about Rock Central upon first entering:
This climbing gym is huge. It’s the size of a warehouse and filled to the brim with climbing walls. There is also no air conditioning, though that might not be a universal trend. Standing here at the check-in desk, the air is so still and hot, sweat makes the wisps of hair escaping my ponytail stick to my temples. But my nervous excitement eclipses even that. Classic rock plays from overhead speakers, and there must be an espresso machine nearby because it smells amazing. Waiting at the counter, I blow at my bangs for respite and hand over the waiver. The employee retrieves some size nine rental shoes from a row of cubbies and offers over the black and neon pair.
“Give these a go. Climbing shoes are meant to be snug, so if they’re too roomy, we can go down a size.” Her blonde hair curls around her face from the heat. Behind her, more gear is for rent including bags filled with chalk and harnesses, that from the look of things, are for anyone wanting to climb with a rope on the higher walls.
“Thanks.” I move to a bench and slide on socks from my pack, then wriggle one narrow shoe on and fasten the Velcro closure. My toes are too compressed to wriggle against the rubber sole. Pretty snug. “I think these should work.”
“Those look good. Feel free to take them off whenever you need. That will help keep your feet from getting too sore. I tend to take mine off a few times a session.”
Good to know.
“I’ll grab you a chalk bag then you can just hang out here. I’m going to round up the other students and we’ll get started with the lesson.”
Forcing my hands to stay steady, I accept the chalk bag hoping to hide how nervous I am. I have no clue how to use this but within the next few hours, will definitely find out. All around the industrial size building, smooth stucco walls are bedazzled in colorful climbing holds—just like the demo wall from the store the other day. In the middle of the room, more walls rise about fifteen feet, shaping angled boulders that look more like modern art than the iconic Half Dome. Each one is sprinkled in the same colorful knobs of every shape and size. Thick mats cover the floors and a few dozen people are busy climbing. I watch from the bench as the really advanced ones scale the wall at odd angles. A feat that requires incredible strength and stamina. Some of the climbers fall, slipping from complex moves, only to hit the mats, chalk up their hands, and try again. I spot a newbie or two working on the beginner sections that honestly don’t look too much different from climbing a ladder. There are a few people milling around the entrance in rental shoes just like me. They must be beginners also. Further assurance that it’s okay to be entirely new at this.
Armed with a walkie-talkie and an energetic step, the employee returns. “If any of you have stuff—purses, or water, etcetera—you guys can put it all in the cubbies here.” She points to a row of empty cubes in easy reach.
Snug climbing shoes secure, I tap the rubber soles together and stand. With a hearty breakfast fueling this awkward athlete, I stuff my sandals and backpack into an empty cubby. One blue shoulder strap slips into the cubby below, so I cram all the loose ends back into place. My phone glows through the mesh side pouch, lit up with a fresh email notification. I free the device to read it easier.
Hmm. It’s the editor from the magazine I work for.
It’s tempting to see what’s up, but I’ll tackle work stuff later. Not only is it the weekend, but right now, it feels best to stave off distractions of my monthly column.
That and the fact that as a columnist for a Christian magazine, I somehow had a knack for writing dating advice and soon became a regular in that section. It began a few years back when I was dating more. A way to share input and encouragement from a woman on the front lines. But now it might be high time to rethink that career choice. Despite sounding like a bright encourager on paper, I haven’t exactly had the best experience in that world. I had one rather serious boyfriend in high school, then into college somehow managed to date even less when all of my male and female friends paired off and got married. Then in my late twenties, I took a needed break from the dating world before braving it again a year later. The resurgence of effort didn’t pan out so well.
One guy who I dated dumped me because I wouldn’t go on a weekend camping trip with him. Upon explaining that I didn’t believe in sharing my sleeping bag until marriage, he explained we had different views on faith. Even though I had thought from previous conversations that we shared the same values. Another guy who some college friends set me up with said I was too religious. One said I was too needy. Another stopped calling after explaining that I was too (and I quote) well-read. Then there was the man who went to my church. He was adamant that any woman he marries be a mild-mannered, dedicated housewife. We both finally threw in the towel when he realized that I’ve got some dreams and aspirations inside me.
The final guy who I met at the coffee counter of a bookstore took me on three super fun dates before dropping the bomb that he was actually married. He somehow thought I would be okay with that. I went home that night mortified, deleted his number from my phone, and sobbed into my pillow for two days solid.
And that’s not mentioning the guys I met online when, post-college, I finally caved and tried the whole dating-app world. I opted for the conservative and Christian sites, thinking it would be a better chance of meeting a man who wanted to honor the Lord with his life. But instead, it opened a floodgate of men who were either sizing me up against all the endless options on the app, or simply looking for a good time. For the first, those guys usually found what they were searching for somewhere else and I’m happy for them. There were always women who were younger, or who lived in closer proximity to the bigger cities. With many of them, I kept having to explain my goal of looking for something serious and lasting, only for them to go silent. I lasted about two years on that roller coaster and (sadly) haven’t been on a date since.
