draws to a close, Eleni is in the first pool of adult female climbers. When she disappears through the gap in tarps, leaving isolation, five minutes of sitting and listening begins. The crowd has so much to react to with four people on the wall at a time. We listen to every nuance, soaking in the cheers and gasps and applause. While the clamor offers some indication of what’s going on, we don’t know who it’s for. A woman returns to her chair in the most advanced group and there’s an excited energy to her as she unzips her backpack, still panting. She must have topped her boulder quickly. She’ll get the maximum points possible and have more time to rest. I listen to the crowd beyond what we can see. My heart pounds not only for Eleni who is still there, battling it out on the wall, but over the fact that I will replace her in exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds.
I blow out a shaky breath that does nothing to calm my nerves. Standing near the edge of the tarp with the other climbers in my rotation, I chalk my hands and shake out my arms to keep everything loose. We’re all doing the same things—all with the same nervous energy. Music pulses from the speakers overhead, riling up the crowd and giving us climbers a mental boost.
The buzzer sounds. Eleni returns with the others. She’s panting so hard, I can’t tell if she’s happy with her result or not. I have no time to do anything as the second rotation runs out onto the competition mats, and I follow at the tail end, feeling lost. Additional lights are rigged up, making the space blindingly bright. Cameras snap and staff members with clipboards serve as judges to our left. Just past them, the crowd fills every available inch of the building. There must be over a hundred people. To my right looms the wall with the competition boulders. No time to decide which side of the room is more intimidating.
It's impossible to scan the crowd for sight of my parents or even Britt. I simply follow the judges’ instructions and stand with my back facing the wall, trying not to be sick. The buzzer sounds and we’re allowed to turn and begin. The five minutes on the clock flashes to 4:59 and then 4:58. It’s now or never. I harness a few seconds to study my boulder, just as the other climbers do with theirs. Rising before me is a series of purple holds. They curve up and to the right, around a triangular volume that not only makes the upper moves more difficult, but the volume—a type of angled platform—is free game and could give my feet more to balance on. Only one way to find out.
4:42.
I draw in a slow breath and re-chalk shaking hands. The first few moves of the climb go like clockwork, and a shred of confidence bolsters me until I reach a hold that’s so small, my hand slips. Down I go. The crowd gasps, all the while still cheering on the other climbers. Scrambling to my feet, I take a few more seconds to read the route again. It’s so hard to make sense of it from the ground, but it’s key so that I can conserve energy and not keep flailing and falling. I’ve only been doing this for a month though, so as I stare up at the complex wall of holds and jugs, anyone’s guess is as good as mine.
All right, Sadie. Deep breath. Let’s do this.
More chalk, then I’m back on the wall. The crowd cheers as one of the other climbers gets a top and returns to isolation. I try to block everything out. Just . . . focus.
Focus on the task at hand.
This time, I’m more prepared for the tiny hand hold, and while I give it everything I have to grip it, I can’t swing my foot up to the next section of the climb. I’m going to fall again. Desperate and more than a little determined, I switch that hand, gripping the hold above it instead which is an unnaturally far reach. Miraculously, my fingers hang on. At the cost of my feet, which slip. My legs dangle. Air whooshes from my chest. I so don’t have the upper body strength for this! With the loss of my feet for support, both hands slip loose, and I fall again.
Sweat slicks my skin as I glance to the clock. 2:04. Time’s running out and fast, but I still have two minutes left.
Now that I’ve figured out the sequence, I actually think I can do this. But if for some reason Eleni didn’t complete it, how will I? I have no idea if she topped it or not.
Only you and the wall, Sadie. Only you and the wall.
My fingertips and palms are starting to burn and chafe, so I apply as much chalk as possible before facing the wall again. This will have to be my last attempt. Behind me, the crowd lets loose in celebrating for another climber who topped her boulder. To my left, a cameraman films all the action. One more deep breath and I’m at it again. Slow, controlled movements get me partway up the wall, and when I reach the spot where I’ve fallen twice, I lock in on the sequence, shift my hands as quickly as possible, then hold on like my life depends on it. Fear kicks in but determination overrides it. I won’t make it if I’m not willing to fall again. I have to be willing to fall or there’s no point being here. This time I hook a foot up, smearing the rubber sole of my shoe against the wall and it’s just enough friction to launch me higher. Three more moves, and I’m at the top.
I’m at the top! The crowd cuts loose with cheers and whistles.
I match both hands to the final hold for several seconds, and a judge writes down my score. I’ve gotten full points on this one with thirty seconds to spare! It’s not until I drop again that my body registers how hard it’s been working. My arms throb and my legs feel like Jell-O. I stride back toward isolation, through the gap in tarps, and find my chair. Eleni sips water and Justice is already at the tarp’s edge, ready to enter. Both Eleni and I are too tired to speak but she pats my shoulder and I lean into it, grateful. I’ll have a full ten minutes to rest, so I make the most of it—sitting for a few minutes before stretching out again. I have no idea what the next boulder problem will be, so I take quick inventory of myself. My hands are doing okay, sore but not raw. The ache is fading and a few sips of water cool my throat. A callus on my right index finger is threatening to blister, so I rip off a small strip of white tape and wrap it around the tip as added protection in the next round.
