Sport Explorations: Indoor Climbing

-- Anna Middleton

Final exams. Holiday stress. Stir-crazy feelings from being trapped indoors for days on end by bitter weather. By the end of December, many students are figuratively climbing the walls. So why not do it literally? Wall climbing can be a great stress-reducer and a wonderful physical challenge that doesn’t involve the unpredictability of snow or the risk of frostbite. My very first climbing experience was a few weeks ago at the 55-foot REI Pinnacle. Surrounded by glass, the structure itself mimics the look and feel of the rock formations in the St. Croix River Valley. It also claims to be the tallest freestanding indoor climbing structure in the Midwest.

Inside the huge REI building, I signed a waiver, paid 10 dollars and received a pager. Ten minutes later the pager buzzed: my adventure on the Pinnacle was about to begin! One of the Pinnacle staff, Kat, competently helped me into a harness, showing me how to put my legs through the loops and tighten the belt around my waist. Her air of assurance impressed me as she explained how safe this experience really was.

“This rope could support a semi truck,” she said, tying the climbing line to my harness with a double bowline knot.

At Kat’s recommendation, I chose the second easiest climbing route: a rock face that rose almost vertically. (The easiest routes slanted inward, while the hardest ones leaned sharply outward.) With handholds and footholds within easy reach, I shimmied up the first 20 feet.

“This is easy!” I exulted and wondered if I should have picked a more challenging route.

Perhaps 40 feet up, however, my confidence faded. The hand- and footholds became fewer, and the rock bulged very slightly outward. I was at a loss where to move next. For no good reason I became suddenly and strongly aware that I was clinging to a vertical rock face—with nothing between me and the faraway ground except the tiny protrusions under my toes and fingers. I didn’t look down—I knew better than that—but I could sense the height all the same.

“I’m perfectly safe,” I told myself. “I can’t fall, because I’m connected to this safety rope.” Just as quickly I heard my own voice reply, with a slight edge of panic, “That’s just not good enough!”

So there I was, stuck three-quarters of the way up. My arms started to tremble from the exertion and my hands were now sweaty, slipping off each handhold that I tentatively grabbed. Yet the slight, queasy feeling of vertigo was my biggest obstacle. I reminded myself that I had been hang-gliding.

“That was far more dangerous, and I wasn’t afraid then. So there’s no reason to be silly now.”

My pep talk didn’t work. I clung to my position, motionless. Finally, I realized I had to do something. I tried to hoist myself up to the next handhold—and fell backward off the wall. My heart skipped two beats. Hanging suspended in the air (I hadn’t actually dropped at all), I heard Kat down below, encouraging me to rest up a bit and then try it again. So I hung there, breathing deeply, considering whether or not to say, “Can you please let me down now?” But then the thought struck me, “How can I write an article about this if I never reach the top? I’ll look like a complete wimp!” The realization stung my pride enough to give me a small boost of strength. I pulled myself up against the wall again. Snagging a high handhold and pushing my body upward with my legs, I made it over the troublesome bulge. Soon I stretched up and slapped the eyebolt at the very top of the pinnacle.

Success!

Kat explained how to walk down the wall. I leaned back—at right angles to the rock—and fended myself off with my feet as she let me down. Within a few seconds I was standing on the ground again. My forearms ached from clenching the handholds so tightly. My whole body trembled faintly.

“How did you like it?” asked Kat.

“You know, I think with more practice, I could really come to like it,” I replied sincerely.

“It’s a great sport because it’s just you and the rock,” she said.

Yes, it’s just you and the rock. But even more, I realized, climbing is about pitting you against yourself. It’s about testing and stretching your physical limits—and your mental ones. I think I’ll be back.