Moving on: I got home last night from my first grown-up vacation ever. Naturally, I decided to vacate to the place where I once lived and worked. And it was nothing short of glorious. After traveling day one, running around day two, and shooting an engagement session day three, I didn’t make the effort to pick my camera up the rest of the week. All I have for you is this:

And I took it this morning. In Delaware. I share it with you now because I missed this little mug while I was gone.

Besides for drinking out of Tracy’s mugs, you may wonder what I did with my time (after the first few days of craziness). I slept. I read. I slept a bit more and read a little bit more after that. I went shopping and bought a dress. Then I helped out at my church’s vacation Bible school. Then I sweated profusely. I sat on the lake, I cruised the lake, I read next to the lake. Did I mention I slept?

When I wasn’t sleeping or reading I was spending time with dear, dear friends. Most of my trips up there recently have been a whirlwind of catchupcatchupcatchup/howmanytimescanIrepeatthisbeforeIgoinsane. This time around, I had seven days to spend time with people and reconnect with my old community; I played games (and won, mind you), I made new friends and I laughed. I laughed a lot.

Words cannot express how good this time was for me; on top of all the necessary resting and laughing, I prayed. I surrendered. I reconnected with Jesus. If there were one theme to sum up my vacation, it would lie in the words of one of my favorite hymns:

1. ’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
Just to know “Thus saith the Lord!”

2. O how sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to trust His cleansing blood;
Just in simple faith to plunge me
’Neath the healing, cleansing flood!

3. Yes ’tis sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just from sin and self to cease;
Just from Jesus simply taking
Life and rest, and joy and peace.

4. I’m so glad I learned to trust Thee,
Precious Jesus, Savior, friend;
And I know that Thou art with me,
Wilt be with me to the end.

Refrain: Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more!

(Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus, Public Domain)

Enjoy!

I free fell for 5-7 feet, then pendulum swung for another 10-15. By the time I made it to the impact zone, my back was against the wall. Essentially I belly flopped, but with my back instead. I bounced once, then came back for a second impact. Both times, I hit my lower back, left shoulder and my head.

As soon as my body stopped swinging, my interpreter on the ground (Night in Shining Armor #1) called and asked if I was ok. I vaguely remember giving a thumbs up or something similar to let him know I wasn’t unconscious. Then I told him I needed to come down, to which he yelled for Pedro to lower me to the anchor for the first pitch. That’s where I was before, when I was belaying P-Diddy; where I took this photo:

As soon as I got back there, Night in Shining Armor #2 had come on to the scene. NISA#1 had been belaying him for a climb that was right next to mine. By the grace of God, he finished his climb just as I fell and was mere feet from the anchor I was being lowered to. He met me at that anchor and tied himself and I into it. Then he untied my rope, so Pedro could rappel down and tied me into his.

During this whole process, I was trying to help. I’m a sufficient climber; I know what a sling is and how to tie knots and how to loosen knots that have been fallen on. I didn’t want to feel helpless, but I was really just getting in the way. I couldn’t do anything except focus on how tired I felt and how much I didn’t want to throw up on NISA#2.

At one point in time, I even said, “I might throw up on you.” He graciously replied that that would be ok. He later confessed that me vomiting on him 60 feet in the air would have really sucked.

After he tied me into his rope, NISA#1 lowered me down and helped get me stable. NISA#2 came shortly after and we all introduced ourselves as we waited on Pablo to rap down.

When he arrived on the ground, I immediately had him feel the knot on my head, which was HUGE. Then, he made an observation that made me immediately thankful for multiple things. He said, “you got that knot through your helmet.” Through.my.helmet. This is what it looked like after I ran it into a mountain twice:

I was, and still very much am, thankful for this helmet. Without the foresight of Pedro, without the purchase that at the time seemed frivolous, without this helmet on my head I would have smeared my brains all over the rock. I would have either ended up in a coma in a random, NY hospital or singing praises to Jesus in Heaven. I am thankful for those Nights in Shining Armor willing to help a confused girl down off a cliff. I’m thankful for Peabody’s willingness to lay the rest of his climbing day aside and take care of me.

