Climbing

I’m at least 30 feet above the ground and I’m holding on for dear life. My fingers hurt from clutching the small hooks. My toes are straining through the thin shoes, precariously perched on a ledge.

Getting up was easy. I didn’t think twice about it. I surprised myself at the ease and speed with which I was able to scale the wall. Hand here, leg there. Push up. Pull. Repeat. Now I’m up here and I realize I have to get down.

My friends down below call out to me words of support and encouragement. I only hear sounds. And, unfortunately, this causes me to look down. I swoon. I clutch the hooks even harder and I hear something snap in my finger.
I’m in Texas and rock climbing for the first time in my life. Every day you should do something that scares you. Sometimes that’s just getting out of bed,

The trainer is below me. She’s a tiny girl, no more than 25 years old. She can’t weight more than 125lbs. How the fuck is she holding me? Anchoring me? I fear that if I let go, I’ll go plummeting down to the ground and my force and weight will cause her to counteract my downward spiral and she’ll rocket up. Ok, you know what, I’m just afraid that I’m going to plummet. I don’t care about her.

She starts to talk me through it, in her heavy Texan accent.

“Sit back in the harness like you’re sitting in a chair.”

“Uh huh,” I say as I do it. Ok. That wasn’t so bad.

“Good. Now let go of the rock and grab on to the rope in front of you.”

(Pause.)

“What?”

“Let go of the rock and grab on to the rope in front of you.”

“Uhm…”

I’m not good at letting go. Never have been. I’m in therapy to learn how to let go.

Let go, JV. And being up here I remember him. How he used to tell me I had the perfect body for rock climbing. How I never thought I had a perfect body for anything. I wish he could see me now. I’m doing this for him. I can’t let go of him. The Mormon.

Ok. One hand off of the wall and onto the rope. Not so bad. Now I need to breathe.

Now the next hand. Breathe. Let go, JV.

Ok. My finger is sore and beginning to swell.

That wasn’t so bad.

“Good,” she says. Her voice is not soothing. “Now I’m going to lower you down.”

I can feel the rope slacken. I can feel myself beginning to move down. The only problem is, my toes refuse to let go of the ridge they’re gripping. I start to spiral on the rope.

“JV, you have to let go.”

JV, you have to let go. You can’t stay up here forever.

So I do. And in the most awkward, ungraceful way imaginable I go spinning down to the ground. Holding my breath and my eyes clenched tight. I know there must be an easier way to do this. My feet instinctively reach for the wall and find another ridge to grip. The do so and this fucks up the entire descent. I spin harder.

“No, just let go. I’ve got you.”

How do I trust that, you know? How do you trust that someone can hold on to you as you fall? It’s never happened before.

And then I’m on the ground.

The entire experience couldn’t have last more than three minutes, but it felt like a lifetime.

I want to do it again.

My friends congratulate me and make fun of me at the same time. But I did it. And I’m ready to do it again.

I watch them go up. None of them go up with the same speed and ease as I do. They’re thinking too much, strategizing. “If I put my hand here, where will I put it the next time?”

Their descents, however, are smooth and graceful. Some walk down the wall, calm and easy. Some push off with their legs, drop, land against the wall further down, push off again, and so on until they reach the ground. I watch and try to learn.

Finally, it’s my turn to go up again. A different course this time, not quite as easy. The ascent is a little more difficult but, instinctively, I know where to grab and where to put my feet, how much strength I need to push and pull myself up. I look up, not down. I could climb forever.

There’s a terrifying moment when I realize that the only way to reach the next handle to pull myself up is to let go of both hooks I’m holding on to and push up. I breathe and I let go, pushing myself up, propelling straight up into the air, suspended for a moment in mid air. And I grab on to the hook. And I only hold on to it for a split second before continuing my ascent.

Suddenly I’m at the top but I want to keep going. I’m free on this wall. I can’t think about anything but where to put my hand next, where to put my foot. I’m lost in the motion. I don’t think about work. I don’t think about my heart. I don’t think about how lonely I am. None of that matters here. I can only climb.

But the wall has ended and now I need to go down.

The young girl begins to talk me through it again. I concentrate on putting action to word. I push the fear aside. I sit back in the harness. I grab on to the rope in front of me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I push off the wall with my legs. No walking down for me.

And, as always, I’m not aware of my own strength. I push so hard and there’s so much slack that I thrust myself more than a few feet away from the wall. It’s like I’m flying. It’s thrilling, terrifying. I look down for a second and see the woman below me, and my friends behind her and I look over my shoulder and see the sky. I’m dizzy and weightless. I hit the wall about halfway down and I push off again, trying to use less force. Again, I’m flying. And then I land on the soft ground.

I look up and I realize just how high I was. My entire body starts to shake and I feel tears well up behind my eyes. I try to take the harness off but my hands won’t stop shaking. I can’t catch my breath. I’m choking back the tears. I want to get away, from all of them. I don’t want them to see me like this. The woman comes over and undoes the harness, pushing it down to the floor so that I can step out of it.

I push forward and collapse on a bench, shaking uncontrollably. Is it fear? Exhilaration? Adrenaline? Loneliness? Yes.

I light up a cigarette. I think about how he my body was perfect for something.