When I started climbing over 20 years ago, I was more afraid than courageous. I had more fear than everyone I climbed with. Fear of heights. Fear of falling. Fear of something not working right or someone messing up. Fear of everything.
When friends comment on my climbing now, they often say “I could never do that I am scared of…(fill in the blank).” I quietly think to myself, “I am scared too.” Being scared isn’t what changed…
I never stopped being afraid, instead I used climbing to teach myself how to be afraid and still do it. I learned how to get scared with more grace, by tracking my nervous system, by studying the physical and emotional signs, by testing my limits to know my true limits.
I have had a very activated nervous system for as long as I can remember. It was a long journey, but I was determined to learn how to tend to my nervous system - allowing me to play, live, work and connect with those around me differently. I still work on it every day.
Climbing was one way I taught myself to dance with fear; to discern what actually needed my attention and what my brain was making up. I learned how to take little risks and then big risks…without being controlled by fear. I learned to trust others, myself and something bigger. I learned when to stop. I learned when to push my edges to reach new heights.
Climbing let me face real fear - fear of injury or death. It allowed me to get curious about my responses and learn to change how I responded. This didn’t make me less fearful, instead it made me more discerning. With new awareness and discipline, I had new ways to respond that consistently disrupted outdated habits, patterns and belief systems. I transformed how I navigated fear in all parts of my life with more nervous system agility.
Imagine…
I am 30 feet off the ground. I am exhausted. My elbows and knees are already raw from squeezing inside sandstone cracks. There is a twinge of pain starting to scream at me from between my shoulder blades…the result of dragging 20lbs of gear, while it hangs across my shoulder on a sling that is digging into my neck. I reach the first moment when a tiny rest becomes a possibility, a rock feature where I can curl the curves of my body inside just enough to unweight most of my body..ending up in a fetal position. I look up from the small bit of safety I have established, and all I can see is the bulge of the cliff sticking out above me. My heart starts to race. My thoughts start to tell me I can’t do this. But I’ve been here before and I know what to do.
I take a breath…
I slide my right arm into the crack past my elbow, and “chicken wing” myself up. I jam my legs deep inside and twist both my feet in opposite directions, pressing my toes and heels on opposite sides of the inside of the crack. I am holding myself up with counter tension. This gives me the ability to move up an inch at a time. I slide my hand to where the roof of the crack wall starts to curve up, quickly matching it with the arm that was chicken winged, to form a butterfly where my hands stacked on top of one another. The gear pulls heavy on my shoulder threatening to pull me off as I lean against the wall. I gently shuffle my feet up just a little more. With one shoulder on one side of the crack and my hand counter balancing on the other, I reach out to place a piece of gear, so I can place it in the wall to give me some protection from a fall. But my gear is wedged behind my hip on the wall, and I just can’t manage to reach it. I grab behind, desperately trying not to disturb the perfect weight balance I have established. I slip. I almost fall. I catch myself. I finally wiggle a piece of gear from between my hip and the wall into my hand. I go to place it in the crack. It doesn’t fit. I am slipping again. I slide another sling quickly over my neck, to catch myself with both hands. I barely catch myself from falling and press my back against the wall. As I move up into a squeeze, I quickly get in another piece of protection, but I am slipping again down an inch for every two I move up. I move above my piece of protection. I sink my shoulder deeper into the crack.
My mind hyper focuses with each move…
Clink. The two slings crossing opposite sides of my neck, lock together. A carabiner has somehow locked itself. I move up to try and wiggle free and the slings cinch down on my neck…I can’t breathe. I shuffle up to try and release what is caught. But now the gear is caught in the crack too. If I move up it cinches tighter, and I realize if my feet slip and I fall, I risk hanging from my neck.
I freeze. I hold my breath.
My climbing partner yells up. “Whip, you okay?” Only small gasps of air come out in response - I can’t tell him what’s going on. Another friend, squeals “let her down”. My Climbing partner tries to quiet my friend, though I can still hear them. He whispers “if she is caught by her neck and I give her too much slack I could kill her.”
Silence. Everything pauses. Everyone holds their breath.
Two parts of me began to talk in fractions of seconds. “Just go up, push through. You will be fine.” And then another side says, “back down, at least you will have the bit of safety to rest in. You don’t know what lies up ahead.” I suck in as much air as I can against the restriction. I slide my body down. The slings cinch tighter. I begin to feel light headed. I quickly wiggle my legs, so they kick me out horizontal and I am doing some weird kind of pike, still with no oxygen. I wiggle my body again to lower into a bit of safety. I slip, but am able to use it to wedge myself back into the fetal position and at last the sling releases.
I finally get a breath. Inhale, exhale.
I have given myself a bit of safety, and I began to panic. I take another breath and focus, getting really logical and using my hypervigilence to my advantage. I determine I cannot climb down. It is safer to keep climbing to the top and establish anchors. I stare at the crack above me…acknowledging that I just barely escaped from it with my life. I study it. How can it be done? I reset my fear and focused it on what I needed to do.
With steady breath…
I climbed out of my little nook of safety, through the roof and methodically move, inch by inch, to the end of the climb. With care, I pulled up the drill from my partner on the ground and proceed to hand drill the anchors. I set up the ropes so I can descend and then I lower to the ground.
I hold my breath.
When my feet hit the ground and I am safe, the hypervigilence and management skills to get through the danger dissolved instantly. My nervous system sky rockets, I can feel my skin start to crawl. The pressure from my clothes suffocates me and I I pull off what I can, moving like a wild animal. I can’t let anyone touch me. I curl up on a rock, start to cry and fall asleep for an hour. When I wake up, I am back to normal, but tender. And, luckily with friends who can hold me.
I took a deep breath.
(Link to New Climbing Website)