That was about the time where I decided to send my mom a text message alluding to my fall and letting her know that I was fine. Alive. I suppose I sent the text so she would be forewarned when I told her 4 hours later I was driving home. I threw my phone back into my bag and went to lay in the hammock that was graciously provided for me; Peter Parker had to climb back up and get all the gear I left.

My mom called, left a voicemail and texted me four times.

When I finally called back, she was sufficiently nervous. She works in our local ER and sees all types of crazy stuff; apparently head injuries are a big deal. Over the phone, we discussed how I was getting home, etc. I told her I didn’t feel comfortable driving, but we weren’t scheduled to leave for a few hours. I had hopes that my brain would stop swelling by then. Or something like that.

While I was hanging out, I took a few photos of the carnage. And honestly, these are pretty easy on the eyes compared to how the late-blooming bruises affected my body.

My arm:

Pretend a big, blue and yellow ring lies around my elbow. That’s how it looked a few days later.

And my wrist:

This is grade-A rock rash. It comes standard with most climbing; you mostly see it on knuckles though.

There’s also rock rash on my tailbone and a lovely bruise there too. For the sake of modesty, however, there are no photos.

And for that, you can be thankful.

After the gear was cleaned up and packed away, Pedro and I discussed our afternoon. He, by the grace of God — yet again — had gotten a ride down to The Gunks with some acquaintances. I asked if he wanted to drive me home in my car, and he being the logical one, asked how he would, in turn, get home himself. I didn’t know. And I blamed the silly idea on my concussion.

Seeing that we were done climbing for the day, the only logical thing to do was to move towards the car. As we were hiking out, Pumpernickel mentioned his parent’s house. Knowing his folks well, this was a possibility that ran through my mind too, but it would also involve me staying the night and driving home the next day. And I had plans.

Then he said the golden words, “If we leave now, we can make home in time for dinner.”

Yep. I’m sold.

To read that part of the saga, check out this post.

And to sum up this ridiculously long story, my head is recovering slowly. Two weeks later, the bump and sensitivity is still there, but decreases every day. I felt like I got hit by a Mac truck for a while, but that too is receding slowly. My rock rash is losing the scab, which makes it really itchy. I’m sure people think I have poison oak or something weird.

And the helmet?

Helmets like this (or all helmets, I think) are only graded for one big hit. Mine wasn’t even 24 days old when it was forced to retire. I was planning on polling your input and scheming a way to destroy it, but donated it instead.

An EMS guide wants to use it as an object lesson when he teaches folks how to climb.

Apparently the number one preventable climbing injury is a head injury.

The number two? Rappelling of the end of your rope.

Pedro called to confirm/discuss the details for a last minute endeavor: climbing at The Gunks. Upon discussing the whens, wheres and hows, he mentioned I should buy a helmet. When I lived in New York I had 20 helmets available to me at any given time. Now that I live in boring Delaware, I must fend for myself.

The Gunks, Pedro explained, are swarming with climbers every day. Many climbers + loose rock = hazards. Helmets are a great way to protect one’s noggin from getting nailed with a rock someone threw out of their way and never yelled the code word for flying rock (it happens to be “rock!”). Or maybe they yelled the code word, but because of the quantities of climbers around you, you can’t tell where it’s coming from.

I digress. I needed a helmet. On the subsequent Saturday, I stopped at my local EMS to pick one up. And I fell in love. Best.helmet.ever.

Sunday, I arose from my slumber at 4:45am — this is what the outdoor culture calls an Alpine Start — and was on the road by 5:30am. I made it to The Gunks by 9:30(ish) with coffee for Pedro in hand.

And at this point in time, I bet you’re all wondering when I’m going to get to the actual story — the one where I ran into 260 foot mountain? I’m getting there. Here’s a photo to appease you.

