By Lisa Payne
It sounded fun.
As a kid I was a monkey. I loved recess and climbing on the dome-shaped jungle gym. Back then jungle gyms were metal. Nevertheless, no matter how cold, or sometimes even how hot the metal playground got, there was nothing like reaching the top, hooking my feet and hanging upside down. Physical challenges became something I loved to master.
Not surprising, as I grew older not much changed. Rock climbing seemed daunting. Adult-onset fear of heights aside, it was daunting in a way that intrigued me. At the time, my Mom had just been admitted into home hospice. Emotions and adrenaline had been running rampant. It was the toughest time of my life.
She looked at me her first day in home care and told me I looked tired. I said, “Tired is ok.” She told me she thought I should take a trip. I left for Denver four days later and booked a private rock climbing session. I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that it was physically demanding. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Even though I was hesitant about leaving my Mom at such a time, I have never regretted it. The short trip led me to lessons I couldn’t have gotten elsewhere, or at any other time.
Halfway up the first sandstone slant, my legs shook without warning and I felt my triceps start to burn. As I was finding out, rock climbing is the least physical thing you will do. But it requires more mental toughness and mindfulness than anything else I have ever experienced. My mind wanted to run away like an unsupervised toddler.
I stumbled up three more climbs. But it was the fourth climb that taught me a lesson in ego and of letting go. Halfway up I got stuck. Real stuck. My legs were shaking so bad I was nearly hanging off the side of the almost vertical stone mountain by nothing but my arms and my toenails. My forearms scraped into the stone and I could feel the skin begin to tear. Rock burn they call it. Two toenails started to lift out of the nail bed inside my shoes. I didn't have to look to know it wouldn't be long before I lost the nails.
I wedged myself against a rock and sobbed.
“Stop using your arms so much! I can see your back muscles from here!”, yelled my guide.
My legs weren't strong enough, I thought. I wasn't strong enough.
“I can’t see where to go!” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. As I looked up to my endpoint all I could see was smooth rock and no place to pull and push myself up. It was probably 20 feet to the purple carabiner but it felt like 100.
“There are tiny grooves! Take them one at a time! They’re there! You’ll find them!”, he shouted.
I had my doubts but I couldn’t stay there. I looked down to the ground below me and decided I wasn’t going down. I wasn’t a quitter. I didn't come all the way out here to quit. I needed to do this. But I knew the only way to get myself out of this was to run towards the fire. To run towards the thing that terrified me more than anything. Not to run away from it. I managed to build up enough, "Fuck that!", drive inside me that I pushed off one of the rocks with my right foot and reached my left arm up. I flung myself into the fire. I found a wedge.
“There you go!”, encouraged Patrick from below.
I thought I had it. I didn’t. I tried. I was vulnerable. The initial burst of confidence was followed by the slip of my left foot and I was instantly left dangling by nothing but my hands. No. I was not going to fall! I was not doing this. This is fucking bullshit! I don't quit. Ego. Stubbornness. I have to give this everything. I can't leave anything up on this mountain. No regrets. No, "I could've worked harder."
My eyes darted upward. ‘Tiny grooves,’ he had said. Trust. The purple carabiner seemed further away and it shined red hot in the sun like it was teasing me. "Fuck that!" One groove-one step at a time. I breathed. Let go. Push.
I made it!
The long sigh of relief that followed showed me everything I needed- to learn to let go of ego, to stay in the moment and to stay true to who I was. I'm not someone who gives up on herself, or others for that matter. Stop overthinking and focus. I learned to trust that even if you have no idea how to accomplish-or how to get through something, there is always a way. Even if you can't see them, there are tiny grooves that you can rely on to get you to where you need to go.
Daydreaming… Doing… Rock climbing taught me this.