Yeah. The whole dating-advice column has been a fake-it-til-you-make-it thing for the last few years. So right now I’d rather focus on the experience ahead. Something that I don’t have to try to be an expert at and something that hasn’t broken my heart.
Nearby, an advanced climber grunts as he launches himself toward an overhead hold. His entire body slants sideways as he clings on by sheer strength and determination, some fifteen feet off the ground. The toes of his rubber shoes are plastered to the sidewall. His forearms bulge as he catches onto the hold, chalky fingers gripping by sheer will before slipping off. He lands on his feet, chest heaving. His buddies cheer and the next guy hops up to give it a go.
I’ve never witnessed anything like this place. Maybe it would be a good idea to loosen up a bit. Dressed in workout leggings and an oversized BookwormT-shirt, I pace the entrance and shake out my hands. How on earth am I going to even hope to grip something as dangerous as that? Don’t worry, Sadie. You’re in the beginner’s group. It’s going to be okay. Heart thrumming, I sip from my water bottle and stop just shy of doing a few pre-workout lunges when the instructor—the gal in her early twenties—returns.
“Okay, everyone!” she calls in an upbeat voice. Her blonde ponytail sways as she scopes out the entrance and gestures at us to come closer. “If you’re here for the beginner lesson, come gather around. We’ll go over a few basics and get started.”
My palms are totally sweating now. I carry the chalk bag at my side, not sure if I’m supposed to strap it around my waist like some people do or just keep it handy. The class consists of a young couple, a few solo folks like me, and a handful of kids with a parent or two sprinkled in. Everybody looks as eager and anxious as I feel. It’s nice being surrounded by company when facing the unknown.
Our friendly instructor jumps right in by pointing out the different holds and what will be best for beginners. “So, you’re going to want to avoid crimps and slopers for now, and mainly you’ll be using jugs and a few underclings.” She wedges her fingers into a large hand hold that looks pretty comfortable. “These will be the easiest to grip.” She angles back to face us. “And now, I want to show you all some basic climbing gym etiquette and safe fall practices. Follow me over here.”
Safe falling practices? A twinge of panic rises. Others in the group exchange nervous looks. I knew that falling was a part of this sport. We’re not exactly lumbering across padded mats for nothing. But now it’s getting real . . .
When we reach a far corner, the instructor ascends the wall where the skill level looks basic. It zig-zags up the wall in purple knobs that would be manageable for just about anyone looking to try this. As she climbs, she explains that when we fall, we’re to bend our knees and keep our arms folded in, trusting the mats when we fall. She demonstrates this, landing on the mat with a thud and looking entirely okay. I take copious mental notes. One by one, she invites us to practice this move, and when it’s my turn, both hands grip the first purple hold. With one tug, I’ll be off the ground. I pull with my arm, push with my leg, and stability is a memory below.
Holy crow.
A thrill shoots through my whole body and I reach up, struggling like a wobbly turtle. Someone behind me cheers that I’ve got it, and their assurance is a relief. I’ve done Pilates and even squeaked out some push-ups a time or two, but this is using muscle groups I didn’t even know existed in my arms and shoulders. I reach for the next hold, stretching nearly beyond my ability. This is going to be a lot of work, but how crazy is this feeling? Nothing is holding me onto the wall except my own focus and determination. I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life. Both feet land atop footholds farther up and the altitude is getting real.
“Looks great!” the instructor calls from below. “Now go ahead and come back down a few moves, and let’s practice your fall.”
I inch earthbound until I’m only half a body length from the ground. With a rush of nerves, I jump backwards. My feet hit the mat and I roll back just like she taught us. That was fun!
“Well done!”
I’m twice as sweaty now but grinning from ear to ear. I brush at my leggings that are streaked with chalk then back away so the final students can go. We all watch as a woman in her mid-forties repeats the same route as everyone else. Her legs tremble when the teacher tells her it’s time to jump down. Her curly hair bobs as she glances to the mats below, then adjusts her hands which look like they’re losing grip.
“You’ve got this,” I call up to her, grateful to whoever said the same to me.
She settles her shoulders and holds her breath before dropping all the way to the ground. She hits the mat ungracefully and I smile, knowing I did too. Everyone claps and her smile that blooms is brighter than the twinkle lights draping the nearby coffee cart. I gotta tell you . . . this is blowing Monopoly night right out of the water.
With the basics explained, the instructor leads us around the perimeter of the gym, showing us how different-colored routes mean different levels of difficulty. “Today, keep an eye out for anything labeled V0. Those are the best ones to start with. Eventually, you’ll progress to a V1 and then V2 and so on. We have climbs as difficult as V10—” she points to a route where a muscled climber is stretching out to impossible contortions, trying to reach an upside-down handhold. His entire body strains, sports tank streaked in sweat. After a few more seconds of effort, he falls with a grunt and hits the mat. A wrung-out rag has more energy than he has left, but he’s grinning as he pants for air.
