Acabé muerta y, por supuesto, llena de moretones y raspaduras. De regreso me venía durmiendo en el coche, pero un baño me dejó como nueva. El día terminó muy a gusto en el patio de la casa, platicando de todo lo que hay bajo el sol (y arriba y alrededor de él), con una cenita super sencilla de pizzas y cervezas. Hoy amanecí mucho más adolorida que la vez pasada, pero con ganas de volver a la roca.
Back to the rocks: this time we went to Wilton 3, North of Manchester (and Salford). This used to be a quarry that now alternates between a shooting range and climbing rocks. Maybe I'm more aware now of what to expect and what to do, or maybe the rocks were really different, but I found it harder to finish some of the routes. I was up in the last stretch, trying and failing to find where to hold on or where to put my feet, and in the end, tired, I came back to firm land. In my last (and first) post on climbing, I said I managed to not quit, no matter how hard it was, but I don't feel like a failure today: choose your battles, know when to quit, yada-yada. It's just that sometimes you're too tired to see the way out and coming back, resting a bit, and observing how others manage might be a good idea. The first routes, called Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Mo (no, really; rocks here have the weirdest names), are at most 10m high. The last one, a giant diagonal staircase, goes up to 14m. Not bad, even though I didn't go up the last 30 cm (or whatever it was).
I was falling asleep on the way back, and of course I was bruised and battered, but a bath and a shower fixed me up. We ended up by having a nice, relaxing evening in our backyard, discussing every possible thing under the sun (and above and around it), over pizzas and beer. And today I'm sore and stiff, but ready for more.
View from the top
A rock we did not attempt
If I'd paid more attention to my grandfather's geological explanations, I might be able to tell you something about this rocks