When I got married, I slowed down the pace of my rock climbing. Then when I found out I was pregnant with my son, I stopped altogether. I decided that if the hubby could give up his penchant for fast cars and take up the responsibility that goes with being a family man, then I could give up my love for rock climbing, too (although I still maintain that rock climbing is a much safer hobby compared to racing).
After a two and a half year absence from rock climbing, I find my hands itching to climb. Ah heck! Who am I kidding? My hands were itching to climb a lot earlier than this.
Sometimes, late at night, when I’m trawling the net and looking enviously at the climbing photos of friends, I wonder if I could go back to rock climbing and be satisfied if I can’t climb like I used to. Would I be able to stand the inevitable disappointment that my body cannot climb as well as my mind remembers? Would I be able to accept the fact that I won’t have the time to dedicate to climbing like I used to so that I could bring myself back to that level?
And as the days move into months and the months to years, I wonder if I have passed the time for such activities. And then I see an article about Running America talking about Marshall Ulrich (age 57) and Charlie Engle (age 43) who ran 3045 miles (up to 70 miles a day) and I feel inspired. If they can still be running at those ages, then surely I can still be rock climbing at that age, too.
One of the things about climbing that I liked which was unlike a lot of power sports where being five years older can seriously affect your performance, you can still climb just as well and better if you set yourself to it.