Wheeling around

This week, my puny-armed friends and I decided to go rock climbing.
If you’ve ever seen a billy goat skip nimbly up the Himalayas, you’ll understand where the difficulties lie. For non-billy-goats, that is.
Some of you readers probably have forearms the size of baked hams. For you, scaling a wall using handholds with the approximate width of nail files is the work of a moment.
Let’s just say that for those readers, watching the rest of us try to climb is bound to be entertaining.
Apart from a traditional rock wall, my gym has a wheel built into the wall that rotates as you climb it.
If it were up to me, I’d put a sign on it saying “Death Roller Ultra” or “Spinning Drum of Doom,” but it’s just called “the wheel.” What a lost opportunity.
To go climbing, you have to sign a waiver that states you understand the risks you’re taking, promises you won’t sue the belayers if you die, and binds you to give your first-born to the gym owner.
Okay, maybe not the last one. But there are pages and pages of legal drama to wade through. The stack of paper making up the waiver has to weigh at least 47 pounds.
With the practiced eye of the habitual waiver-signer, I skim the first three or four words—enough to confirm it’s written in English—and sign with a flourish.
If I fall off the wall, I won’t be thinking about the fine print. I’ll be thinking “AAAAH!” Or maybe “NOOOO!”
The Mega Wheel of Danger and Awesomeness (I think that’s what I’ll call it) is about a foot above the ground. You don’t even need a harness to climb it.
I reflect on the waiver I signed and ask the supervisor, “Has anyone actually died on it?”
“Of embarrassment,” he responds. My friends snicker.
Each handhold on the Mega Wheel of Danger and Awesomeness is a different color.

You’re supposed to follow the red handholds for an easy climb, yellow ones for a medium climb, and blue ones for the I’d-rather-dive-into-a-pit-of-live-alligators-because-it’s-so-hard climb.
I go for the blue ones because I scoff at any challenge. Also because there’s a $5 cash prize if you make it to the top.
The first three handholds are easy enough to reach if you just dislocate your shoulders. I jump off a foothold the width of a toothpick and climb up.
But as soon as I’m almost at the top, the wheel starts to turn and my weight pulls me to the bottom again. No good.
The next few handholds to the top are diagonal. I launch myself upward and nearly lose my grip. My arms shake. Fine print swims before my eyes.
The wheel rotates. I’m a foot from the floor again.
I decide to risk it all. I’ll defy the Mega Wheel of Danger and Awesomeness and even gravity itself.
Channeling my inner billy goat, I jump upward. My right foot finds a foothold. I push off the right. My left foot finds another foothold. I push off the left.
Neither of my hands finds a handhold, though. My nose clears the top of the wheel, then goes down, along with the rest of me.
It’s unfortunate that I didn’t squash either of my friends on my descent. They’re crying with laughter as I peel myself off the floor.
The Mega Wheel of Danger and Awesomeness makes its final revolution. It beckons to the next challenger.
But I won’t climb it again. Not until I strengthen my arms, at least. I’ll practice by lifting the waiver.

Copyright 2024 Alexandra Paskhaver, distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.