12. Tyler
TWELVE
TYLER
THEN
We’ve been taking turns at this light-pink bouldering course for the past hour now - Miles, Griff, and me.
None of us has made it to the top yet, at least not today.
Griff supposedly climbed this last weekend, but the gym was nearly empty, so no one was there to vouch for him.
So we said he had to do it in front of us as proof.
Only he has fallen three times so far. To be fair, so have Miles and I.
I’m at the highest point any of us has reached so far today.
The simulation rocks that are bolted into the walls slice my fingertips like razor blades, but I keep holding on.
I summon all the strength in my fingertips to hold on as I swing my legs and crunch up so that my toes scoop the next groove up.
I push myself while my fingers pull the rocks.
Every muscle in my arms and legs is screaming at me to let go, fall, and succumb to the mat on the floor.
“Push! Keep going!” I hear Griff’s gravelly voice call. It’s almost startling, but I feel it in the back of my head as if my negative thoughts are cowering.
I exhale and pull myself farther up, securing my fingers on a vertical rock, then swing my body so my footing catches a corner of the wall.
I tremble as my hands struggle to keep hold, my body nearly horizontal as I pant to catch my breath.
Rock climbing is a different kind of exercise.
Some guys fly up these walls, but that’s only because they’ve been doing this for years, like Griff.
As a newbie, there are moments when I feel completely winded.
I try to push through, using my thumb and index finger to pinch a rock and hoist myself up higher.
I can feel it before it happens, the feeling of falling.
My foot slips off, and before I can hook my right hand up higher, it misses by just a millimeter, and I’m free-falling, then feel a thud of the thick mat beneath me.
My chest feels hollow for a moment as silence falls around me, then a couple of slaps on the face from Griff, and my lungs are on fire again.
I’m huffing as Miles hands me a water bottle.
“Well, you got the farthest of us all so far,” Miles says, kneeling where I’m lying.
“I ran into the same problem with that corner when I climbed it the other day,” Griff says, towering over me, then extending his arm to hoist me up.
I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet.
Griff is a beast, and I’m convinced he could lift all six feet, four inches of me over his head without breaking a sweat.
“Yeah, I still don’t believe you,” I say, wiping the remnants of chalk from my palms on my cargo shorts. “You’re up next—prove it.”
Griff scoffs and dunks his hands in his chalk bag, clapping and rubbing his palms together.
He huffs and does a few arm stretches before taking position at the lowest point.
No matter how high you get when you climb, you start back at the bottom if you fall.
That’s just how it is with the sport. Unless you are doing a long climb with several pitches, you always start back from the start and have to climb the route in one continuous motion.
At first, the repetitions were killer, but eventually, they motivated me to keep going.
Despite the criticism we give him, Griffin, or Griff as he’s known at the gym, is a stellar climber.
He’s the only one of the three of us who has climbed outside of a rock gym.
He keeps trying to get us to climb cliffs along the coast, but Miles and I always chicken out.
Describing Griff as a beast is honestly an understatement.
He’s six foot eight and is built like he was carved out of marble.
Miles and I met Griff at this exact gym a year ago.
I turned a corner one day, ran into his side, and nearly dislocated my shoulder.
Miles and I were beginner climbers and couldn’t wrap our heads around hand and foot positions.
We kept falling over and over. Griff, who’s been climbing since he was an adolescent, was climbing a pitch next to us.
Miles and I were in awe when he made it look so easy.
We asked him if he could give us some tips.
Soon, we were meeting at the gym to climb together.
Griff offered not only climbing guidance but also encouragement.
I realized he was a bunny inside a bear.
Dark, intense eyes, wavy brown hair tied up in a bun, and barely fitting through door frames on the outside—and a soft, sweet friend who enjoys watching reality TV shows while crocheting hats for his niece on the inside.
We thought Griff was older than us, but we soon found out he was actually a year younger. He’s studying at the same college but majoring in economics. Griffin never ceases to surprise me.
In the blink of an eye, he’s already surpassed the point I was at.
His height is an advantage in climbing. He’s able to reach farther than someone just a few inches shorter than him, though he’s at a section where the wall curves, requiring maneuvering.
