11. CLIMBERS

February 17, 2014

Here’s my challenge to you: Try something you’ve never done before.

When was the last time you did this?

Our exuberant hosts in Philadelphia are excited about climbing. They have all of the right equipment and plenty to share: shoes, harnesses, ropes, chalk, positive energy, calluses on their palms. They know of a great spot hidden in the middle of the city: a man-made rock wall on the edge of the park and train tracks, hidden in the woods. From my earth-level vantage point, it is a high high wall.

In this moment, I have never climbed before. You see, I have a lot of complicated history with, well, sports. Activities. I have never done any of them. I am a semi-disabled woman: it’s a long story. The short version: I am not sure that my legs will get me up this wall. I have limitations.

But I have decided to try.

It is a beautiful muggy afternoon. We rig up, watch Caleb lead-rope our routes up the mountain, John the Baptist preparing the way in the wilderness. He makes a magical great swing for the kids.

I try. I like the feel of my feet on the wall, I don’t like that the wall GOES STRAIGHT UP. I am used to scrambling on mountaintops, generous handholds at the crowning peaks of hikes, not this unstoppable great barrier. I try and try. Mika claims that I am on that wall for much longer than anyone else, she marvels at my willpower. My goal is to make it halfway up the wall. I climb a quarter of the way twice, so I suppose that is satisfactory. But it feels like a defeat. Willpower is not enough. I’ve been fond of the phrase “fail harder”, but that sentiment does not make this moment less emotional. I was worried that I would not be able to do it; it is just as hard to discover that I really can’t do it. Here are my limitations, I feel them in my muscles and bones. They are tangible and not to be argued with.

Mika performs beautifully. She makes it two-thirds of the way up the wall the first time, conquers to the top on the second try. Bloody hands, shot arms, sweat pouring down her face. It is magnificent.

It is the evening. We sit on the rooftop, drinking late into the night, sharing life stories. It is a wide-reaching conversation, encompassing decades of experiences. We share belly laughs, we share sad dark stories, we marvel. I listen and stand next to the younger iterations of my friends: I see their family road trips, watch them prank and bolt at summer camp. But my imagination can only share so much. Here are our limitations.

It is the next day: I have never been so sore. It is a driving day and both of us can barely turn our heads to check our neighboring lanes, lift our arms to the turn signals.

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It is yesterday, months and months after that day in Philly. I join a friend at her climbing gym. I am anxious but know that I will likely have fun. She has been a great cheerleader of my life for years. Secretly harboring my fears, I decide that it will be okay if I fail. If this moment does not turn out how I wish, it will be alright.

… but I do it! I DO IT. Active verbs, active nouns. My feet hold the vertical path, arms reaching wide. I learn the ropes, the knots, the steady landlocked rigging. I attempt to climb four different walls, all of differing skill levels, and I MAKE IT TO THE TOP OF ALL OF THEM. I am utterly shocked. I find myself to be capable. I feel it in my muscles and bones. The capability is tangible and not to be argued with.

Where are my limitations?