January 2024
Though I mentioned that I try VERY VERY hard not to schedule things in January (or after 5 pm), I acquiesced a few weeks ago for a beginner climbing class at the gym.
Things to know before reading on: Sprained my left ankle last year (and it’s still hurting), I have zero arm or grip strength (I drop things all the time), I am definitely of a bigger body and I’m not good with heights.
So why did I sign up for this class?
Well, four reasons –
- If I learned how to climb, I figured could strengthen the said arms, grip and ankle
- I could figure out how to be cool with heights (see above with strengthening everything)
- I needed to know I could do something like this for me, no matter what my body size
- Because God told me to (and that is the only reason I need)
I found myself with two other beginner climbers (we were all women) gripping onto rainbow colored plastic blobs while trying to pull my body against gravity and sending my heart rate through the ROOF! I was elated, petrified and crying the whole class.
At the beginning of class, all we did was fall. We got a crash course in falling. I was already feeling tender and crazy doing this. The falling just opened up the floodgates of tears and emotion.
New Years and after the holidays leaves me feeling empty and defeated – maybe it’s the exhaustion or the season, or the fact that everyone around me is “crushing goals” when all I want to do is “crush them.” (Not literally, just want them to be quiet and go away already.)
As we received the instruction about falling (feet first, then bend knees, then butt, then roll onto back with arms crossed in front of body preferably), I found myself overcome emotionally and hurriedly wiping my tears away. And frozen at the same time.
I had to practice this? I could barely even get on the first ledge only 1 inch from the floor! I watched my classmates fall with glee. I had to pep talk myself to get my foot on the grip. Once there (again, 1 inch from the floor), I had to convince myself to let go.
“It’s an inch. If you can’t fall an inch, you can’t climb. You are here to try. At least try.”
I’ve had spectacular failures. Failures that brought me to my knees and into a depression so great, I wasn’t sure I wanted out. Failures that have been broadcast to my nearest and dearest (and everyone around them.) Failures that made me question my (and God’s) existence.
Yet, I don’t want to fall from a 1 inch height onto what is essentially an excuse for an adult size bounce house?
Such a funny thing I am, this human.
So I let go and fell. And did it again, and again and again. Crying all the more each time.
We fall. We fail. Sometimes every once in a while. Sometimes in a repetitive series that makes even Pollyanna wonder if she should give up her schtick.
As I climbed and practiced falling (definitely more practice falling than climbing), more tears came. (This tends to be my mode of operation from January – March: the tears.)
“You can fall. You can try this and fall. And you can try again. Or not. Your call.” I kept repeating to myself.
How funny that after all I have been through and my continued practice of climbing and falling, I could still feel myself panicking about this safe, supervised and seemingly simple situation.
I grumbled begrudgingly “Okay, God. Point made.”
All of the reasons I went didn’t necessarily come to fruition. One 30 minute session does not build up strength or get you over your anxiety of heights.
But two did.
I could do it though with my body. With myself. Even while battling the anxiety, tears and emotions.
Because God told me to go.
It’s not about doing the thing. It’s about doing the thing no matter the outcome and learning the lesson.
Especially when THAT is the lesson.