Rock climbing is kind of the only sport that my body reacts positively to, or even craves. Senior year of high school, I was in the climbing gym 2-3 times a week, perfecting my bouldering skills and building up muscle. Granted, I was never one of the people who took to climbing easily––I was envious of other climbers and their toned bodies––but I still made the effort to show up, test my limits, and fall a few too many times.
After an injury, my anxiety was at an all time high. I’d drive to the gym, put on my harness and shoes, and then immediately run to the bathroom to hide. My fear of falling was crippling, and instead of swallowing the lump in my throat and getting back out there to project some climbs, that pattern almost always ended with me packing my bag, grabbing a coffee, and driving home.
When I climbed with other people, I’d tell them to lower me once I’d made it only halfway up the wall. I’d say my arm was throbbing; I was really good at milking it. This pattern went on for a while until I realized that nothing was changing, I wasn’t regaining my strength, and I was humiliating myself every time I climbed. So, for months, my gear sat in my climbing pack collecting dust (well, chalk,) and I didn’t pick it up again until I left for college.
After moving to Pittsburgh, I quickly realized I needed a physical and mental stress reliever that didn’t just involve hopping on the elliptical, or going for a painful jog every once in a while. So, climbing was back on my radar. I couldn’t escape it.
Finding climbing buddies is not as hard as I expected; it’s refreshing to meet people who are also just looking for a release. I didn’t understand the first time around that no one cares how skilled I am or not. That was the trap for me. I’m my own worst critic, and it’s hard to internalize the fact that other people are just not noticing every little mistake I make. It does not matter.
Getting back into something you used to love and make time for is equal parts embarrassing, exciting, and challenging. I get self-conscious when I know people are watching me boulder, and I still constantly fight the impulse to climb down as soon as I’m aware of the possibility of a fall. All things considered, though, I’m making strides.
I cannot expect my body or my mind to seamlessly revert back to where it was when I was at my peak, but I can learn to be okay with taking baby steps, and maybe even appreciate the ability to hone the basics all over again. Putting on my blister-tight shoes and throwing myself back on the wall feels foreign, but at the same time, I still believe I have some claim over it; like it can still be a deeply-rooted part of me, even when I’m embracing the rookie role all over again.
