Taking a deep breath, he placed both chalked hands on the starting jug hold, and then positioned his feet on the wall chips, one after the other.  He gave the signal, exhaled, raised his right leg, pushed himself upwards and reached his left hand to the next handhold, a nice incut, which was solid, then his right hand to the smaller but gripable edge hold.  There was just something really compelling about the first move, a rush of adrenaline when you lifted yourself off the ground.  It was like a rocket launch or a plane taking off.  This was the moment when you realized you could fall.  This was the moment when you realized you could fly. 

*                      *                      *

“How long have you been top rope climbing?”  Kim asked, leaning into the table, where the steam from their coffees danced in the air between them.  The room was pleasant and well lighted, with jangly guitar music playing softly in the background.  She had suggested it over a bar, which experience taught her was a room of half-truths.

“About three years,” Denny replied with a contemplative look to the coffeehouse ceiling.  The place was nice enough, he thought, but the prices ridiculous.  The cup he had in hand was the same price as a decent beer. 

He had been noticing the cute little brunette around the gym for weeks now.  She had a round face and a round bottom and he liked the way she smiled while she and two equally-cute friends worked on problems at the bouldering wall.  Though he had rehearsed in the car on his way to the gym, he made the offer for a drink seem offhanded, and was mildly surprised when she accepted.  “But I’ve been a climber for as long as I can remember.  First it was the wooden banister at our house, then the heater pipes that carried hot water from the basement to the upstairs radiators.  I used to climb up and then slide down, pretending they were the Bat poles.”

“Bat poles?” she managed with a sardonic half-frown/half-smile.

Denny gave her his most incredulous stare.  “As in: ‘To the Bat poles!’  From Batman?”  Kim shrugged her ignorance.  “Where Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson slide down from stately Wayne Manor to the Bat Cave, magically transformed to Batman and Robin when they hit the bottom.”

“If you say so,” she giggled into her tea.  “Spiderman and climbing I get, the Batman reference is lost on me.”

“I dig Spidey too, but it seems like you might need a lesson in superheroes, young lady.”

“I’m all ears, professor.” 

“Got all night?  It might take awhile.”

“I might.”  She said playfully.

He made an obvious show of shaking the dirty implications away before he continued.  “Anyway, I graduated to the wrought iron brackets on grandma’s porch, and eventually chain link fences around the neighborhood.  Walls led to the roof of the concessions stand at the baseball field, and just about any tree was fair game.” 

*                      *                      *

The white route, noted to be a 5.10, was said around the gym to be a cruxy, with an easy start: a vertical slab for a third of the way, the holds within comfortable reach and large (jugs, incuts and slopers at the beginning); which grew more difficult at a height, with pinches, crimps and edges of various sizes.  He stepped along the route; right, then left; legs then arms, a bend at one point, a twist at another, turning body into the wall, pushing his leg out as a counterbalance, while his belay partner below took up the slack rope connected to his safety harness, which wrapped snugly around waist and legs.  The half moon gray handhold that had been hard to grip was now a toehold and he forced the rigid rubber tip of his climbing shoe into the minute ledge.  It was just enough to support his one hundred and seventy-five pounds.  His right foot found better purchase a few inches higher and he was able to switch feet so he could lead off with his left again.  He was able to get three fingers into a nice pocket hold and his left leg wedged on a sloper. 

The route was engaging and his progress was steady, measurable.  Each set of motions propelled him higher.  But it was not without a telling effort.  He wasn’t 22 any more, and there were a few spots where he felt older than his 31.  The back of his neck, underarms, and crotch were growing moist with sweat.  His breathing became labored; arms and shoulders warm with exertion.  Blood coursed to demanding limbs, and as the body struggled, but with the physical stress there came a clarity of mind.  Other than to make himself aware of where he was headed, he did not focus on what was above or what was below, nor side-to-side, but what was right in front of him, the immediate challenge: how to reach a hold, grip a hold, use a hold.  Some of the motions were instinctive, fluid, and effortless, like his body knew where it had to be at any given moment, while other movements: twists, stretches, and smears, were calculated judgment calls. 

*                      *                      *

He really liked the way she was sitting on her leg and playing absently with her hair as she listened.  The gestures gave her a sort of intensity he found exciting.

“I’ve never really considered myself an athlete.  I was too small for football and too short for basketball.  Baseball bored the pants off me.  I did play a little street hockey, but there weren’t a lot of kids in my neighborhood, so it was tough getting a game together.  I spent a lot of time alone, and took rather naturally to climbing.  It was something I could do by myself.”

“Weren’t you ever afraid of falling?  I’d rather kick a ball around than climb a tree.  I’ve always been scared to death of heights, which is why I’m sticking to bouldering.  I can handle a four foot fall to a nice cushy mat.” 