Once you navigate that, you’re about two footings away from the highest point.
Griff unleashes a deep growl that resonates through the gym as he stretches his wingspan around the corner.
He swings his leg up and, in a matter of seconds, uses the momentum to propel himself to the top.
He slaps his hand at the highest point and lets out a roar.
Everyone in the gym turns to look at him as he pumps his fist, then glances down at us with a smug expression.
Miles and I start to clap slowly. Griff climbs up and over to a ladder on the other side of the wall and saunters over to us.
“And that, gentlemen, is how it’s done,” Griff says, panting, his hands on his waist. He then wipes them on his loose muscle tee, leaving chalk dust on the fabric. Miles and I exchange an unamused look. “All right, Miles, you’re up. Then I say we get some lunch.”
I look at my watch and exhale. “Actually, can we head out now?”
They both turn to me, eyebrows raised.
“You got somewhere to be?” Miles says, crossing his arms. I know he’ll never let me live this down. “You just don’t want me to surpass you.”
I laugh. “No, I have a date later, and I want to shower. I can’t show up with chalk in my cuticles.”
“I do all the time—ladies love it when I leave chalk handprints on them,” Griff says, letting down his bun and looking around the gym.
“We can’t all be Griffin Gallagher,” I say.
“So, who is she? Where did you meet?” Miles asks as we make our way to the locker room.
“She’s in our Biomechanics class on Thursdays—Alyssa.”
Miles gives me a side glance. “Is she the one sitting in the front of the class and answering every question? I missed a class once, and she let me look at her notes.”
“Yep, she asked me out after class one day.”
“Whoa, she asked you?” Griff says.
“Yep—we’re going to get a smoothie or something. She said she goes to spin class and will meet me afterward.”
“She spins too?” Miles says, feigning buckling at the knees.
I look over at him quizzically. “You into her?” He shrugs at that. “I’ll bomb the date,” I say.
“No, no, don’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she were supposed to be the future mother of your children,” he pleads.
After showering and changing, we leave the gym and walk to our respective apartments. Miles and I are roommates in an apartment off campus, and Griff has a single sophomore dorm not too far from that.
“Hey, don’t forget, we are going to Hijinx this Friday.
They’re doing karaoke!” Griff roars as he walks backward toward the direction of his dorm.
Without Griff, I’m unsure if Miles and I would break out of our shells as much.
Miles and I, aside from our looks, are very similar.
We share the same interests, major in kinesiology, and even enjoy the same kind of music.
“Oh, I think something came up,” Miles calls, which causes Griff to halt.
“Miles, you better be joking.” Griff points, walking back towards us, and Miles puts his hands up.
“He’s joking. We’ll be there,” I call out and clamp my hand on Miles’s shoulder.
“Ugh, he better not make me sing,” Miles says, and where I don’t shy away from public attention, Miles would rather be on the sidelines.
I enter our apartment after my date, laughing and shaking my head.
What a bizarre date, and yet I’m not surprised at all.
Alyssa is a headstrong woman. She is leagues beyond the rest of the girls I’ve dated in terms of maturity.
In my experience, people are looking for hookups or flings.
I find it a bit exhausting, but I keep trying to play into it, going on a couple of first dates here and there. Though it rarely goes beyond that.
I was surprised when Alyssa asked me out.
She always keeps our interactions brief.
I’ve known her since the start of college, as she is in my major and we’ve had similar classes; however, she’s always seemed to take her studies seriously.
She sits in the front of every class and is less of a teacher’s pet and more of a star student.
She is there to be the best in her own regard.
I met her at a smoothie place by Smooth Cycle, where she takes spin classes.
She was already there waiting at a table and gave me a firm handshake.
She was wearing an oversize shirt over her leggings, her dark hair pulled up in a sleek ponytail.
I pulled a chair across from her, and before I could appease the time with small talk, she launched into her speech.
“You’re back early,” Miles says from the kitchen barstool, hunched over some papers and his laptop.
I laugh and swing around the counter, filling up my water at the dispenser in the fridge and turning to him. “You will never guess.”