Too Dirty Even For Me (Everyday Dirtbag #146)

I found my limit:

I went climbing at The Columns the other day, the bright early-winter sun on the dark gray rock making it twenty degrees warmer than the shade.

I climbed moderates for hours, beautiful 5.8 to 5.10d cracks, the sun on the cold rock making everything sticky and perfect.  I felt strong, healthy, injury-free, well-fed and hydrated, and all below me down the hill were the final red and yellow leaves of the Western Maples.

I climbed until my hands were rough and my shoulders felt good and worn.  Then I pulled my rope and stuffed it, took off my climbing shoes, ate a little food, drank some water.

But when I picked up my gear bag, a thick yellow substance slung off of the bottom of my coat onto my arm, my hand, my pants, my climbing carabiners, and my keys.  It was everywhere.  Then I smelled it.  This stuff.

At the joint of the rock and the log, where people sit and watch their friends climb, where people put their lead-climbing gear, where kids eat snacks and wait for their parents to finish climbing, someone, someone had defecated, had pooped.  Someone had shat a foot-long, six-inch wide lake of brown-crusted, yellow diarrhea.

And now, that diarrhea was all over me.  It was everywhere.  Gravity and the swinging motion of me putting on my coat had dispersed this yellow liquid-solid all over me and my gear.

All I wanted was a shower.  Two showers.

All I wanted was soap.  Abrasive dish soap.

All I wanted was to run my clothes washer twice, maybe three times, maybe four.

All I wanted was bleach, harsh chemicals, toxic cleansing sprays, and I did not want to be this dirty ever, ever again.


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