I guess if I want to talk about climbing to those who aren’t steeped in its culture, I must first set about defining climbing and a few things about it so that I can (hopefully) start defying where you think climbing belongs. Perhaps, to you, climbing belongs in a little bubble labeled “obscure sport” or “outdoors” kept away in a locked filing cabinet in the back corner of your mind, only to be dredged out when it is casually referenced in conversation.
But what is climbing if not a metaphor for life? More than ups and downs equating themselves to climbs and falls, however, climbing is the stuff of life. Don’t believe me? Let me take you on a journey—a climb, if you will—to discover the things about life you thought you knew, but that climbing really places the words to.
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Perhaps you are thinking that I must have too much faith in this concept—this word—climbing. Perhaps (if you don’t know me) you are wondering why I am so invested in this concept at all.
It may not shock you to learn, then, that I am a competitive rock climber. I have been for the last six years. Maybe this makes me a little biased (probably) or a little obsessed (definitely), but I truly believe that climbing has bled into so many areas of my life that it has become my life. And, even if you don’t climb physically, it could become your life too.
Climbing is rising. Climbing is falling. Climbing is about solving problems (which is literally what specific climbs are called), and understanding that even though you can have the same goal and start at the same place as someone else, there are multiple solutions to a problem—solutions based on your strengths. Climbing is about defying gravity but also understanding it—understanding your own limitations.
I will finish by saying this:
When I first began climbing, I felt buoyed by the endlessness of infinite space that stretched above me—space I was determined to scale. I clambered up walls so readily that my parents called me their “spider-monkey.” I was determined to know no limits, to let climbing release me into the heavens. That is, until, two years into my climbing journey, I fell.
It was my first competition. I was ten. My coach was urging me to go for the next move. I didn’t want to. At that moment, I felt the weight and pull of gravity and wanted to quit. What climber was I if I wasn’t immune to the petty effects of that thing us climbers are not supposed to know—gravity?
Needless to say, I learned full well in that moment what gravity felt like. Because at that competition, I fell with my arms stuck out beneath me and broke my arm. I couldn’t climb for another three months.
I think my mom didn’t want me to go back. She was scared for me to fall again. I was scared too. I had learned that I wasn’t immune—that climbing wasn’t an escape from reality, but rather an extension of it. But as soon as I was better, I started going back to practice. I started climbing again, I started falling again, I started finding the balance between the two.
Because climbing is getting up only to fall back down again. Climbing is life in a nutshell—it’s the balance between the gravity that pulls you down and the drive that pushes you forward. Climbing is falling, and at the same time, climbing is life.
Thank you for not only taking this journey with me as I explore what climbing means to me through non-fiction, poetry, flash fiction, and more, but also what climbing could mean to you as you set out into the world and into your everyday life.
