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A Skier Learns to Climb through Fear
By Kim Mann

Probably up until now, I was never really drawn to the sport of climbing.  Some of you are saying “Why on earth on not?”  I’m not sure really why I wasn’t into it, maybe it was my perception of the sport that it wasn’t exciting enough, or too scary or physically too hard.  I’m a skier, I like feeling the forces in a turn and going fast.  As I started seriously training in the off-season to improve and sustain what I do in the winter, my mentality changed.  I started to actually enjoy pushing myself physically and breaking through my own boundaries.  Climbing began to pique my interest.  After a big ski accident about a year ago, I developed a more heightened sense of fear.  More so, a fear of exposure.  I found myself several times over the season on traverse lines or cornices that were above big rocky drops, I found that my breathing became shallow, the grip on my poles became tighter and I felt a subtle twitchiness all over my body that came from adrenaline being injected into my system.  Not to mention the feeling of my heart pounding even harder in my chest that I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.  This is an unusual place for me to be, as I have always trusted myself and my skis on exposed lines and pitches.  I don’t think I focused on the consequences and just paid attention to the task at hand, because intuitively I knew if I did that right, all would be good. 

I read somewhere that “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to move past your fear.”  I was inspired by that phrase and decided to do something to conquer this fear I developed.  I knew climbing was the epitome of being exposed.  I mean, how much more exposure can you get if not clinging to a crevice in a rock hundreds of feet off the ground.  I was comforted knowing that I would be roped in; no way would I even conceive of attempting it, if there wasn’t a safety net of some sort. 

I called up NASTC’s lead climbing guide because I knew I could trust him to keep me safe and push me the right amount.  I met him up on Donner Summit, he showed me the first pitch he thought of having me climb.  I balked.  It was a big towering rock face that hung over a collection of jagged boulders – too close to memory for comfort.  So we scoped out another pitch that was harder technically and much higher off the ground but it didn’t have the same fearful layout.  I went with option B. 

As we got geared up, Chris B went over each step and procedure with me and I repeated them back to him.  We were working as a team to keep each other safe, so I knew it was important to get my part right.  Chris went up ahead and set up the first anchor, we were doing a 3 pitch climb.  Meaning we were going to attempt the rock in 3 phases and each phase involved setting up anchor that could hold both of us at the same time. 

Chris had mentioned climbing being very mind clearing, almost meditative, and truthfully, I had doubts about that.  I figured I would be so overwhelmed with not falling I would be in a high stress state the whole time.  However he was right.  As I started climbing, I focused on where I was going to put my feet and hands.  I felt a really pleasant state of mindful calmness.  It became a mental exercise to look ahead and plan each next hold.  Before I knew it I was up at the first anchor.  I never even paused to think about how high off the ground I was or to look down. 

Chris applauded my first go and said that I did a really good job of trusting my feet.  I think it was more about trusting the shoes that they would stick to the rock surface as I pushed through my legs to reach for the next hand hold.  Apparently individuals with stronger legs and weak upper bodies make for good climbers right from the get go because they have no choice but to rely on their legs. 

Getting to the second anchor was a breeze.  This was a cool spot where a tree was growing right out of the rock and you could see Donner Lake in its entirety and the town of Truckee and the expanse of the Sierras in the distance.  As I began my ascent to the next anchor, the wind kicked up.  I found myself at spot where I didn’t plan my holds so well and ended up perched precariously in a squat on a tiny ledge in the rock.  “Uh oh,”  I could feel it, that familiar rush of adrenaline, the hair standing on the back of my neck, but before I could spiral down even further into that iron-like grip of fear, I heard Chris’s voice cut through the wind.  “How’s it going Kim?”  “Not to great,” I replied, “I’m kinda stuck.”  Chris pointed out a hold just to my right that would put me right where I wanted to be.  It required me to stand up let go of my falcon like grip on the rock and stretch my leg out towards the hold that Chris pointed out.  Meanwhile the wind began to blow pretty hard making the situation way more intimidating that it needed to be.  This is what I had come out to do though, to put myself in a situation where I had to confront my fear.  I didn’t want to be that lame person that needed to be rescued on their first climb.  So I took in a deep breath and focused my mind on what I needed to do to reach that hold.  All I could see was the immediate rock in front of me.  Gone was the scenic vista of Donner Lake, I didn’t dare look up or down out of fear of losing my balance and what for?  It would only fuel my fear not abate it.  With a big lump of anxiety in my throat I started to stand and push through my legs, inching my hands a little further up the rock.  Now I was in this strange position where my feet were close to one another and on tip toes, as there wasn’t enough room on the ledge for more than just that.  My body was twisted side ways and my arms are splayed out to the side hugging the rock with what little grip I had.  The only option from here was to stretch that leg out.  First go, total fake out; second, I got my leg halfway out there.  Third time… nailed it!  It was surprisingly so easy from that point on to make it to the top. 

Chris’s voice came at the perfect moment and gave me a target point and instructions I could focus my mind on.  He didn’t annoyingly keep encouraging me, he gave me space to work it out in my head and I’m thankful for that, because that was that moment I needed. 

Far from cured, I know I’m on the right track.  I’m re-developing the problem solving and focus skills to move past things that make me nervous and fearful.  I look forward to climbing again, to exercising my brain as equally as my body and enjoy those moments of clarity that come with climbing as your mind has no other place to be than present and focused.