I recently tried out bouldering at a gym for the first time. It’s been something I’ve been curious about for a while, but it somehow kept falling lower on the list than everything else I meant to get around to. Then, on a random Saturday afternoon, a friend and I finally gave it a shot. And wow. It was humbling, rewarding, and very chalky.
One of my biggest fears is heights. So making my way up a wall, trusting that my body wouldn’t fail me, made me more nervous than I expected. There were pillow-like pads below to catch a fall, but the waiver I signed on the way in, the one that politely mentions the possibility of serious injury or worse, made the risk feel a little more real than the padding made it feel safe.
I didn’t shy away from it. I was determined to get past the fear, even if just for an afternoon.
Long story short: I’m still afraid of heights. But now I also know I can make it to the top of a V3 wall at Dogpatch Boulders, shaking the whole way up.
Looking back on it, what actually got me up that wall wasn’t fearlessness. I never stopped being scared. It was trusting the setup underneath me. The pads, the routes, the fact that people who know what they’re doing designed this whole system so a beginner like me could take a real risk without it becoming a reckless one. Assuming, of course, that I’m a graceful faller.
About two-thirds of the way up, I could only focus on the next hold. I really had to swing my arm around and trust my grip would get me there. Turns out, you just reach for what’s right in front of you and let the rest sort itself out one move at a time.
I made it to the top shaking. That’s still making it to the top.