“I’ve honestly never thought about falling.  I mean, I know it’s possible to fall at any time, but in your mind you make it an impossibility.  Like, ‘it won’t happen to me,’ and if you apply yourself correctly, it doesn’t.  That, and a lot of luck, of course.”

“I’m sure that’s how many people get over their fear of flying: by telling themselves that it’s more dangerous to be in a car than a plane.  Statistically speaking that’s true, I suppose.” 

“Exactly.  I just block it out, I guess.”  Kim gave a look he read as doubtful.  “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?” she asked with feigned innocence.

“With your eyes, all crossed up like that.  Besides the act that it looks weird, you’re going to jinx me.”

“I don’t want to do that.”  The talk of phobias amused her.  It was a topic that often came up with her friends.  Kathy was scared to death of spiders (arachnophobia).  Nicci didn’t like elevators (the phobia as of yet unnamed but commonly linked to claustrophobia).  Tisha couldn’t stand dogs (cynophobia).  There was even a girl at work who joked she had phallophobia (fear of erections).  Kim didn’t find her acrophobia debilitating; she only had to close her eyes or force deeper breaths on rare occasions when the symptoms snuck up on her.  The worst time had been on a hotel balcony for the prom after party, but maybe the rum and cokes had had something to do with it.

“Well, it’s too late,” Denny groaned, slapping the table.  “I’m going to forget how to block out my fear and I’ll never be able to climb again.

“Then, let’s just take back the last five minutes and start over.  Forget the need to forget.  Deal?”

“Deal.”  He agreed.  They enthusiastically shook hands and burst into a fit of giggles.

“How did you ever manage to get through high school?” she asked when they had recovered.

“Why, do I seem that dumb?”

“No, I meant without playing sports.”

“The only thing I really liked about gym class was scaling the rope to the gym roof and swinging on the rings.  Not everyone could do it, especially the big kids who looked down on me because I didn’t play sports, so maybe I felt a little special because I could do something others couldn’t.  The fatties didn’t have the strength, or often the courage, to pull their flabby asses upwards.  I guess I did well enough with the gymnastics stuff that I was able to pass.  That’s ancient history anyway.”

*                      *                      *

The shadow of another climber moved to his right, but his eyes were fixed on the route.  He did not hear the blaring rock music from the speakers above, did not see the eyes staring from below, even if they were hers.  His entire focus was on the position of his limbs, where they were presently, and where he wanted them to be to stay on route.  He studied the holds as he past them, noting where they would be for his feet, so he wouldn’t waste time and energy by leaning back off the wall to check the color. There were a few times when a misstep was hastily corrected by a curt “no” from below, and he was feeling pretty good about staying on route.

The reaches began to take more effort and the air grew warmer, moister with height.  Some of the holds were slick with sweat and oil from the climbers who had come before.  They were the spots were you could slip off, lose your grip in a manner of a second, and find yourself falling.  He laughed to himself when he realized what he had told Kim was only half-true: there was much more to not falling than not wanting to fall.  He reached a place where his feet and right hand were solid on a ledge and pocket, and then shook out the lactic acid that was starting to build up in his left forearm, first as a mild tingling, then a quivering strain that burned.  He swung the free arm behind his back and bathed the fingers in the chalk bag hanging from the harness.  He gripped the wall and chalked the opposite hand, breathed the white dust as he took the next hold and pulled upwards, the powder definitely helping to solidify his grip.

*                      *                      *

They had ordered another round of drinks and grabbed a few muffins.  Time was taking great gazelle-like leaps, which he took as a good sign.  Time only crawled at a snail’s pace when something was dull, like school or work.  The conversation meandered but returned to climbing, where Kim deflected her lack of knowledge with more questions.  “So, what made you get into indoor climbing?”

“I’ve always liked puzzles, and climbing is basically a puzzle; you have to figure things out as you go.  It’s not just the physical act of climbing, or the mental gymnastics of convincing yourself you are not afraid to fall, but the thought process behind how to achieve the climb.  That’s the part I find exciting.  There’s more to it than muscle; there’s physics and logic.  That sounds pretty good, right?”

“It does,” Kim nodded.  To her the gym was just fun, but she could totally relate to people taking a more scientific approach because she had seen it firsthand.  “Very mature and impressive.”

“Well, it’s mostly bullshit,” Denny laughed.  “I just climb to meet hot chicks.”

“So, do you invite a lot of girls you meet at the gym out for coffee?”

“Just the cute ones,” he winked.  “The ugly ones get invited out for a beer.”

