the gym, and as the fans circulate steamy air, I stash my gear. In the distance, the espresso machine buzzes from the small café in the corner. To my surprise, Eleni is already on the wall. Her husband sits nearby, entertaining a toddler at the edge of the padded mats. He moves a to-go cup of coffee out of the way with a chuckle as the little boy waddles that way. Overhead, Eleni climbs in a graceful rhythm, and her family’s steady presence echoes her serene, determined nature. I barely know these people, but they seem content with the experiences they share together. It’s admirable.
Today Eleni wears a white and red headscarf—the rose pattern a stark contrast to her shiny black hair and leggings. The sight of her is a clear declaration that we are all unique and that we all have passions. I aim in that direction—in more ways than one. As I stride across the mats, I want to embrace a similar confidence.
She hops down with a bright greeting. “So glad to see you, Sadie. This V1 is kicking my butt. I think you should give it a try.”
Her husband chuckles again and I grin. “We’ll see. It looks really fun. Did they just set this today?”
“Yes, it is new.” She pauses to introduce me to her family, and then waves me over to the wall.
Though she was already climbing, she joins me for a quick warm-up. We stretch and chat more, and as we swap stories about our favorite things about this spot, I nearly forget that I have a wall to climb. I chalk up and somehow reach the top on the first try. That’s a flash! Eleni cheers and holds up her toddler, helping him clap for me. My cheeks are already sore from smiling as my feet hit the mats. “That’s a fun one.” I point back up to the middle of the route. “Those two holds there were tricky, but it helped if I pressed on the top of the left one instead of trying to grip it directly.”
She nods, looking determined. “I will try this.”
I step clear to give her room. It takes her two more tries to top the route. We all cheer together when she does. A black curl pops out of the bottom of her headscarf as she takes a bow. After a few gulps of water from our bottles, we agree to try this one again, this time focusing on efficiency. It’s exhausting work, but oh-so-satisfying. I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing, and the good company only makes it so much better.
Sweat drips from my temple and I swipe it away. I’ve drained my water bottle, and a quick top off at the water fountain is just the ticket. Eleni and I move to a V2, and while it’s harder, it’s a fun one. She explains to me that when you try a difficult boulder over and over, it’s called a project. Something that you’ve got your sights on to eventually conquer. This one winds around the edge of the wall, which makes it feel like you’re going to fall when you hit the portion that’s full exposure. I downclimb each time, terrified I’m going to tumble. Why does it seem so much easier from below? The moment I’m up high, tired arms shaking, gravity in full force, my confidence starts to plummet with the same worry that I will, too. Eleni goes for it though, and does fall. She lands on the mat, and while her husband looks concerned, he waits until she rises and brushes herself off. He speaks in their native language and as she assures him she’s okay, he brings over her bottle of water.
“I may need to slow down.” She sits on the mat beside me and pulls her knees in. “I just have a hard time walking away once I get something in my mind.”
I smile.
She turns to her husband and insists he has time to work out in the weight room. They swap the toddler who looks as content as can be. The little one plays on the mat between us while we stretch and discuss more ideas and tips. Once my strength is somewhat restored, I decide to commit to the climb even if I fall. Two-thirds of the way up, my arms and legs are shaking so bad that I know I’m going to slip. I manage to downclimb one move before the fall happens.
It takes only a moment to sit up, but as I do, a growing recognition comes full circle. The sharp, sudden drop I just experienced is something that can mirror life so closely. Not only is it about trying something new . . . or even finding courage . . . but when we fall, it’s not about staying down. It’s about brushing off. Rising. Often even assessing. And then being willing to try again with that new-found (and hard-won) wisdom in tow. Yes, this is small fry in the grand scale of life, but I sense it teaching me something so much bigger than these colorful climbs.
While I didn’t fall as far as Eleni, I see now why she decided to take the rest. Crawling back to a sit, I inquire how long they’ve lived in Gunnison Valley.
“Just over a year. My husband has a job as an engineer. At first, we felt so alone. No one in the area is from Iran, and so I rarely left the house. Then my husband says we must be open to making friends in Colorado, and he started coming here, then brought me along soon after. That’s when I started climbing the wall.” She laughs.
“Well, I’m really glad you did. That was good advice that you both took.”
Her eyes shine with happiness as she nods. “We come often now, and one day I hope to get little Kouros into some climbing shoes, too.” She bounces the pudgy toddler on her knee. He reminds me so much of what Sammy looked like at that age. Round and sweet and curious. “How about you?”
“I just started a few weeks ago, but it’s been so much fun. I’m really glad I gave this a try. I hardly knew indoor climbing existed and now I look forward to it whenever I’m not here.”
