I think I told all of you that I went rock climbing for the first time a few weeks ago, right? Maybe that was on facebook. It's hard to keep the two forums separate! Well, in case I didn't tell you, I went rock climbing. :-) I had gone once before at the Black Cliffs, about 6 years ago, but it was a very embarassing experience, as nobody told me what to wear and so I showed up in shorts on that hot summer day.
Rule number one of rock climbing: Do not wear shorts.
When you wear a rock climbing harness, there's a strap that encircles each thigh at the top, right at your hip. There's also a waist strap, and a strap that connects each hip strap to the waist strap. They all look like a death trap waiting to happen, until you get the thing on. See here for a visual. After you're strapped in and you start climbing, the belayer (ooo... technical jargon!), also known as the person who holds your life in their small, weak hands, keeps tension on the rope so that if your muscles give out and you fall dramatically off the wall, screaming like a little hyena (hypothetically speaking), you won't go plummeting to the ground. What this also means is that the tension on the rope translates to tension on the harness, which translates to tension on your shorts. Can you see where I'm headed here?
Welcome to Wedgie-ville. Nice to...ahh... see you.
If you're a girl, and the longest shorts you can find in any store on planet Earth only go to about, say, your mid-thigh, that will mean they turn into bathing suit bottoms the minute you get up on that rock wall. Goodbye modesty. My first rock climbing experience, so long ago it is almost blissfully eradicated from my memory, was traumatic. Not to mention my belayer was a guy.
So you can imagine what I wore the second time I went rock climbing... duhn duhn duuuhhnn.... PANTS! Smart, smart move Ri. It was much more fun and carefree this time around, especially since we were at the Y with semi-padded floor beneath us. Here's my friend Kim and I ringing those bells: