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.
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.
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.
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.