Climbing Forever

Hey readers. Or reader. Or an empty, readerless void. I am stuck at home, because Corona-tine (doesn't have too great of a ring to it, maybe I'll just stick with Corona Quarantine), and it is raining to boot. Woot. I'm a poet and didn't know it. So I figured I would finally publish a blog that's been sitting in my drafts for many months. Enjoy. Or don't.

November, 2019

Four years ago, on November 19, 2015, I climbed for the first time. I instantly fell in love with it; I had discovered my life passion. My relationship with climbing grew and blossomed and quickly became something I couldn't imagine living without.

I was listening to Dax Shepherd's Podcast, Armchair Expert, today and he said that he feels sorriest for people who don't know what they love. This may sound extreme, but I felt pretty lost trying to discover my life passion, and to know what I love. I knew it was climbing the instant I ascended my first route at a climbing gym. At times, I think back and wish I'd discovered it earlier. Yet, perhaps everything in life happens at exact moments for just the right reasons. I am thankful for every route I have climbed or fallen from, and every boulder problem mastered or unsolved. I cherish every memory with every person (or guinea pig) with whom I have climbed. Sharing my life passion with others brings me immense joy, and I love to see people encounter the challenges and reap the benefits that come from this amazing activity.

I've participated in a number of activities like yoga and running to try and quiet my mind over the years. However, no matter how hard I try, I couldn't get my thoughts to settle down. Climbing changed all of that. It feels always intuitive, always natural, and always something I should be doing. People think I am insane for climbing the flatirons in Boulder without ropes. People ask me why I climb or if it scares me and the honest truth is it doesn't. I climb because I have to, I love to, and it is what I should be doing. When I am on the rock, my mental chatter goes quiet.

In honor of this momentous occasion, my four year anniversary with climbing, I decided to finally post a draft blog I wrote in August about soloing the second flatiron. Enjoy!

August, 2019

As of this morning, I have solo climbed the second flatiron 100 times.

I don't write about climbing as much as I should considering the role of unparalleled importance it plays in my life. When first introduced to the sport, it felt like I finally found my passion in life- something for which I'd been searching a long time. About six months after climbing and my relationship began, I free soloed the second flatiron with a friend. I don't recall feeling scared of climbing with no ropes; on the contrary, I felt free and peaceful.

Soon, I couldn't get enough of soloing the second flatiron. Anytime the weather was nice, I carved out time in my day to head to Chataqua to do so. Over the years, free soloing has forced me to overcome seemingly unsurmountable mental obstacles. For example, there is a jump on the second flatiron called the "leap of faith." At first (and understandably so), most people are intimidated by the idea of jumping from one rock to the next. It appears so much more terrifying than it is, and for my first 16 climbs up the second, I was too scared and found a way to avoid it. When I finally decided to face my fear, I realized how much easier it was to do the jump. Conquering that fear was a game changer for me.

I now solo with friends, first time climbers, and have climbed the first three flatirons with over ten guinea pigs. Those places are my sanctuary, and I am so glad to still have such a strong relationship with climbing.

Climbing with Bilbo

Climbing with Gandalf

Climbing with Legolas

Climbing with Mario

Climbing with Dave

Climbing with Neo

Fili

I realized in yoga today that I am still extremely haunted by a traumatizing event from my past. My first guinea pig and best friend Fili died suddenly and tragically almost two years ago now, and since nothing has helped me move on and ascertain any sense of closure, I have decided to try writing about it to share it with a wider audience. I don’t generally blog about such sensitive topics, but I’m ready to give it a try. So thank you for joining me as I share this story. 

I got Fili almost four years ago from the Boulder Valley Humane Society. It was love at first sight; he was an adorable guinea pig with a loving demeanor and personality. I actually wrote a blog (http://bonvoyage4.blogspot.com/2015/08/pigs-are-people-too-part-two.html?m=1) 

about our meeting, and how incredible of a creature he was. Soon after adopting Fili, I learned about the importance of having more than one guinea pig so they don’t get lonely. I found him a friend at the pet store; a female guinea pig whom I named Khaleesi. She had three babies a few months after they met (this is starting to sound like a Match.com story) and I decided to keep one of them. I named him Bilbo, and he became Fili’s new cage mate and companion. I found a family to adopt the other two guinea pigs along with Khaleesi. 

