Saturday, first thing (“first thing” being a relative term that in this case means approximately 10:30): We wander down from the Uberfall, looking for an open route under 5.10 and finally settle on a short wait for Birdie Party, the first pitch of which is 5.8 but scary 5.8. Todd’s jittery enough to place the purely psychological brass nut that theoretically protects the opening moves, something he hasn’t done since the day he had me hang on it to see if it would hold. It did. For a minute. Above the piece and safely on the ledge from which he usually starts placing gear, he whips the rope with enough force to dislodge the nut. He does love a nice straight line.

Saturday, mid-day: I desperately want to get the first crux on MF clean but I don’t. Hanging from the rope I start to cry from frustration then realize I can’t breathe. I’m hyperventilating, great gasps that procure no oxygen. Perhaps I was holding my breath; perhaps I’m simply psyched. For a minute I think I’m going to throw up but I don’t. I find a better-than-usual way to do the second crux. One step forward; one step back.

Saturday, the end: I dyno for that hold on Try Again like I mean it. On one attempt I even get it – quickly sorry. Damn but real rock is sharp. Ultimately I take the detour. My fingers have been rubbed raw. I come so close to pulling the roof on the first try. If only . . . “Don’t give me beta!” I scream. It takes me three tries but I do it myself. Try, try again.

Sunday, first thing: What would a weekend at the Gunks be without doing Apoplexy and Coronary? It’s not likely that I’ll ever find out. We do Apoplexy and Coronary. Thank God I actually like these routes.

Sunday, mid-day: Pink Laurel feels easy today. Is it because I’m not leading it? Probably. Have I found a great new way to do the moves? Maybe. Will I remember this great new way the next time I try to lead it? No.

Sunday, the end: We con Andrew into leading Maria Direct, where the crux is placing the gear and the gear must be placed. He’s standing at the upper limit of where he can still hope that the rope will catch him, fiddling with gear, looking pumped. Todd steps away from the rock, eyeing the line he’ll take if Andrew falls. I move into place to spot Andrew. The fall, not so far, a boulderer would do it, has some serious tip-over-backwards-and-open-your-head potential. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing. Andrew places two good pieces and finishes the route cleanly. No one is happier than I am.

I pull through the opening moves of Maria Direct with something approaching confidence and then fall from the higher crux. The opposite of how I usually do. A good summary for the whole weekend. One step forward, one step back, nothing where it should be, everything in place.