Her gold bracelet shifts as she points to herself. “Me too!”
“I can’t help but feel that it’s just the beginning.”
She nods quickly. “It is the same for me! And now we have a competition in only a few weeks. What are we thinking?” She throws up her hands dramatically and we both laugh again.
“Well, I’m glad to be in such good company.”
“And I as well.” As Kouros begins to slumber against her thigh, she motions me back toward the wall. “Do not let us slow you down.”
Ha. Her slow me down? I’ve been trying to keep up all afternoon. But I might as well squeeze in another boulder or two while I’ve got an ounce of energy left.
I thank her and seek out a nearby climb that’s about the same skill level as the last. I practice it three times, then move on to the next. What will the routes be like for the competition? They’ll definitely be all new designs. There’s no way they would let us compete on something we’ve already practiced. Hearing the rattle of drills and the clank of screws somewhere on the other side of the gym, it’s clear the route setters are hard at work on something new. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating to think of what the big day will hold.
Another hour flies by and then I finally stop from sheer exhaustion. Both arms feel like limp noodles and my hands are chafed and scuffed. I’m learning that it’s important to stop while still ahead. This includes taking a day or two off to heal and restore in between. I’ll add a squeeze of aloe to my hands tonight and get a good night’s sleep, but first, I need to edit a few more chapters to stay ahead of pace on work stuff. Which means it’s time to go.
After saying goodbye to Eleni and her sleeping boy, I thank the staff at the front desk who is always so helpful, then step out into the dusky evening. On the walk to the bus stop, I fish my phone from my backpack only to see that there’s a missed call. It’s from Seth.
My feet slow to a stop.
What?
My whole body goes tingly and weird. We haven’t talked since breaking up eons ago. My stomach has dropped to my toes, heart doing the jumpy-thing it always did at the sight of his name. I hate myself for it but can’t exactly control a chemical reaction. We really did share a lot of magical moments—by text, long phone calls, and outings together. What I can control is cramming my phone back in my bag and marching to the bus stop. Emotions trail me in the wake of such determined steps. Sadness. Hope. Frustration. I’m fuming (at myself) by the time I climb on board.
What’s wrong with me? Seth does not deserve or need my thoughts or attention at this time. We’ve gone our separate ways. That’s that.
It’s sheer misery the entire way home, knowing that his name is now in my missed calls folder. Oh dear God, I just want to erase him from my memory. I cared for that man way too much and the turmoil that followed was so rough on my already raw heart. Not the emotional roller coaster, the break-up, and certainly not bumping into him again. Worse, now, my phone just buzzed again. I steal a glance. . .
He’s left a voice mail.
I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing this wasn’t real and wanting to pummel myself at the rush of dopamine I just got. Endorphins and feely-goods flitting through my stomach. Lord, why does this have to be so hard?
Seth broke my heart. And he has a girlfriend.
For the thirty-minute ride home, I school myself in the facts. First off, despite the chemistry, Seth and I were not ultimately good for one another. Our worldviews were much too different. Our priorities too crisscrossed. And since those priorities are both hard-wired within us as individuals . . . individuals we must remain. If that’s not a good enough reason, he was in the camping section, hand in hand with a beautiful woman, so he has no business trying to contact me.
This only brings back memories of the married man who tried to pursue me. How did he ever think I had something to offer him? How did he ever think my standards were that low?
I’m determined not to listen to the message.
I stay strong while exiting the bus, and even upon getting home and showering. In my pajamas, I plop Calypso on to the bed so she can sink into her usual spot and then I turn off the lamp. Rolling onto my back makes it easy to simply stare at the ceiling. My phone is charging by the kitchen sink right now. An intentional move on my part to lessen the temptation.
Closing my eyes, I breathe out a sigh and try to sleep. As I do, my hardest falls tonight replay in my mind. Of slipping. Losing my balance. The hit and thud of landing. The confusion and shock. Of looking up and wondering what went wrong. It’s the place I promised myself I would dust myself off.
But for right now, I only feel the falling. And I honestly don’t know what to do.
It’s somewhere in the next few minutes that I throw back the covers and scramble from bed. I pad into the kitchen area, feeling the wash of defeat and exhilaration all at the same time. It’s killing me not to know what he said. At least I won’t have the wondering circling my brain all night. With an unsteady finger I tap the screen and initiate the lone voice mail waiting there. Suddenly his voice fills the kitchen, and as I stand there in the dark, loneliness and heartbreak wash over me again. Those are two things I’m used to. Those are two things I can handle. What I’m not used to is the threads of hope rising up. I don’t like the way the unrelated emotions mingle together. No . . . I do not like it at all.