The CLimBer

I'm exhausted and my fingertips hurt, but I can't sleep and want to write. My blood is still up.

I went climbing outdoors for the first time today. I keep replaying it. The holds, the exhilaration, the way it felt to just boss my way up the climb. Then the utter exhaustion and my inability to grasp even the easiest hold. The way my body told me "no," the way my mind could just not persist, did not even want to - the way I hated the rock and wanted off in the worst way.

I never felt unsafe. My belayer is too good for that. But I did feel unsure. It feels like a massive departure from who I used to be. The climbing crowd is part of it. The rock itself is another. Then there's my learning curve - the absolute mental and physical challenge. I could barely follow the conversation on the way to the rock. The terms, the names of (apparently) famous climbs and climbers... My climbing partners threw their jargon around like snow in Wisconsin. I was in a blizzard and just tried to keep my vision clear. More than once, I was snowed-in.

And that was even before we got to the rocks.

Once there, I soon found myself on belay and climbing Shelf's limestone walls. Implicitly trusting my belay partners and going all out, attacking the rock. You look for the weakness in the rock - and it ferrets out every weakness in you. I used every part of my body and every piece of rock that I could think of to devise a hold. To pull myself up those rock faces. I bear the battle scars. Bruised knees, a chunk of skin out of a finger pad, and muscles that I don't want to face tomorrow.

I attempted five climbs. I couldn't make it to the top on my last two. A meager three full ascents drained every ounce of my energy. My third climb was my most fun - but the most technical of them all, the bruise-maker. It was called "Don't mess with my Moves" (each climb has a catchy little moniker) and was "in your face" the whole time, requiring the climber to be creative in finding each hold. I remember being splayed on the rock, spread-eagle style to reach holds, while other moves had my hands and feet hugging an outward bulge of rock. That's where I earned the bruises; determinedly hugging that rock with my thighs and knees, not wanting to give it an inch - wanting to ascend under my own power.

Once that climb was done, I attempted the fourth and fifth climbs but found that I was done. My body was tapped out. My mind was tapped out.

Right now I am a CLimBer; my skills are as jagged as Shelf's burlier faces. I am going to have to work to get good at this. According to my climbing partners, I have a natural aptitude, but even with that, I didn't do a single "clean" climb. I either fell off the wall or had to ask for a "take" - wherein my belayer locked down the rope and let me hang to rest and consider my next move. I am far, far from being able to lead. It is unsettling to be a newbie at this. I am, however, settled on one thing: I will be back. I am in the place where it makes sense to do this.

As exemplified by this final photo. We left as the sun was beginning to sink. But a glance back revealed nine different ropes at work on this one wall. Shelf's hundreds of routes find just as many climbers. This is quite a place.