The first time my older sister enthusiastically asked me if I wanted to go rock climbing with her and her boyfriend, I was reluctant, to say the least. My upper body strength was at an all-time low, and it felt like another opportunity for my uber-athletic older sister to show me up again. I argued for a while, coming up with every excuse I could from weak arms to fear of heights to insufficient funds. Finally, with no other plans for the day but to binge-watching Netflix in my pajamas, I surrendered. I figured I could suffer through a couple hours of humiliation to spend some quality time with my sister, who, as my mother argued, "isn't living at home anymore and you never get to see her blah blah blah."

So we embarked on our journey to the rock gym. I signed my life away on a waiver, laced up a grody pair rental shoes, hiked up my rental harness, and there was no turning back. I looked around at the scene around me like a curious and hopelessly out out-of-place child. People sat on a variety of worn-down couches that appeared to have been plucked from the nearest landfill. Shirtless guys with hair longer than mine seemed to defy gravity, hanging from their finger tips on overhanging "bouldering walls," as my sister called them. Children with parents no where to be found swung from the tops of other bouldering walls, jumping down and landing hard on the mats just to get up and do it again. Despite feeling like a stranger in this new and odd environment, I felt inexplicably drawn to it. I wanted to be a part of this strange community.

"You're going to climb this; it's an easy wall," my sister led me over to one of the top-rope walls and tied an intricate-looking knot into my harness. I started to climb and she stopped me immediately. "You can only use the pink holds!"

I rolled my eyes and started on the pink holds. She coached me up the wall, telling me where to place my feet and where to turn my hips. I ended up cruising up the first route without a problem.

We moved onto different routes and throughout the day, my sister coached me, dealing with my complaints about my burning hands and forearms and encouraging me to finish everything I started. After failing on a route at the end of the day, I couldn't stand the thought of not coming back and doing it right the next time. That's when I knew I was hooked.

The best part of rock climbing is that there is no where to go but up (pun most definitely intended). There is always room for improvement in strength and technique and always harder walls to climb and new heights to reach. That being said, each time I finally completed a more difficult route, there's a sweet moment of satisfaction, but it is always followed by, "Okay, what's next?" It's the addiction to this beautiful, internal journey that every climber experiences that has pushed men and women to attempt seemingly impossible feats, scaling natural walls of rock that stretch thousands of feet into the air, some even without the assistance of ropes and harnesses. Though I don't think I'll ever do anything that crazy, I'm excited to see the beautiful places I will go as I transition from the world of gym training to sport climbing in the great outdoors.