A Monument to My Failure

There it is. You see it? My nemesis.

Consider it seriously on, Rope. You got that? ON.

For the first time in months I went to the gym last week. Out of curiosity I asked the check-in girl when was the last time I was there.

She seemed to tap endlessly on her computer and after an interminable amount of time (I told my dude the computer probably doesn't go back that far) she told me I was last there May 1.

Huh. I thought it had been longer. (Score one for me.)

That's when Adam reminded me, "Don't you remember that two days before the Pig you decided it was 'time to start getting serious about training' and came to the gym?"

Oh right. I do remember that. I also remember walking for about a mile on the treadmill and figuring I could easily walk another 6 for the Pig. (And I was right!)

I digress. Back to my nemesis.

When we got upstairs I saw this rope.

Aww yeah! I thought. This is gonna be awesome.

Up until that moment I had thought of ropes snaking up to gym ceilings as my friends. In school I was the only girl who could climb the rope to the ceiling.

I remember the night at dinner in elementary school when I learned how to do it. I was telling my mom and dad that we were supposed to climb the rope in gym class, and I was irritated I couldn't climb it.

"The trick," my dad told me, "is to wrap your legs around it. Get it in between your knees or your calves, and use your legs to push you up, instead of trying to pull your way."

I practiced in my head at night. By the next gym class I was climbing to the ceiling like I was born to do it.

I tried this last week at the gym and failed miserably. As I dangled there on the rope I told Adam how annoyed I was.

"Well, you're not 40 pounds and in the fourth grade anymore," he said.

"True. But I could also climb it in high school, and I didn't weigh 40 pounds then either," I said, still dangling.

Then this happened: Adam hopped on the rope and without even so much as a grunt easily pulled himself straight to the top, hand-over-hand, like Spidey.

"I hope you get rope splinters in your hands," I said as he slid down.

So I tried it again. Honestly, I was a little self-conscious dangling there, wondering if the other seven people in the gym on this Sunday afternoon were watching me swing around on this stupid rope.

We were kind of making a scene. (Everyone else was wisely ignoring the rope.)

"Hold the bottom," I commanded Adam, thinking I could get some leverage from the stability.

But no. For the life of me I couldn't get it firmly enough between my feet to push off of it.

Rope - 1
Gina - 0

Immediately I decided that by the end of the summer I would climb that damn rope if it killed me. So I set out for the assisted pull-up machine to increase my upper body strength.

Big mistake.

For a week I couldn't raise my arms above my head. No joke. A week. ("Maybe I overdid it a bit," I'd groan while trying to pull my shirt on.)

That was a week ago and I haven't been back since.

But don't think I've forgotten, Rope. Don't think for one second I've forgotten. Plus, Adam won't let me. Tonight he said, "That rope is a monument to your failure."

Just wait until I can move my arms again. He's going to be seriously sorry.