Climb The Wall.


I am not good with heights, internet.

Me and heights had a breakup over a decade ago (god I’m old) when I fell off a chairlift.

Long story.

At any rate, since I was six or so, heights and I have not gotten along. Eiffel Tower? Horrifying. Mt. Hood, Oregon? No thanks. Ladders? I’ll pass.

In spite of this anxiety, I went rocking climbing a few weeks ago with my coworkers as part of a team building activity, and it was amazing. 

I’ve tried rocking climbing on several different occasions, and none of them ended prettily. I panic when I’m about three feet off the ground. Panic-panicking. Like, almost hyperventilating panicking. I have had a panic attack on a porch.

Yes, really.

However, despite breathing like a  stranded fish and sweating like a chubby kid in a sauna, I somehow made it to the ceiling.

Here is proof.

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That yellow line near the bottom? That’s the ten foot mark.

Goodness, just looking at this photo gives me vertigo.

At any rate, the huge difference was having a group of people at the bottom cheering me on and telling me where to go next, because when you’re fear-clinging to a wall with your sweat-hands 35 feet off the ground, it’s really hard to figure where to put your feet. Mostly because the looking down thing is a huge no-no.

Just goes to show that a second pair of eyes, sometimes, is exactly what you need to get you places you never thought you were going to.

Night internet.

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