Rock Climbing & Rappelling

Thursday, 10/8/2009, Rose Ledge
My face felt like it had been shot full of novacaine. My limbs were a mix of numbing and pins and needles. Austin said my body was full of adrenaline and carbon dioxide from hyperventilating and it would take a little time to wear off. I had rappelled from a cliff.

The day started with Austin offering individual help if anyone felt unsure about setting up the anchor systems for climbs and rappels. Given yesterday's trauma, I said I could use help. Others in our group paired off and Austin and I started step by step setting up a climbing system. Austin, OLP director, a professional climber and owner of Peak Expeditions, guided me through selecting anchors, appropriate ropes, knots and hitches, including both of us tying in on Prusik Knots to keep from falling over the cliff. We had used that knot for a couple of days and it was a favorite because I could usually tie it. We went through the system during which I was able to answer and ask mostly relevant questions. As he tied, Austin encouraged me to inch closer to the edge as needed to finish the system and when it was done, he suggested I sit there a bit and think about the system and maybe I'd want to untie and redo it myself. I did.

Meanwhile, the others had been setting up rappelling lines. They took turns and then Mark and Erin said, "Okay, you're turn, Eileen." I started to clip in with determined fear and moving "as if." When you rappel, you control the speed at which you descend, able to slow and stop at any time. Redundancy is part and parcel of climbing and rappelling, so Erin said she'd belay me as backup in case my own system should fail. She, Mark and Jake coaxed me backwards, inching toward the edge. Hyperventilating, I tried to manage my breath but it got out of hand quickly. Pins and needles shifted to numbness. One difference today was that I wasn't crying. Erin kept telling me how many inches I had to go, describing the slight changes in the rock and kept telling me I was doing great. . .Erin and George both run challenge courses. I'd lean on the harness, trying to keep that weighted feeling connected to the rope line that I let out so that it wouldn't jerk. Then I was on the edge. I had a fast wave of "get the hell out of here now" but overcame it. Austin had meanwhile come over and held my rope, encouraging and reminding me that I had a choice. I knew that I would feel miserable if I didn't lean back, drop my heels onto the vertical rock, and move on down the face. My ragged breath hissed, "I have to do this." I managed to yell over to George to take a picture so I'd be able to see what I had done. Their combined voices kept me moving. Erin gave me the ground report. You're at the worst part and in just a couple of inches it will feel much easier. Just keep your heel on the rock," she said as I slid my foot over the edge, uttering, "Oh, God!" repeatedly and likely a combination of four letters. So, here I was--both feet on the face and hanging in air like a letter L. I let the rope out with a jerk, gasped, and then let it out again, a little more smoothly and then inched my feet down. Only one way to go now, I thought, as I lowered. I noticed Austin's voice had stopped and I think he flew down because he met me when I finally landed. He was laughing in appreciation for what I had done and gave me a hug. "This was huge," he said. He started to unclip me but I said I needed to do it myself. I got myself into it and I'll get myself out of it. I was reminded of the story my Dad would tell me about my two year old self. Even then, I'd say, childlike, "I want to do by aself."

Austin rubbed my back as I shook, talked to me and eventually I stood so I could walk. My legs were a little wobbly and I allowed that I might start sobbing. We walked and talked, Austin asking me questions to divert my attention.
"So when do you think this fear of heights started?"
"Well, I was young, about 7, and my sisters were teasing me when we'd drive over a bridge. I'd be cringing on the floor of the car while they chanted, "We're falling! We're falling!"

Finally, I appeared to be on my way to normal so Austin rejoined the others up top. I decided to wander back and look at the section I had rappelled. I dropped, leaned my back onto the rock and began to relax my body and take in what I had done. I had never ever done this before in my life.
And as I sat there, I heard the voice.
"But it wasn't as high as the one that you tried but couldn't do yesterday."
And as I sat there, I heard my voice.
"Why is it never enough?"
And as I sat there, I let the other voice fade and allowed myself my achievement; victory after struggle.
When we all grouped up again for debrief, I told everyone that I had rappelled, choked up a bit, and then thanked them for their support. Hugs, high-fives, and supportive comments held me.

Thursday's rappel; video by George

Wednesday, 10/7 Rose Ledge, Day 2
Fear has made me pull out the essays I wrote to be admitted to OLP. I need reminders of what my goals were that made me choose this year-long path. . . what was I thinking that made this seem to be a good idea?

