this past weekend i did a fair amount of [secret] knitting and the clincher is that my hands are damaged not from the clinking of needles, but from bouldering in the park on saturday. the sun was out, the smell of deep spring was in the air and it was too warm for hand-knit wool socks. after visiting two local yarn shops i had never perused, i had to sprint home and grab my rock climbing shoes and chalk bag and go plaster myself onto a rock face. i was a bit ambitious for not having clumb in, oh, three and a half years, and managed to leave a large chunk of skin from my left middle finger on the rock.
then monday came around and after work i got itchy to take advantage of the warm air again. the significant other was back in town after a hiatus and we went to kick a soccer ball around in the small park closest to our place. soon a group of teenagers came and asked if they could play a pick up game with us, and we old-sters agreed (i made a stipulation that we would play only if the girls in their group joined in). i had forgotten that teenage energy is one of those volatile, pent-up, steam engine sorts of energy. we played a mean game (the s.o. and i were on separate teams) and in the process i blocked a shot with my hand while it was my turn to be goalie and the index finger on my left hand now has a nasty blood blister hanging out under the surface. luckily when rock climbing i completely cut off all my finger nails or the injury would have been much worse. all that to say that it’s not just knitting injuries (yes that needle that stabbed into my hand last week drew blood) giving me the appearance of a tough girl.
[the photo above is of my hand in October of 2003 in the forest of Fontainebleau south of Paris, home of incredible natural bouldering, and that was probably the last time i really went rock climbing]