can get it started, but getting more than two metres up requires crimping, and rather better strength and technique than I can muster.
And because the one thing I remember from karate training is in order to improve, pratice technique when tired, I tried Old Reliable yellow 5 on the slab. Sent it quite a bit more cleanly than I have yet. Alas, when I moved on down to the white 4+, my arm strength completely disappeared and I ended up not finishing, but hey. Practice and progress.
(And how amazed am I that I can spend the better part of two and a half hours at the wall and come home not wanting to die? Even if my fingers feel rather abused right now.)
One thing I have learned from my first climbing session in shorts: I need longer shorts. Short ones, they causeth the chafing. Unfun.
Study:
45 minutes of Latin, which works out to the poor translation of six or seven sentences. I need to memorise the verb paradigms soon.
30 more pages of the Mattingly book. Mattingly? Is a good historian.
Writing: Maybe 400 words. And an idea for a story told in the second person singular present tense.
You're standing with your back to cold brick, watching the darkness, waiting. Smelling disinfectant and new paper and the ozone-warmth of working computers, hearing the creaks and sighs of an old building settling around you, the spatter of rain on the window at the corridor's far end. You're hungry, but that's nothing new: even the acid chill of fear in your gut can't drive hunger very far away, one of the consequences of living on rice or barley bread and lentils and not enough of either - a job working security at an underground club doesn't pay enough to have anything left over after you cover the rent on the one-room squat you share with your best friend.
Your best friend, the résistante. Who, if she's not careful, is going to get both of you killed before the night is out.
Drafty like a drafty thing. But it's reassuring that all my writing isn't stuck on the endless duellist b&^k.
Running: 1 mile in 9:20 minutes, 1.5 miles in 15 minutes, something over 2.0 miles in 25 minutes.
Miles treadmilled since 10-09-08: 14.85.
Climbing:
Proving that last night's success was not a fluke, I sent the grey 5+ again, although with rather more struggling this time around. Still. Not a fluke.
Saw some improvement on the black 5+, although not enough to get completely up and over the overhung part. I can put my hand on the hold on the vertical: the problem is moving up from there. Had a good run at the orange 5, except that everything went pearshaped for the last three moves and I ended up playing chicken and coming down, and gave the white 6a a flaily attempt. Still stuck about three-four metres up. Attempted the red 6b: I can get it started, but getting more than two metres up requires crimping, and rather better strength and technique than I can muster.
And because the one thing I remember from karate training is in order to improve, pratice technique when tired, I tried Old Reliable yellow 5 on the slab. Sent it quite a bit more cleanly than I have yet. Alas, when I moved on down to the white 4+, my arm strength completely disappeared and I ended up not finishing, but hey. Practice and progress.
(And how amazed am I that I can spend the better part of two and a half hours at the wall and come home not wanting to die? Even if my fingers feel rather abused right now.)
One thing I have learned from my first climbing session in shorts: I need longer shorts. Short ones, they causeth the chafing. Unfun.
Study:
45 minutes of Latin, which works out to the poor translation of six or seven sentences. I need to memorise the verb paradigms soon.
30 more pages of the Mattingly book. Mattingly? Is a good historian.
Writing: Maybe 400 words. And an idea for a story told in the second person singular present tense.
You're standing with your back to cold brick, watching the darkness, waiting. Smelling disinfectant and new paper and the ozone-warmth of working computers, hearing the creaks and sighs of an old building settling around you, the spatter of rain on the window at the corridor's far end. You're hungry, but that's nothing new: even the acid chill of fear in your gut can't drive hunger very far away, one of the consequences of living on rice or barley bread and lentils and not enough of either - a job working security at an underground club doesn't pay enough to have anything left over after you cover the rent on the one-room squat you share with your best friend.
Your best friend, the résistante. Who, if she's not careful, is going to get both of you killed before the night is out.
Drafty like a drafty thing. But it's reassuring that all my writing isn't stuck on the endless duellist b&^k.