While we were racking up, I was given the camera. This was my view for most of the expedition — belaying Pedro.

We were climbing a multi-pitch climb, trad, with Pedro leading. This essentially means that Pedro climbed first, placed protection on his way up, found a resting point and anchored in, then I climbed after him cleaning that protection as I went all while relying on his anchor.

Your local Public Service Announcement: Climb with people you trust. Trust your climbing partner.

I would trust Pedro if he told me jumping motorcycles like Evel Knievel was a good idea. Which is essentially how I ended up falling; following his lead. You see, Mr. Pedro is a solid 12 inches taller than I. Me? I’m 5’4″. Pedro? Yeah he’s 6’4″. Things that are easy for him to reach are impossible for me to even think of.

The tale you’ve been waiting for: Pedro led the first pitch and anchored in about 60 feet above the ground/me. From there, I climbed up to meet him and anchored myself in. Then he climbed the second pitch, which led him over two overhangs, all while I belayed and took photos (see above and below).

Without explaining the difference between 5.6 and 5.8 and 5.11, there are different grades to climbing levels. As you would expect, your climbing skill level reflects the intensity of the climbs you’re consistently successful on. For now, we’ll call those levels Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced and Expert. Pedro is an advanced climber, I was an intermediate climber six months ago; on the date of our expedition I had probably regressed to a “high beginner”. Because of the difficulty of climbing trad outside – and to level the playing field a bit – we were working on a beginner climb that day.

Until, that is, we went left instead of right. All of a sudden we were on an intermediate climb; a skill level my limbs haven’t seen since December. Which is essentially how I ended up falling.

Here is the section of rock that will become the focus of the rest of my tale:

You can see below the protection I was to clean as I followed.

Pedro led towards the left and over this (below) overhang and continued to climb until he was about 90 feet above me. At that point in time, we could not see or hear each other. Thanks to the tons of rock between us and the busy highway behind us, we relied on feel for the duration of the climb.

I attempted to draw a diagram to explain how the climb “ended”.

Since we could not hear each other, the only thing Pedro knew to do was to keep the rope tight. As I climbed from step 1 to step 2, I felt secure and confident. As I tried to climb over that huge overhang, I started to wear myself down as I failed and failed. The handholds that The Man mentioned when he climbed it weren’t there (they were approximately 12 inches outside of my reach).

What I wanted to do was traverse left more, towards the “easier” part of the overhang. Since Pedro was tightening down on the rope, I didn’t have the ability to move that far away from the next anchor I was supposed to be cleaning. So, I yelled for slack. And yelled. And yelled. Almost exhausted and virtually in tears, Night in Shining Armor #1 came to my rescue. I couldn’t be heard from under the rock-overhang, but a guy on the ground could.

Finally, through my very tiny interpreter, I got enough slack to traverse further left and place my body level-with and 6 feet away from my next anchor (see above, step 3). I went to make the crux move and found no hand holds. By that time, I was really spent physically and stepped back down. After a few minute’s rest, I tried again and lost it. I lost my footing. I lost whatever my hands were holding. I lost my balance.

Here’s what happened:

I free fell for 5-7 feet, then pendulum swung for another 10-15. By the time I made it to the impact zone, my back was against the wall. Essentially I belly flopped, but with my back instead. I bounced once, then came back for a second impact. Both times, I hit my lower back, left shoulder and my head.

And that’s how I fell.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of my saga which may or may not be titled: How I almost threw up on Night in Shining Armor #2.

Y’all are probably in stitches wanting to know the details. And also wondering why my phone-facebook-statusing-skills are sub-par in the spell-check category (hint: the answer lies within the status).

However, today is not the day for a detailed rundown of what happened yesterday, fifty feet in the air. Today, I discuss today. And your mom’s mascara.

After the mishap, I wasn’t fit to drive the 3.5 hours south. Something about nausea, my inability to control the level of my voice, and lack of desire to do anything but stare at the ground. Through a series of events that need a diagram to explain, my climbing partner was able to drive me in my car up to his parent’s house 3 hours north. Whom we surprised by my visit and desperate need to stay the night; all this just in time for dinner.

