A big competition just wrapped up in Burlington, and this year athletes and staff faced a big obstacle bigger than any other they’ve ever faced: the sky.
100% humidity slowly settled over Burlington and the town was muffled by anti-friction forces, post-poning semi-finals for the UBC pro-tour and trapping several dozen athletes behind the wall with limited provision and a single port-a-potty. After hours of waiting, a fine drizzle negated initial rescue plans, and once reality sank in, the group prepared themselves for a four-hour siege from the heavens, escaping to their respective eating spots in the isolation area to bundle up and mull the possible predicaments they could encounter.
Then the impossible happened:
The athletes ran out of energy bars, pretzels, and gummy bears, leaving only the free coffee and a meager helping of pizza leftover from the day before.
Athletes were informed several hoarders had been stashing free power bars – and there was a gleam of hope that more would be supplied in time to save us. I saw Brian Kim walk by while I was stretching, and noticed mint-colored wrappers poking out from his jacket pockets. In Brian’s defense I probably had twenty or so myself.
While plotting to run away with the rest of the ClifBar box to increase the chances of my own survival (something involving an explosion of white chalk, intricate dodging sequences, and the port-a-potty’s last toilet paper square) – humanitarian supplies were sent in. A solo-mission setter by the name of Chris Danielson brought us earplugs, and a masseuse was provided by NE2C for those in the worst physical condition.
But the situation was still dire. Nadya and I used the last of my camera battery to make a short video so the world would see our story.
We were in the middle of deciding who would be first first to feed the rest – voluntarily of course – when the first climbers, miraculously, were sent out to their boulder problems.
Unfortunately, we had already eaten Brian Kim.