The gush of lactic acid into my forearms, feeling the heat of the morning as my body works overtime and exerts the muscles, beads of sweat rolling from my cheeks down to my neck, dripping. As the breeze runs through me, my sweat-stricken body feels the cool chill of the breeze as the perspiration evaporates off my skin. It feels great to be alive.
The sore raw-ness of the skin on my fingers as it grips the rough surface of the rock tile.... how my fingers throb with each push of blood into it.... the adrenaline surge with every lunge I take on the rocks.... its the painful pleasure of being aware of your existence...
Even as one of my fingers ballooned and swelled I am amused at how I sprained it... and only noticed the sprain when I saw my little ballooney finger. The pain concealed beyond the bandage tapes and the soreness of the skin, the pain concealed at my joy and love of the sport. Its all worth it.
At the end of a good back-breaking, muscle-straining climb, I continue my day, reeking of sweat and dusted with chalk, and of course, leaving with a trophy of toned, veiny arms.
