How to Get a Climbing Mate
I've read your comments and advice on dating climber men: where to meet them, how to turn them down and all that. But what are the chances of me finding a climber-man who has more than two brain cells to rub together? I'm not asking for genius, but some basic, average level of intelligence.
I’ve read your comments and advice on dating climber men: where to meet them, how to turn them down and all that.
But what are the chances of me finding a climber-man who has more than two brain cells to rub together? I’m not asking for genius, but some basic, average level of intelligence.
I’ve been told (countless times by climber-men) that climber-men fall into two categories: hippies and geeks. I’m attracted to neither.
On one extreme, you have the climber-man that dirtbags around the hardcore trad areas. The dude who has given up on society and can afford to do whatever he wants. When I talk to these guys, I feel like I’m speaking to sheer rock. Nothing is going on upstairs. Then you have the young hip men that want nothing more than to talk about beta, how hard they climb, and Linux. (Shut up about Linux already!)
What are my chances of finding a climber-man who is normal — a nice blend of pulling hard and being with it enough to bathe? And also intelligent. Big plus.
mgl5572 | via www.rockandice.com
Your odds of finding a climber-man with two brain cells to rub together are equal to your chances of starting a fire by rubbing together two sticks.
Individually, climber-men are as dense and unblinking as the rocks they scale. Like ants, each man is not especially smart but collectively they can do things such as develop Rifle, which is why at a glance we seem extraordinary, and is also why you feel frustrated.
Men are motivated by the adoration of their peers, the disgrace of their enemies and the self-affirmation that comes from sending. These take priority over measly things such as nurturing a relationship, bathing or holding down a job. Take me, for example.
Many years ago I planned to go climbing with my buddy Jack. This was nothing special because we climbed every single weekend, and had for many years. One day, another friend, Mark, suggested I go on a blind date with a friend of his.
“She’s a hottie,” he said.
“Show me a picture.”
It took a couple of days and I don’t know how he was able to secure photographic proof, but he did.
“See,” he said. “Hot, and she wants to go to dinner Friday night with you.”
I was only slightly moved, because unless your wares and wiles dangling from an anchor chain they were of little concern to climber guys like me back then.
“Friday night?” I said. “I’m supposed to climb with Jack on Saturday. Going to dinner could drain me.”
I went to dinner and waxed about projecting and how I hoped the plate of pasta wouldn’t make me heavy. My date, who knew nothing about climbing and was in the last year of a PhD in hydrology (and hot!), nodded and seemed amazed. That was my last date, and 18 years later she still seems interested despite the fact that outside the ant colony I’m still dumb as a 2×4.
Finding a smart man who will ask you probing questions such as, “Say, what did you say your name was?” is a longshot, but please, for the sake of humanity, keep looking until you find the dude who can inject more than two brain cells into the gene pool. Gear Guy has spoken!