Bilbo and Fili got along great, and although Bilbo is extremely adorable his personality did not come close to the caliber of Fili’s. I took Fili with me on adventures; he was the first guinea pig I ever took climbing, and I have brought at least six since. He was my precious bub, my emotional support friend, and my right-hand dude. He was my first serious pet, and I didn’t mind peoples’ judgements about the oddity of a woman in her mid twenties owning a guinea pig instead of a “real” pet like a cat or dog. 

One spring day almost exactly two years ago, I decided to put Bilbo and Fili outside in their little playpen. I often did so on nice days so they could munch on grass and enjoy being outdoors. Putting them outside had never been a problem until that dreadful day. I placed them in the pen and went inside momentarily. In the fleeting moments I was not observing them, a neighborhood dog approached the playpen and sniffed it curiously. As he nudged the cage with his nose, it collapsed and fell. Bilbo fled quickly enough to escape, but Fili was not so lucky. He was pinned by the fence, and although I ran out and freed him rapidly, it was too late. The dog did not act in aggression, simply in curiosity, and he ran off in fear when the cage collapsed. Fili had no external damage that I could see, but he quickly exhibited strange behavior issues like having issues with walking. He was no longer acting like himself. Because he was always my treasured baby, I immediately put Bilbo back inside and rushed Fili to the vet. I knew I would do anything to save him, but as I drove him to the vet it became more and more clear that saving him wouldn’t be an option. Tears streamed down my face from the moment I saw him pinned beneath the cage in which I had out him, but they became more of a deluge as he stopped moving altogether. I am not entirely sure if he passed away on my lap In the car, or after I arrived at the vet. Either way, it was one of the most devastating moments of my entire life. Even writing about it evokes unbelievable sadness. 

The vet looked at Fili and declared him dead. I sat and cried and cried, cradling my sweet departed pet in my lap, and hating myself for putting Fili and Bilbo outside that day. I felt disassociated from the whole experience. Did that really happen? How could my best friend be dead? I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for that putting him outside that day. The vet, her technician and really the entire staff at the VCA animal hospital were amazing. They cried with me, and told me I could get Fili’s paw prints in cement with his name and that I could get him cremated. One of the vet techs even told me about a website that turns pet ashes into jewelry and other works of art. I did so with Fili’s ashes; he is now a beautiful pendant that I have with me almost all the time. The rest of his ashes I spread in the mountains where we climbed and hiked and adventures together. 

I miss Fili constantly. His departure left a void in my heart that will never be filled again. I have had many guinea pigs since Fili and none have ever been at the same level of significance. I feel like that is the case for any pet owner. There is always that one pet that instantly steals your heart and never gives it back. I hope that he is somewhere better, running amock with other guinea pigs and eating crunchy veggies all day. I just don’t know how to move on in a way where I can be okay with what I did. Had I not put him outside on that day, he would still be with me. 

Pigs Are People, Too (PART TWO)

I know you are all just waiting for this- the moment I decided I couldn't live without a guinea pig post house sitting. Fine, you all know me SO well, give yourselves a pat on the back and let's get back to what's important, MY STORY!

Yesterday, I decided to peruse the options of pigs available for adoption at the Humane Society of Boulder Valley. All I wanted was to find a guinea pig exactly like Cookie in every single way. That's not too high of an expectation, is it?? Didn't think so. On the site, one of the first guinea pigs listed, Panchito, was Cookie's identical twin. I called the location where he was listed to be, and sadly learned that he was just adopted. Of course he was. The lady told me in this horribly heartless tone, too. Jerk.

No Panchito?!?!

However, a little lower down the list was a little guy who looked a lot like Cookie too, but with a lot more white fur. I looked to his name and knew it was meant to be. Fili. Like, one of the dwarves from The Hobbit. If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is. The only thing that would make our match more destined to be would be if there were a caption under his picture saying "MARISA COME ADOPT ME NOW." Actually, if that were the case I would probably be a bit creeped out.

