“Nothing.”
“Mm, no. You’re hiding something, and you’re not hiding it well.”
I sigh, glancing back at the wall. Do I have time to go again? I’m still unsettled.
“I’m fine, Seth,” I say softly. “Truly.”
Seth studies me. “Well, whatever. If you ever need a friend, you know where to find us.”
I tip my head at him, grateful for his friendship.
I catch Blaine’s attention before I head toward the wall. “I’m gonna run it again.”
The other man nods, gripping the rope to spot me. “Try not to fall this time.”
“No promises.”
I step up to the start, setting my hands and grounding myself in the familiar routine—test the hold, shift my weight, move. This time, I force myself to slow down.
I’m such a natural go-getter that my instinct is to go fast—to push harder, to reach farther, get to the top as quickly as possible. I like the challenge, the burn, the feeling of almost losing it and pulling through anyway.
But my slip earlier is proof: it’s also how you miss things.
Taking it slow, I move up one colored hold at a time, deliberately calculating each motion before acting on it. The strain in my muscles is noticeable. Borderline uncomfortable, but in a good way. It feels… different. Less flashy or something. More secure.
Forty feet up, I reach a point where I’d normally stretch for the next hold, just barely within reach if I extend enough. But instead, I pause to gather my bearings. If I adjust my footing, I can go for the hold on the other side, a good six inches closer to me. It means at least three more steps before reaching my goal, but if it’s more stable, it’s worth it.
I try it. The transition is so much smoother than I expected that I almost second-guess myself. But it’s never about ease. It’s about safety. Or at least that’s what I tell my students.
Huh.
I guess I should listen to my own advice.
I finish the route without slipping this time, and Seth’s whoop of encouragement when I reach the ledge echoes loudly through the room. “Yeah, man! There you go.”
My heart is soaring as I drop down, landing with a soft thud onto the mat.
Seth claps me on the shoulder. “Much better. You looked great.”
“Thanks.”
“What changed?”
I shrug, grabbing my chalk again. “Slowed down.”
He nods once. “Thought so. You tend to overreach, but you were more calculated this time. Great job.”
“I do not—”
“Oh, you absolutely do,” he cuts in with a laugh. “You’ve called me out on it so many times I recognize it easily, and you do it all the time. See the end and go straight for it, skipping half the steps and then acting surprised when it doesn’t work.”
I open my mouth to argue, then stop.
Shit. He’s not wrong.
Overreaching and skipping steps. Sounds a little like my dating life, doesn’t it?
Why do you do that? Rush things.