Said parents have opened up their home to me before, and we’ve already spent numerous hours enjoying each other’s company; me showing up and needing a place to lay my oddly misshaped head was no big deal. I was in no way uncomfortable with being there (nor why I was there). I embraced it wholeheartedly as a much needed vacation. Except for one thing.

I didn’t have a toothbrush.

Or a change of clothes. Or a hairbrush.

I did have deodorant. But nothing else other than what was on my back (which, mind you, had just been rock climbing).

After a lovely dinner and some time surrendering my beaten body to the coziest couch ever, I was loaned a set of PJ’s and given a warm bed.

I was also given a toothbrush.

This morning, after watching a large family get ready for the day, I was loaned a Bible, which I gratefully took and enjoyed some time reading. And respiting.

Yep. I know respite isn’t a verb. Go with the flow.

As flexible as flexible gets, I spent the morning with Mama Whit. After she loaned me her mascara, we went shopping* and enjoyed a lovely lunch together. Instead of cleaning her kitchen and doing a million other things that busy moms are in charge of, she took her morning and enjoyed it with me. On top of all the yummy food and the warm bed and the mascara, I’m especially grateful for the encouraging and edifying time spent with her.

Considering the circumstances, I’ve been incredibly blessed these past two days. After watching the climbing community act like family, I was graciously cared for by my friend and his family. And I would do it again in a heartbeat. Minus the concussion, rock-burn and large contusions that grace my body at the moment.

More on the mishap soon. I’m waiting on the official photos. (-:

*This post could also be titled: I fell off a cliff then bought a dress.

Tomorrow, I’ll be clipping my fingernails back to a stage only nail-biters know of.

Tomorrow, I’ll be trying on gear, remembering why people of my sport don’t have pedicures.

All because the day after tomorrow, I’ll be driving north.

Back to a state I know so well, to an area my eyes have never graced.

The day after tomorrow, I’m heading here:

To do some of this:

Let us hope that my bones remember.

If no one noticed, maybe I’m not as bad of an American as I though I was.

This, my friends, is a cherry blossom.

This?

This is a magnolia.

Once again, this is a cherry blossom.

And this is a Magnolia.

Please flock to your nation’s capitol to see the HUGE magnolias. They’re everywhere down there.

I went down for a friend’s birthday and was planning on staying only for a few hours. Dinner, then drive home to my own bed. Instead, I was sucked into the romanticism that comes with visiting a new city and stayed for twenty seven hours. On a whim, I visited my DC-dream-church and heard Mark Dever address his congregation, I saw the top of the white house in the dark, I surprised some friends who did not know I was coming to the birthday party, I ate breakfast discussing relationships with a favorite married couple, and I walked about a million miles.

During the day, the District of Columbia is an interesting clash of government and tourism. I am thankful for my tour-guide-friends who gave me a quick overview of what’s going on down there. I had been to D.C. before, but don’t remember anything from the trip except for excessively flirting with a boy I had a crush on. High school has a way of only ingraining the overly-emotional memories apparently.

So seeing the city for the first time was great, but one thing really made it awesome (on top of spending time with old friends).

The cherry blossoms.

I always thought cherry blossoms were bitty and looked a lot like other blossoms one sees in the spring. I didn’t quite understand why folk flock to the capitol of the United States of America just to see the new spring blooms. But now I get it.

THEY’RE HUGE.

I mean it. They’re really big.

Have you ever seen a tree bloom that was this big? I haven’t. And it totally made the trip and the extra twenty three hours that I stayed extra-special.

On top of the “tree blooms from Texas”, I also saw The Man, a Caribou Coffee and a greeting card that read, “Socialism isn’t just for Europe anymore.”

If you’ve never seen cherry blossoms, I wholeheartedly recommend you get in your car and drive there today. Tell Lincoln I said hi.

