IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR. A white cloak blankets the forest floor, feathery pillows adorn the pine boughs, and the snow dampens all sound, transforming the wilderness into a winter wonderland. It’s terrible. All the rock is either too wet or too cold to climb, and this shit goes on for, like, three months. That’s right—now is the season when you might as well go ice climbing. What else are you going to do? Weave through kids on leashes at the ski resort? Suffocate in a sauna? Snuggle with your significant other under a warm blanket, next to a crackling fire, eating Nutella with a spoon while binge-watching that new HBO series? Those all sound really nice, but you should still go ice climbing, I guess.
You are a “climber,” aren’t you? That’s enough to feel obligated to like ice climbing. Sure, when you climb ice, there’s no direct connection with the medium, problem-solving with differentiated movement, or reliable protection, but both ice and rock involve going up and include the word “climbing.” What are you going to do, climb in the gym all winter? As the pundits on climbing forums agree: Nothing rad happens indoors. The gym is for mutant children and people on first dates who bought Groupons. If you want to be rad, you must​ go outside, and in winter that means ice. I’m sorry; you don’t have a lot of options.
Think of it this way: If you were locked in a room for three months and all you had to eat were Milk-Bones, you’d eat the Milk- Bones. In this metaphor, winter is the room, Milk-Bones are ice climbing, and rock climbing is real food—which is locked in a much nicer room down the hall.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der Issue 159-Ausgabe von Climbing.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der Issue 159-Ausgabe von Climbing.
Starten Sie Ihre 7-tägige kostenlose Testversion von Magzter GOLD, um auf Tausende kuratierte Premium-Storys sowie über 8.000 Zeitschriften und Zeitungen zuzugreifen.
Bereits Abonnent? Anmelden
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