Justice is the first climber in the third rotation to return. Both Eleni and I stare at her in shock. Her grin is brighter than the lights behind her. We clap and embrace in a group hug, before she settles in the chair between us.
“That was hard!” she pants.
No kidding. But I’m super proud of her. This is just the confidence boost she needed. More athletes rotate and Eleni runs back out with them for the next boulder. This time, she too returns early with a gleam in her eye. We both give her a high five and she rubs out a sore calf. It’s nearly my time again. This is all happening so fast that there’s almost no time to process, but the rush and energy is, surprisingly, half the fun. As soon as the buzzer sounds again, I’m back on the mats.
The moment I turn to face my boulder, I hear my dad holler.
“Go, Sadie!”
A warmth floods my limbs, making it easier to face this second challenge. Boulder number two is made up of a series of huge yellow holds. They look thick and slopy with very little to gain traction on. It’s like trying to climb huge watermelon halves all the way up to the ceiling. These are some of my least favorites. It takes three tries to even get off the ground. I’m already trembling and low on minutes by the time I reach the zone. At least I’ll get a few points. My legs shake as I try and move past the zone, but it’s no use. The slick, rounded holds are impossible for me. My hands just can’t get any purchase. The buzzer sounds. Five minutes just flew by.
Back down, I return to isolation, this time catching sight of my parents out of the corner of my eye. Dad looks proud, mom anxious. I lose sight of them when I duck out of the way for the competitors dashing out in the next group. Justice jogs past with her chalk bag in hand while I grab some water. Around and around it goes. It seems I’ve scarcely rested before the shifting rotations have me out on the mats once more, facing the next boulder. Two down, one to go.
This is the last of the competition for me. Closing my eyes, I try to settle nerves that are like live wires.
For a few brief moments, it’s like there’s no competition at all.
Not even five minutes on the clock.
There’s just the feel of the cloth bag as I slide one hand in, then the other.
The silky sensation of chalk is smoother than the softest powder. I try and remember what it was like the first time I climbed in this gym—the angst and excitement that propelled me to try. I channel that energy—the open possibility—and face the wall when the countdown begins.
This final climb is a slab, one of the hardest to do. Since they are straight up and down and usually spaced very sparsely, slabs rely entirely on balance with difficult hand and foot combinations. Large white holds stretch the length of the wall, and I’m supposed to carefully traverse them as though balancing across river stones. Once I reach the end, I’ll have to pull myself up onto a series of holds using mostly my arms. I don’t know if I have that kind of strength, but there’s only one way to find out.
The moment I’m on the wall, my balance starts to give out, but I hurry forward, managing to cross three of the white stones before slipping off. I re-chalk and do it again. And then again, and then again. Basically, trying to scurry across the world’s narrowest bridge. Time is not my friend right now. And I’m just not getting much friction. Whether it’s nerves, exhaustion, or simply my skill level—I may not have much of a chance here.
Nearby, a teen girl brushes one of her handholds. White powder sloughs away, giving her a cleaner surface to work with. Why didn’t I think of that? In all the chaos and excitement, I totally spaced. I pull out my new chalk brush, the wood smooth to my sore fingers and reminding me of Sammy. Her sweet energy is tangible as I brace the brush and quickly swipe excess chalk away from the handholds of the low traverse.
The crowd is nearly silent. I glance to the side only to realize that I’m the only climber left out here. Everyone else has finished this rotation. Before that fact can rattle me further, I return to the start of the white boulder. I rise onto the first foothold and manage to balance on the second . . . and then the third . . . and then the fourth. That’s the zone!
The crowd is cheering, and as I climb completely alone, there’s still a minute twenty on the clock. I reach up for the nearest grip, praying that I have the strength to do this. I slowly work my way up, feeling like a frog on a windshield, but I’m actually making progress inch by inch. The timer beeps, indicating that there’s less than a minute now. Mom and Dad cheer loudly, followed by Britt, and about a hundred people I don’t know.
Nothing about this is natural. No bookworm of thirty-two should be trying to scamper up a steep wall with only a few knobs of resin to grip. She shouldn’t be wearing small, rubber-soled shoes that make no sense to the outside world or be happier in this moment than she’s been in nearly a decade. There shouldn’t be a crowd behind her, clapping and cheering, and there shouldn’t be thirty-seven seconds left on the clock. But there is.
I reach a little higher, finding something white to hold onto. Sweat beads across my forehead. Friction burns through my fingertips, but if I just get my foot up a tiny bit higher. . .
Grimacing, I pull with all my might and every shaking muscle says quit. But I can’t.
The crowd is roaring louder than fears. Louder than doubts. Even louder than the ding of Seth’s voice mail from a few weeks ago. It’s a sound that bubbles up laughter inside me not because of the attention, but because of this crazy, risky adventure that has brought so much life back to this girl’s heart.
Launching up, I manage to grasp hold of the top and a second later, match with my other hand. That’s it! A top! Two seconds later, the buzzer sounds and it’s drowned out by the chaos that has erupted behind me. The whoops and cheers. I’m so dizzy with exhaustion, I scarcely register the fact that I have to get back down. Most climbers do a victory jump back to the mats at this point, but I start downclimbing. The audience chuckles and I laugh at myself too. Once low enough to fall safely, I drop and everyone cheers. I give a grateful wave, and as I run back to isolation, am utterly on top of the world.