Last week I went caving with some friends. We spent 3ish hours exploring the largest, most spectacular cave in the Adirondacks.

Here I am before and after the dirtiest adventure of my life (pay no attention to the faces I’m making, the latter doesn’t describe what I was feeling at all).

To get to the mouth of the cave, we had to hike run up a mountain. Boys like to run up big things. As you see in the photo above, running up big things isn’t what I’m best at. My jello legs didn’t even want to sit, they wanted to nap by the time we got to the mouth of the cave. Thank goodness for gorp; protein and simple sugar saved the day.

The view made running up Mt. Everest worth it. Unfortunately we didn’t stay here for long; the men we eager to explore the depths of the earth. I was eager to nap. So we pressed on, jello legs and all.

So in order to give you the full-effect of the awesomeness and confusion that is Eagle Cave, I must show you the maps. Each one of these maps is another level, sort-of like stories in a building.

We got down to the bat cave and dropped our bags so we could explore in freedom. This was the biggest room closest to the mouth of the cave. Our guide was quick to point out all the holes one could fall into. Steer clear of those.

We broke it down in the breakdown room (bottom center). There was almost two full minutes of beat boxing and techno, synthesizer-esque sounds. Stellar.

This is the bottom (maybe) of the cave. Most people make it to the ice room (in the center-ish of the map) and call it a day. We took to the edge of the map before heading back out. Our time spent exploring past the ice room was the coolest thing I’ve ever done.

Meet The Little Rock Man, our fearless leader/guide. The things this man can do with a rope and a big rock blows me away. TLRM made sure we had the appropriate gear (Never go caving without a helmet, by the way. I probably would have died seriously injured my cranium without mine.) and handled things safely the entire trip. And he’s also a good friend (the best type of guide you can have). Without him, the trip could have gone really sour, but he also made the day as relaxing as mountain-marathoning and interior-mountaineering can get.

I digress. Back to my tale:

Here we are getting ready for what TLRM called a fireman’s rappel. Who knew that one could rappel without a harness? To be honest, I was a bit nervous about this stage of the expedition, but it quickly turned into (once again) the coolest part. Rappelling without a harness is possible! I was shocked/giddy to find out that this worked.

Here I am (in the center of  Mt. Everest) awaiting my decent into Mordor. TLRM went down first and spotted us from below. I was next to go and almost fell. The awkward funny part about almost falling is that my spotter held me by my prosterior caught me and guided me for the duration of the 8ft decent. I promised to write him a thank you note after the event.

[We don't have pictures of the next stage of our journey, for we left the cameras behind]

After our decent, we found ourselves in a room that was probably 8 feet wide on one end and 2 feet wide on the other. My assumption was that we had reached the edge of the center of the world and there was no further to go (unless, of course, you were destined for China). TLRM knew better (he had the map) and suggested we climb the wall on the other side of the room.

Hence the second coolest part of the trip: free climbing ice-cold, wet rock 15 feet up. It wasn’t a difficult climb (all parties had rock climbed before and had an idea of what our appendages were supposed to do) and it was wedged up against another slab of rock which made it easier to brace one’s self (and get mighty-stuck). I learned how to mantle in Mordor.

That led us to the edge of the map and to the coldest part of the cave. From there, the only place to go was back out.

After climbing back down the ice-cold wall, we made our way back to our gear where snacks and water awaited. Check out how dirty my pants are. Which leads me to my next point about gear: never go caving in shorts. I wore my thickest jeans and still destroyed my legs.

Here’s the group (from left to right): Animal, The Rose, The Little Rock Man, The Bear, and yours truly

And here we are at the mouth of the cave, post-descent into the depths of the earth.

Are you ready for the third-coolest part of the trip?

We hiked down during golden hour. And by hiked, I mean some of us bounded and some of us walked gingerly.

Thanks to The Bear and The Rose for bringing cameras; mine would have been smashed to smithereens.

Cheers!

Oh, how I’ve missed the ocean.