I'm Falling and...and I can get up.

(sorry, I can't figure out how to rotate this yet)


Well, it finally happened. The class I have been dreading for months now; climbing course, class #8. Falling. We had to learn the technique of falling for a kind of climbing called "lead climbing". This is a closer assimilation to climbing outdoors with all the clips and gadgets. When the two young instructors demonstrated it the previous week, it didn't really look that bad. They made it look so easy and fearless. Still, the closer we got to the climbing gym, the more butterflies I got in my stomach. There had been a lot of hype about this falling stuff and all the students in the class were kind of freaking out about it.

After a quick demonstration of how to position our body during a fall, it came time for us, the students, to give it a try. More butterflies. I sat on the arm of the couch, next to my friend Tim. Tim isn't in the class, but he comes along every week to climb on his own. This week, I needed him there for moral support. He's done this before.

We all took turns, and I waited to go last. Partly due to procrastination, but also because I wanted to observe the others and learn the do's and don'ts. One of my classmates climbed to the top, and attempted her fall. The proper technique is to bend your arms and legs, in "frog" position, then "simply" (ha ha) let go. My classmate pushed off the wall a bit aggressively with her arms only, and ended up falling head first. Seeing her suspended above ground with her feet towards the ceiling, did not help my anxieties one little bit. One of the women in my group started telling me how one of the staff at the gym broke her ankle doing this very fall that we were doing. GREAT!! With one more classmate to go before it came to my turn, Tim was constantly reassuring me I could do it. "No worries". Still, I could feel my emotions well up and my stomach was in terrible shape.

My turn. I had to climb to the top while clipping in to the bolted carabiners along the way, fall, climb to the top again, fall, and then repeat it a third time. With his last words of encouragement, Tim left to video tape my fall from upstairs, overlooking the tower.

The climb up was no big deal. What was really difficult, was clinging to the top of the tower, looking down and seeing the last clip I was attached to, below me. That left me feeling so incredibly insecure. I was used to climbing "top rope", in which you are attached at the top of you climb. When you fall or let go, you only swing away from the wall, not down. Here I was, attached from the bottom up. Letting go of the wall, definitely meant falling. The one thing I did have going for me was that I truly trusted my instructor on the other end of the rope. He would insure that I didn't fall all the way to the floor. I knew that. I just didn't trust myself to do the technique of falling properly. So many thoughts going through my head. "What if I get hurt? I won't be able to finish the UBBT, and it's so close to the end." "If I get hurt, I can't go to work". Another lady in our group said, "we are just too old for this stuff". I was starting to agree with her.

I tried to get my head on straight. I told myself over and over again, "don't grab the rope". "Keep your torso tall". "Arms and legs bent". Trust, focus, believe, do. I knew that if I hesitated for even a second, I may never do it. So, when my instructor counted down, 3, 2, 1, I just...let go. No hesitation. Although I did push off a bit more aggressive than I needed to, my fall went as it should have. So I had to climb back up and do it again. It was still a bit scary, but at least I knew what to expect. I knew what it would feel like to fall. On my second fall, I did somehow manage to get my left foot caught against one of the clips as I came down, and it turned me slightly on the wall. My ankle has been hurting just a bit because of it, but nothing major.

Trust is incredibly important when doing this kind of a climb. You have to have total trust in the belayer, the person at the bottom who is also attached to the rope. As the belayer, you too have specific techniques to follow. If you release your brake hand, even for a second, and your climber falls, they hit the ground. If you keep the rope too tight and the climber falls, they suffer from a serious jarring. Too much slack in the rope and the climber falls much further than necessary, possibly to the ground. As a belayer, you have to stand with one foot forward, as in a bow stance. When you notice the climber begin to fall, you have to step forward with the lead leg as you thrust your back knee way up as if kneeing someone in the chin, let go of the rope with your left hand thrusting it up to the climber, and hang on tight with your break hand (right). As a climber, you have to trust that your belayer will follow all these rules and save you from a fall. You also have to have trust in the equipment, and, you have to trust yourself.

This was our next step: we had to change roles and be the belayer. As we partnered up to do this, of course it meant that one of us would have to fall again. Just like before, the climber had to climb up and fall, again, three times in a row. I could feel my emotions get a little out of control at having to do this again. I was not yet comfortable with it. I just kept real quiet, almost withdrawn, as I tried to focus on what I had to do. As it turned out, this wall that we were climbing on, was much easier to fall on than the tower. It wasn't really all that bad, yet still, after my 3rd fall, I was so relieved I didn't have to do it again.

My last climb of the night required just focusing on the climb as my partner worked on her belaying skills. I had to put all my trust in this person, who is somewhat a stranger to me. That was tough. It was a tough climb as well, as it required somewhat hanging upside down as some of the last clips dangled from the ceiling. My forearms were so pumped from the climb, they were rock hard. My friend Tim, excited for my success of the climb, called me superwoman, but told others I was much too modest to ever admit it. ha ha Superwoman... no. Adventurous...most definitely!