Last night at the climbing gym, my strength to tackle tough problems was not thriving because my energy resources had flowed into the paces of school, the tracks of my anxiety shortcomings, and journeys of inner curiosity and conviction. My veins were probably popping from too much coffee and too little water. As a the name of a boulder problem I never ascended said, I needed to “Eat more fruit :)” Yet, while I was not making calculable progress in my climbing, I was saturated in the movement. I was in my favorite climbing mode, the one in which the movement becomes a dance. How to describe the love of movement and being in the body? Grace and control, technique and forced explosions, all wrapped up in a synesthesia of sense in which I swing to the music of air behind me and crimp into the intense reality just with fingertips. My skin is left behind, but my blood flows stronger.
That night they pulled out the slack line, which disrupted my sense of movement. I resented the rope, because I could not hop on the thin string and find a place to step in the crazy world it created in my perception- balance in body and mind on top of the helter skelter. When my foot pressed into the rope, my leg jiggled and the convulsions jogged upward through my spine bones. My instincts frozen, I failed to stand up. I hate falling. (a constant overcoming for me as Climber) So I watched others- how they fell-their shaky steps, the focus of their eyes. Some seemed to own the air as they tripped down the line. Wayne Robin made me laugh with his crazy tricks. He tried to help me and explained wonderfully the best tips for positioning your body and focusing with mental clarity. My neurons replied to the task and sent this imperative: “Legs, turn to jelly.”
One of my close friends came over to talk. She said that she had never figured slack lining out, her body had yet to master that. Later, she joined a romping and laughing group at the slack line. I watched. She palmed the back of the rope and pushed upward to stand on her leg. Her arms rounded like a dancer mid leap, and her chest spread into the air. I could see her leg muscles rippling beneath her pants. She caterwauled off the rope and stumbled out of view under the Frankenstein wall. Yet, I had seen her body suspended in air as her eyes shined in self-sufficient flight. Do you realize the beauty of your face, my friend? After watching her for awhile, I went to the rope, grasped the back, and became a titan for moment on my jelly legs. By the end of the night, I was able to walk three steps on the line. My friend’s energy nudged my own body to take a risk, and now I can’t wait to keep practicing at the gym. I have found that this is often the case with this particular friend. She pushes me as a climber, because her style is very different and frighten ting to me. Yet watching the wonderful energy of her movement quickens my practice of dynamic and graceful movement. In other areas of life she inspires me and challenges me as a thinker, a feeler, and to be healthy and thrive. I am grateful for the moments we can know each other.
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