*                      *                      *

The brief rest and restart had expended some energy.  He had to keep moving now or the reserves would dwindle and he would get too fatigued to complete the climb.  The wall began to incline by degree, arching in towards the center of the large former warehouse that had been converted to the climbing gym more than a decade prior, so that he was not merely climbing, but hanging, arms stretched, fingers straining.  This is where the climb became real.  His body was close to failing him and there came a strange mixture of fear and excitement as he pushed himself to go further.  He slammed against the wood wall hard reaching for the next hold and cursed as his knee smashed into a jug hold he hadn’t noticed.  “Careful!” he heard himself say.  He found another jug, tucked his legs tight on a wedge, trying to keep as close to the wall as possible, resisting the compound force of gravity that was fighting to tear him away.  

He went to place the tip of his left shoe on a ledge that seemed solid but it slipped.  He smeared his foot along the wall to keep from being pulled off, but now his arms were really strained as he hung.  He had to take the pressure off his arms and quickly repositioned the foot, trying to assess how much further he had to go.  He was panting now, willing himself not to slip off the wall.  “Breath, you dumb ass.”  The end of the route was in sight, a nice jug with the inverted “V” tags underneath, but just beyond reach.  The final move could be no timid measure; only a bold gesture would serve.  There would be no victory otherwise. 

*                      *                      *

“I’ve been watching you,” she said in a manner he found provocative.

“Have you?  Well, that’s promising.”

“For a couple weeks now,” Kim nodded.  “I think you’re an awesome climber.”

“I’m really not that good,” Denny confessed, sure by the way Kim giggled that his face had reddened.  “I’m just a hack, a gumby in climber terminology.  Like every other guy who likes to sit on the couch and eat potato chips, I need some exercise once in a while and figured climbing was a hell of a lot more fun than hanging with a bunch of sweaty, gassed muscle heads pumping iron in some smelly gym.  It’s exercising without feeling like you’re exercising, more of an adventure than a chore.  At least that’s what I tell myself.”

“Well, you look pretty good from where I stand.”

“You can always stand a little closer.”

“Maybe, but for now, I like watching from afar.  It’s a lot safer on the ground.”

“We’ll have to change that.  You need to get up there, experience the highs.  If you can boulder, you can climb.”

“Uh, and what about the height thing?  You know, the sweaty palms and paralysis deal?”

“We can get you over that.  Remember: all you have to do is forget to be afraid.  We can work on it together.”

“Really?” she didn’t mean to sound surprised, but that’s the way it came out.

“Really.  It would be my pleasure.”  Denny reached out across the table and Kim took his hand.  “Ooh, a little slippery,” he said with an exaggerated wrinkle of nose.  “Where’s my chalk when I need it?”

*                      *                      *

He arched his left leg inward and thrust forward with a groan, right arm outstretched.  The hold seemed very far away, an impossible distance.  Time appeared to stand still in that very long, silent moment, every inch forward passing in super slow motion.  He had pushed with everything he had, stretched his body as far as it would go, and now he was airborne, trusting his instincts and hoping the strength would be enough.  The wall came within reach again.  First, the right hand found the hold, then the left reached the large bulbous finish position.  He held tight.  Heart pounding, lungs pulsing, he had made it!  The rope was as far as it could go, looped over the horn and back down to the ground.

“Yeah!” came praise from below.

Just as time had been slow during the final leap, it suddenly erupted, like a volcano.  He gave the lower off signal and placed his feet on the wall, effectively sitting in the harness, dangling fifty feet in the air.  The rope slacked from below and he was gradually lowered to the rubber-cushioned floor.  He could look down now, out across the gym to the other climbers below, and see their efforts, as well as the casual observer’s admiration for what he had done.  He shook his burning arms through the descent and bounced slightly when he returned to the earth, feeling gravity bound him to the floor, a hot mixture of relief and exhilaration coursing through his body.

“Nice job!” his partner said, giving him a high-five.

“Thanks, Mark.  That was a blast.  I thought I was going to lose it for a moment.”

“You looked good up there.”

“You just like staring at my ass.”  Denny joked, pulling the last safety knot apart, slapping Mark with the rope.

“I confess: I do.”  Mark admitted with a wry grin.  “So, she’s not here today to see your victory?”

“Who?”

“Your little pal.”

“You mean Kim?” 

“Is that her name?  The brown-haired chick?  Yeah, then Kim.  She’s a no-show.”

“I guess,” Denny shrugged, but could not contain his grin.  “I’m seeing her later.  We’re going to dinner.”

“Oh, you’re a sly one!”  Mark said with a pronounced envy.

“It’s all about reaching for that next hold, my friend.”  Denny replied with a wink.

“Well, do a little reaching for me, and remember: if you can’t be good, be careful.”

It was always good to end with a successful climb, as there was nothing worse than leaving the gym with the taste of defeat in your mouth.  The two men headed to the locker room to remove their climbing harnesses and change into street shoes.  The climbing exploit had ended for the day, but there were always new summits to mount.

– John Riebow