I wrote, "OLP offers an unusual vehicle to transcend fears that hold us back, and to discover strengths that move us into new understanding and perceptions of ourselves." I wrote about participating fully in life and that the inherent "challenges are my gift to myself as I explore and deepen my courage to move meaningfully in the world and to focus on my physical and mental transformation."

Oh, a gift! I never thought about my terror today being a gift. I haven't thought about my fear and anxiety all week being my gift to myself. I had fear on the 10 day canoe trip. Rock climbing is a different monster. My essays are platitudes of the theoretical vs reality. I may need to come back to a higher plane of meditation, evident when I wrote my essays.

Fate, circumstance, or a higher order lead me to be in the group that stayed at the main face for 2 days. Actually, we broke into 3 groups and set up anchors and the whole paraphernalia on top of the main face for at least 3 rappelling sites. Sean instructed our group; Erin, Sarah, Jake, Mark and me. Jake was the first to rappel followed by Erin and then Mark. I have not been able to near the edge to look over and it was odd to watch each head disappear over the cliff as Sean belayed them. As I watched them all and listened to Sean's instruction, I played with my head, imagining that I might actually be able to lean back into my harness, place my feet at the cliff edge, step down slightly so that my feet and legs form an L with my body on the side of the cliff, and eyes riveted straight ahead on the rock, I could ease my way down the cliff. I think Anna's Buddist philosophy helped to inspire me. I even took a bio break before harnessing just in case. Sean said, "You ready?" I indicated yes, in an "as if" kind of way, said I didn't remember anything I needed to do but as Sean coached me, I realized that something had sunk in despite my 2 day fear fog. Finally harnessed and starting to shake, I fought tears as I leaned into the harness to get a feel for the seat. Sean showed me how to control my rope, fully able to brake the rappel when I wanted to, ah control, and reminded me that he also had me on belay. Starting 5' in, I started to back up in minute increments, talking to myself and to Sean, trying to work my brain, trying to remember other daring feats I had accomplished but my mind drew blanks. Oh, yeah, the rope swing into the river--big fear but this one is off the charts. Still drawing blanks. Shaking was joined by tears but I continued to back up toward the edge. My hands were feeling pins and needles and Sean said it was because I was gripping the rope tightly. But the pins and needles moved to my arms, then my neck and head and generally my whole body. I said, "What happens if I pass out? I might pass out." Anna passed by having climbed up from her own rappelling. I called wanting her to stay with me but she didn't hear. Erin came back and I asked her to stay with me and Aaron came up from his rappelling and said he would stay with me. Both encouraged me and Aaron told me to just keep looking at his eyes. I had given up on trying not to cry and others walked by, I think embarrassed for me and not wanting to intrude, which they wouldn't have. I needed support. I continued inching and my foot hit a spot that made me drag in my breath thinking I was at the edge. "Nope," they said. You still have 2' to go." Two more feet and now my head was filled with the vision I had been fighting--the drop below, including some tree tops. Oh, and the wind had picked up and was whipping through the swaying trees. Suddenly, it was just too much.

"I can't do it," I said. "I just can't do it."
"You've gone a lot farther than I did my first time a few years ago. I didn't even harness up," said Aaron.
Sean said today was about pushing out of our comfort zone and I had done that. Erin said I pushed harder than anyone today and I'd probably be the better teacher for it because I would remember how difficult it felt. "You're still one bad bitch in my book."

Shaking and tearful, I untied the knots I had tied to secure me into the harness, walked past a long narrow chasm and into the brush and trees to our gear and lunches, sat cross legged on the ground and sobbed. Aaron sat next to me and said I inspire him but I don't know in what way. Kaytee said I shouldn't feel embarrassed and I said I didn't but rather felt disappointed that I couldn't go down the rock like I thought I might. Anna came over and hugged me, and spoke in supportive meditative words while she rubbed my back to warm me up, and Kristie came by and hugged me, too. All of this caring I appreciated. I continued to shake and put on another layer. I wish I could have eased the awkwardness I felt from people who stole furtive glances my way but didn't know if they should say anything or not.

It was time for small groups to move to new sites and Sean and the rest of us moved to the next site over to set up anchors for climbing. Erin and I set up anchors and ropes, choosing the rocks or boulders to tie and hitch to. I was able to climb a short way with Sean on belay after getting a feel for the harness seat again. I had to stretch and haul myself up and at times I thought I couldn't do anymore but I did. It felt good to accomplish something.

