Climbing

This piece is a sequel to yesterday's post, Falling.

I never intended to become a climber. My ex got into it first, loved it, nagged at me endlessly to go, and yet I had no interest in the idea. I expected climbing to be scary, difficult, tiring, and generally unpleasant.

Eventually I gave in to the nagging. I was like "Fine, I'll go - ONCE". The unspoken other half of that sentence was "... so that I can prove this climbing business is not for me, and then you'll shut up about it and leave me alone." I showed up at the gym feeling sulky, ready to hate every second of it. But he was right. One lesson, and I was hooked.

I started going to the climbing gym two or three times a week. If you're serious about making progress, you have to build up your strength. Within a few months, I put so much new muscle onto my upper body that I grew out of my fitted shirts. My pencil arms got ripped. I was a mini Incredible Hulk girl, minus the green.

Climbing requires grace, balance, focus, and endurance. You can't just barge up a wall. You have to plan your route. Even your power moves have to be controlled. You also have to know how to rest on the wall, so that you don't exhaust your strength. Shake out your arms one at a time. Breathe. Reach back into your chalk bag and take care of those sweaty palms. Then make your next move.

The worst fall I ever had at the gym was from this crazy route that went up and across the ceiling. It wasn't a flat ceiling- it was a series of angles, built to mimic the inside of a cave, with holds attached. At the highest point it was around 45 feet up. Terrifying! I had been climbing for two years, but I had never climbed the ceiling route. I hated angled walls because there was too much swing and spin in the harness if you came off. It made me dizzy.

A bunch of climber friends got on my case one day and started pushing me to do the route. I didn't want to, but I felt I had to prove myself to them. I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I got halfway across the roof when I grabbed for a handhold and missed. I yelled "FALLING!" and plunged headfirst.

Because I was climbing scared, I was unfocused and hadn't properly kept the safety rope clear of my feet. When I fell, my right leg got tangled and I ended up hanging from it. I was lowered to the ground with that leg stuck in the air, upside down. I had a spiral bruise up my thigh for weeks.

I was lucky I wasn't hurt worse. Ken was on the other end of the rope, and he caught me properly. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else as my partner. If some joker was on the other end, not paying attention, I seriously could have broken my neck.

I'd go back to climbing if a gym ever opened in my neighbourhood. There are only three good gyms in the city, and they're all really far away from where I live now. If someone opened a serious gym, not just for kids' birthday parties, but like my old one with 60 foot climbs, clean holds, and challenging routes, I'd be in like Flynn. I just wouldn't climb the ceiling.

Falling

I was 30 feet up, clinging to the wall with only my fingertips, my toes jammed into a couple of crevices just big enough to accommodate them. There was nothing between me and the floor but thin air. A spider girl, I had scuttled up to my perch using all my cunning and all my strength. The hard part was done. Now all I had to do was let go, and fall.

A crowd of people were gathered around to watch. This was a rite of passage at the climbing gym. It was the end of the Lead Climbing course, where every student must practice falling. Twice.

Yes, the floor was padded. Sure, I was wearing a harness. But the rope from my harness was slack, and the last clip that it passed through, attached to the wall, was several feet below me. In Sport Climbing, the safety rope runs through an anchor on the ceiling, so that the climber is like a yo-yo on a string. You can go up and down, but as long as your partner has diligently taken up all the slack in the rope, you can let go of the wall and sit dangling in your harness anytime you like.

I trusted my harness and my climbing partners so much by this point that it was nothing for me to take a rest at the top of the highest climb, swaying 60 feet up above the floor.

Lead Climbing is a different story. You bring the rope up with you, "clipping in" to anchors on the wall as you climb. If you're five feet above your last anchor when you fall, you'll drop ten feet before the rope catches you. That's a long way. Picture the yo-yo, suspended five inches above the finger it's tied to. Now drop it. See how it falls? See it swing?

And that's why you have to practice falling. An inexperienced climber will instinctively push themselves away from the rock as they fall, but the problem is that the rope will pull them back in again on the downswing. When you're swinging back in towards the wall, your next instinct will be to put out a hand or foot to slow yourself down. Lots of climbers get broken wrists and injured ankles that way.

You have to be able to just... let go. Without panic. Without pushing away. Just let go. And fall straight down.

How much did I trust the instructor who was holding the other end of my safety rope? At that moment, I had to trust him with my life.

As you're letting go, you yell out "FALLING!", to give your partner some slight warning that you need a catch.

I'd watched the Lead Climbing course many times before I took it myself. Here's how it usually played out. One by one, the participants would chalk their sweating hands, and climb with rubber legs up to the 30 foot mark. They all tried to look brave, especially the guys, but you could tell they were scared shitless. Then they'd stick to that wall like glue. It was so hard to let go. Some would yell FALLING! and then there would be a loooong delay, before they could actually uncurl their frightened fingers from the rock. The crowd below savoured every moment of suspense.

As I prepared for the course, I swore that I would not get myself glued to the wall. I would not show fear. I would go balls out. I wanted to out-jock the cockiest jocks in the gym.

During the weeks leading up to the course, I visualized the moment of falling over and over. I visualized it as I fell asleep at night. I already knew how it would feel when my hands relaxed and let go of the rock. I felt the harness catch me again and again. I knew I was safe.

I was 30 feet up in the air, with nothing beneath me but the floor, and a circle of faces, watching gleefully. I looked straight ahead, at my hands. I called FALLING!, and as my teeth closed on the back edge of the "G", I dropped.

The 20 feet of free-fall put every roller coaster I've ever ridden to shame. In the last ten feet, the instructor executed a perfectly controlled catch, slowing me until I stopped with my toes two inches above the mats.

Then he sent me back up the wall to do it again.