So I decided. If Fili was available, it was destiny. I called and waited with bated breath as she checked to see if he was still there. YES, she told me cheerfully, and I instantly asked her to put it on hold. I begged her as if there were a line of people out the door and commingling around Fili to take him home right then and there. 

Heart racing, I drove over to the humane society. The woman at the counter told me to take a seat and wait for someone to find a room where Fili and I could meet. I felt insanely nervous as if I were about to adopt a child or go on a blind date, which are both creepy scenarios to compare to meeting a guinea pig. After about fifteen minutes, an employee led me into a room and put Fili on my lap. He just sat there, just like Cookie. So far, so good. I pet him for about a half hour and he began to make soft squeaks. Perfect. He didn't even poop or pee on me, which instantly scored him some points. Then I put him on the ground. He lazily bumbled about, just like Cookie. Done, done, and done.

Our first meeting.

I signed a bunch of papers that I didn't really read and Fili and I headed home. Unfortunately, there are now three guinea pigs that all hate each other in the house. Turns out, males don't get along. Should have figured that one. Whatever, Fili is awesome, Bob goes home today, Cookie is super chill, and things are good in my little wild kingdom.

Pigs Are People, Too

Okay, that's not even remotely true. Pigs are pigs, and people are people, and this blog isn't even about pigs, it's about guinea pigs. Yes, guinea pigs: America's favorite pet rodent and Peru's favorite main course (actually, judging by their size I would probably only consider them to be appetizers). Guinea pigs have taken up a surprisingly large role in my summer this year, and I wanted to bestow upon all of my readers the privilege of hearing ALL about it. Can't wait? That's what I thought.

So, flashback to the beginning of the summer. I am three months younger, and about to launch into a summer-long house sitting gig. The family that lives here is spending the summer in a home on the East Coast.

When first offered the gig, I hesitated as they have two rather high-maintenance dogs (one elderly and medicated, partially blind and deaf, and hardly mobile and the other a young, spritely and large dog not yet aware of his own strength). However, they informed me that the dogs would be venturing east with them, causing me to do a little jig of victory internally.

Then I remembered... the dogs weren't their only pets. Cookie the Guinea Pig also lived in the house I would be watching. I anxiously asked if Cookie would be going with them, too- I had no desire whatsoever to take care of any creature beneath that roof besides myself. My heart sunk a bit when I found out that Cookie would be my responsibility, too. I fully anticipated a very half-ass effort on my part just to keep the thing alive, but quickly I realized my affinity toward the creature.

Cookie has a personality just as well defined as any other living being I have come across. He is laid-back, cares about eating way more than he should (often to the point of prioritizing it above his own safety), is relatively quiet but still makes those charming little squeaks from time to time, and will happily sit on my lap while watching TV and just relish in being stroked. Cookie and I became fast friends, and so attached that I began to worry about our eventual and inevitable separation. Actually, anyone who knows me was worried about it too- I was attached like a conjoined twin to this furry little critter.

I began to wonder if all guinea pigs are this rad as pets. One weekend, the neighbors asked me to watch their guinea pig, who shall not be named (we will call him Bob just to make this easier to understand. He doesn't deserve more than a generic name like that [no offense to my readers named Bob. It's a pretty good name for a person]) while they went out of town. I agreed. Bob came over and quickly demonstrated that no, not all guinea pigs are rad as pets. Some are just horrible.

First of all, he was a jerk to Cookie and that is just not cool. No one messes with my baby! Yikes, can you imagine what I would be like as a mother? I put them next to each other for a quick photo op and Bob quickly attacked. Screw you Bob. That instantly put him on my most-hated list. That's not a list that anyone wants to be on.

Also, he squeaks to this volume that seems absolutely unbelievable coming from his tiny body. In no way are these cute, quiet squeaks like Cookie's- no, these are more like blood-curdling shrieks. I also decided that Bob was trying to sabotage me. As I recorded a guitar song and was finally happy with my take, he squealed in the last five second and ruined it, as if he were just waiting for the end to do so. Whatever, I posted it anyway so joke is on him. Or maybe he won that round, whatever. Click here for the song, and wait for the squeak at the end.

Okay, I just realized how ridiculously long this post would be if I made it just one, so I'm going to split this bad boy and make it a two-parter.