Trust me.

I had a migraine this morning, so I stayed in bed through my, er, usual writing time. That makes it sound like a habit!

A brief summary of yesterday (Friday):

• Mark went up to the top with a guide/pilot to try to fly from up there

• He did get to go out onto the ridge, which he described to me in frankly terrifying terms but that he pronounced as “fun” and “the real experience”

• Unfortunately the weather was unusually windy there, even though at other altitudes it was perfectly fine (in fact people were steadily parapenting from higher up off Mont Blanc) and even though the forecast had been good. The pilot/guide, who was not psycho, told Mark, “I do not understand the weather. And when I do not understand the weather, I do not fly.” He was going to not charge Mark at all, but seeing as “deciding when to not do a thing” is a key function of a mountain guide, Mark paid him some money and bought them coffee and pie at the restaurant.

• After lunch we took the boys climbing for a couple of hours at Les Gaillands, which might be the best beginner’s rock wall in the world.

• I put on my climbing shoes for the first time in a while. I don’t remember when was the last time I climbed on rock.

My brain stem is out of practice at tolerating heights. All I did was climb up about 10-15 feet, maybe a little more at Mark’s direction, and work for a while at desensitizing myself to the feel of the rope, the harness, the feet flat on the wall. I took deep breaths. I let go of the rope and let my hands dangle behind me. I concentrated on the muscles of my calves, lower back, shoulders, releasing the tension one by one. I flexed my knees and bounced gently.

In a moment, I’d ask Mark to let out rope for me to walk backwards down the wall. I reflected how with these exercises, I was working a little bit to trust—not so much with my mind but with my body, my reflexes—the rope and the anchor and the harness. I wasn’t working hard to trust Mark. He wasn’t going to drop me. Not even a little bit. I mean, later he would let out rope so I could come down, and there’s always a little startling jolt when it begins, and I’d have to mentally prep for that. But he wasn’t going do it till I was ready, and I mknew that all the way down in my bones. Or brain stem.

I thought about the Discourse going around right now about grooms smashing wedding cake in the brides’ faces after saying they wouldn’t. I thought: Glad I didn’t marry That Kind of Dude. Because it isn’t too hard to imagine there being folks out there who might drop you a little, for fun.

+ + +

After that, while Mark cleaned up the anchor, I walked with the boys down to the little outdoor buvette, concession stand. They had sodas and fries. I had a glass of cider.

We hiked back up, I dug our wedding rings out of the backpack and we put them back on, and then back to the rental.

+ + +

I was resting on the couch and Mark brought me a glass of wine to decide on the next procedure. What happened next is that he went and fetched McDonald’s for the kids, so that we could go out for a dinner date. We wound up walking all over town, chatting, ending up at a restaurant we’d had a great meal at eight years ago.

And you know what, it was really delicious and a good time and a pleasant walk. But I did not take any pictures, so you’ll have to trust me.