We gathered gear and met the other groups and had a debrief. Sean wanted to know one thing that we felt we learned. Kaytee said that again she had learned from me. I don't know how my struggle translates to her learning, yet I appreciate knowing that somehow it means something to her. When it's my turn, I choose to focus on my technical learning rather than mention my emotional turmoil. I regret my avoidance of not mentioning the elephant in the room. Maybe another time it will have place and value.

Back again tomorrow after which we'll be authorized to check out gear to go climbing and rappelling on our own. Friday, we'll finally get to climb the classroom rock wall.

Tuesday, Oct 6, Rose Ledge, Northfield, MA
Austin said the hike to the ledges is an "arduous" 20-25 minutes and we're dripping sweat when we arrive. . . I'm just grateful not to be at the end of the group. I look up from the arduous trail that my eyes have followed and am stunned by the wall of rock in front of me. It may as well be Yosemite's El Capitan. Mike puts his arm around me and says, "Morning, Leenie. So, ya all set to go up?" Now, Mike is one of the guys who graduated from high school in May but he won my immediate and growing admiration, in part, because he himself is fully participating in life having already surmounted significant personal challenges. But I turned and looked him in the eye and said calmly, "Mike, I hate to start the day on a negative note, but there is no #$%^&* way I'm climbing that rock." All week my mounting fear and anxiety has dulled any fun or technical information I was supposed to be learning so that I can teach at our field work and beyond. I would start tearing up waiting to get in the van to drive to the ledge. I would continue to tear up throughout instruction, watching other people climb, even if with some trepidation. I belayed and was 2nd belayer and relaxed some when I took pictures of others climbing, rationalizing that I was contributing to the group by providing lasting memories. Maybe there'd be a hot picture that wasn't just someone's butt that OLP would use. But I knew I wasn't facing what I needed to and I wasn't demonstrating good self-care that they keep referring to so that I'm responsible for myself and to the group. I feel anger rise when I'm hearing self-care in combination with climbing and repelling. Stop pushing me to fully participate, damn it. There's a climb that looks like it has a lot of cracks and ledges that you could step onto or hold but I'm working with my fear and the process is too slow to match those who are eager to climb. Time moves, I don't and my window closes.

Monday, Oct 5 Chapel Falls in Ashfield, MA
Austin instructs us to just have fun with it. Experience the day as will your field trip clients. Tomorrow we'll start learning the technical aspects to set up a climb. I climbed a rock wall 3 years ago. My legs shook as I tried to find foot and hand grips, and I was surprised that the search for holds held my attention. I often didn't consider my height until I took a rest and my eyes wandered. I thought that experience would transfer to real rock. Not so. Today I chose to bring my water shoes thinking their tread will hold the rock. Actually, climbing shoes have smooth and flexible rubber soles so the climber can feel and grip the rock. I chose to climb a slab that Austin said should be less challenging on my foot that I twisted last week (challenge by choice is always in effect). Anna and Mike were my belayers and I employed good self-care when I yelled down that, until later, I wanted to hear no more about Mike's date on Saturday and that I wanted their full attention. They accommodated me but my shoes were sliding on the slab. The harness and helmet offer safety but it feels a mere illusion when shoes slide. Distracted, I saw how high I was and determined I was done--get me down. I mean belay--now! They had to talk me into trusting the belay and to lean back into the harness, pushing off with my feet about shoulder width apart as I descended. Disappointment and frustration at having quit pushed a couple of tears and Anna talked to me about trusting myself. She's right. Instead of trying to ignore my fear, I should have tried to work with it, acknowledge it and bolster myself in spite of my fear. That's how I determined my mantra 3 years ago when I climbed the rock wall and then dragged myself through the high ropes course, with a gentle push--"I am Fully Participating In Life." In retrospect, down really meant only about 12' while most everyone else made it at least 3/4 of the way or to the top, depending on which climb they chose. But from my perspective, it was 20'. I didn't prepare today. Maybe tomorrow. I belayed once and assisted belay 3 times and took pictures of Jake, Laura and others who were monkeys on the rocks. In our debrief I said I was not happy with how I did and Austin asked if there was someway they can help. I said I'd try different shoes. I wish I could have said more about how it felt to climb and how disappointed I was with myself.

In talking with Anne later that night she reminded me, you just did rock climbing for the first time in your life. Give yourself a break and feel good about what you did! Yes, but there are always comparisons to be made. Old habits. Tomorrow, new rock.