News from Jules | 07.25.2022 | Made for This
I sensed a surge of confidence as soon as I felt the rough quartz rock of the ‘Gunks gripping my fingertips on my day off last Tuesday. This is what I had been waiting for. And yet, I knew so little.
Only my third time climbing outdoors, it was immediately clear that this was nothing like the indoor rock climbing I’d been doing at the gym all year. No bright pink plastic route to follow here.
And yet, I swiftly felt my way up the initial 20 feet to a ledge where I could pause to look down. Instead of letting fear build up in my mind, I wanted to actually check: How scary was this?
I could only know by facing it directly.
Birds flew amongst the nearby treetops seeking shade from the clear blue sky that was slowly heating up the forest below. Beneath me were my new climbing partners—a family I’d met on this very same trail in the Mohonk Preserve just a month ago. Our weekly indoor climbing sessions since then had built rapport and communication that easily transferred outdoors where it really mattered.
Here I was trusting them with my life. And it wasn’t that scary at all.
I shrugged and turned back to the wall to find my next holds, refocusing on the objective at hand. In some ways, the horizontal bands of sandstone made it easy to hang from my fingertips, grip the ridge with my toes and sidle across. I wasn’t paying attention to anything above or below me, only the rock that was right in front of me.
Like my Ten Percent App meditation teachers say: “Sit and know that you’re sitting.” I wasn’t really thinking, just being. Climbing and knowing that I was climbing.
As I ironically noticed this fleeting thought graze my attention like the breeze on my bare shoulders, I giggled and kept going.
Getting close to the crux—the hardest part of the climb—the bands got wider and thus the holds were farther apart. Now, the horizontal bands of sandstone made it difficult for my shorter 5’2” wingspan. I hung from a crack for what felt like minutes as I probed the wall with my toes seeking anything to help propel myself upward.
I heard my mind breaking the zen-like silence and stating very matter-of-factly: I’m stuck.
As soon as I heard the statement, I knew it wasn’t an option. I needed to dig deeper and keep moving.
Moments like these are what I had trained for during every endurance training I’d done in the past 20 years, including climbing mountains, century rides, relay races, and half-marathons.
Every 100-meter sprint on the track. Every extra chaturanga on the yoga mat. Every 60-second “burnout” exercise at the end of a workout. Each deposited an ounce of sweat and energy into my reserves. Even though I’ve intentionally trained for moments like these, I’m still surprised every time it kicks in.
Hanging from yet another ledge a few moments later, my mind proactively said aloud to warn my climbing partner below: “I’m falling,” meanwhile my body propelled me upward yet again.
Thoughts in general, but especially discouraging ones like these meant I was getting tired. I knew time and energy were of the essence.
After that push, the last few ledges felt like walking up steps until I could reach up and touch our carabiners anchored to bolts 100 feet up the wall. I heard cheers from below and I shouted out in glee. I did it!
“You can take a minute up there if you like.” Yes, I needed this reminder. With all the excitement and adrenaline, it’s easy to get mindless right at the climactic moment.
I noticed a ledge and took a seat so that I could take it all in. As I looked southeast, scanning the Mid-Hudson Valley filled with miles and miles of lush green native shade trees. Hawks coasted back and forth as a few clouds lazily drifted across the wide-open sky. The edge of the West Trapps cliff face jutting out to the far right as if waving hello.
It took my breath away.
This is what I had been waiting for. And yet, I actually knew so much. Intuition, fearlessness, concentration, resilience, strength. It felt like I was made for this.
Just like last summer when I sat on a small ice ledge 200 feet from the summit of Mt. Hood, I was unprepared for:
How humbling the view would be
How much my life had prepared me for this
How capable I am when in my element
How much I would love it
Had the rock been waiting for me to come to it all this time? Yes.
Waiting for me to come home to myself.
May you do what you were made for this week.
Love,
Jules