With a slanted smile, the instructor shakes her head. “But you guys won’t need to worry about that for now.”
We all give a deer-in-the-headlights nod. I finally recognize the climber that just collapsed as the guy who helped me sign up for this very class. If I had known I was talking to someone that advanced, I never would have signed up. Good thing he was standing there in normal clothes with a very unthreatening cardboard box.
Our female instructor points around the gym. “The great thing about bouldering, is that no matter where you begin, there’s a climb for you. It’s what makes this sport so fun and easy to get into.” As she says this, my gaze drifts to a poster above that depicts a man in an army shirt, climbing with just one arm. His other limb, probably injured on the front lines, is only a nub at the elbow, but nothing is holding him back. So cool.
Having halted beneath a section of wall, she shows us where we can all take turns climbing a few different V0s. “This orange one is a lot of fun and with the angle will require some upper body strength but is still super manageable.” Then she directs us to the one beside it. “The blue one here is harder to balance on, but also really fun. Let’s take turns on both and see what style you like.”
Not wanting to rush any of the other students, I hang back, watching as they approach the wall one at a time. We’re directed to stay clear of each person’s fall zone while they’re on the wall, and she also shows us how to chalk our hands, explaining the benefits of how chalk makes it easier to grip, especially in the heat. Just before it’s my turn, the guy from the outdoor shop comes our way, lugging a huge, industrial-sized fan. His tank is starting to dry. He chats with our instructor, and by the sound of it, the air conditioning has been out all week. He sets the fan near an outlet, points it toward the class, and fires it up.
Warm air blasts in our direction, but at least it’s moving, which makes a huge difference. The room feels better already. The guy and gal employee mingle for a little and it’s obvious they might be a couple. He examines his hands that are covered in chalk and strips of sports tape. She makes a cheery comment then adjusts a frayed edge that wraps his thumb. It’s pretty adorable.
The student ahead of me, a kid of about twelve, doesn’t quite reach the top before he downclimbs the V0. We all cheer him on for his amazing effort. And this means it’s my turn. Deep breath.
Approaching the wall, I slide both hands into the chalk bag like we were taught and am struck with how invisible the chalk feels. Like barely-there silk. It’s delightful. Patting both hands together releases any excess. With fingers and palms coated white, I approach the beginning climb. There are lots of places to grip so it doesn’t look too difficult. Each hold is decently sized which I’m starting to recognize makes it ideal for us beginners. I grip a handhold that’s about shoulder height, then reach up for the next. My feet stumble up from the bottom and I’m on the wall as though climbing a knobby ladder.
It’s kind of amazing how much work it takes to stay balanced and calm, so I focus only on the next hold as I go up a few more inches. Then several more. The whoosh of the fan’s pressure stays behind as a higher elevation greets me. It’s still not death-defying . . . probably ten feet or so. My legs and arms—fatigued from the practice we’ve already done—shake like a rattle. I really want to reach the top, but as I nudge my fingertips out for another handhold, it’s hard to have confidence in fingers that are getting tired from bracing my body weight. If I miss the next hold, I’ll fall, and while the mats are thick, it feels like a long way down. I’m terrified to plummet from this distance. Now I know why the kid didn’t quite reach the top. It’s a totally different feeling when you’re up here, holding on for dear life.
Panting, I’m grateful for the cheers from the rest of the class as I start to descend. I don’t feel guilty or ashamed, only proud of what I accomplished. I have only been doing this sport for half an hour, but already feel a rush of pride at the way it’s pushing me physically and mentally. When our instructor calls for a water break, I slip away to top off my bottle at the fountain. There, in the gleam of the window, I catch a glimpse of myself. My hair is crazy and there’s chalk on my nose, but I can’t help grinning at my reflection.
Nearby someone’s cell phone dings and it makes the exact chime as the dating app I used to use. The sound sends a jolt through my spine. The memory of what it was like to have guys reach out, only for them to go cold when they discovered I actually had values. And there was me, alone and wondering what I did wrong. I used to get so frustrated with myself and how much I longed for that sound. Some signal that said I was worth the time of day. It’s a sound that I gave too much power to.
This girl’s got better things to do than wait for a guy she doesn’t know to bring her validation.
She has a life to live.
And right now? I’m hot and sweaty and tired, but something tells me this climbing business just might be a good fit for Sadie McGillis. Mind, body, and soul.
I noticed earlier that the front desk offered discount punch cards. A way to visit multiple times on a budget. Maybe that could be the thing for me? A way to visit again, build up some technique, and have fun in the process? It’s going to take some budgeting, but I’ll cross that bridge tomorrow when I’m in computer mode. For today, I’m all in. Because the chance to rise and find a safe place to fall is exactly what I have been needing.