In August 2018, when I joined the Mountain Club of South Africa, to learn to rock climb, I had no idea of the driving force it would become in my life. Before starting I read a beginners book to learn the language of climbing so I could understand what I was doing. I think back to my first day, only just a foot off the ground, and I became glued to the rock, paralysed with fear that I was going to fall off. I froze, unable to move my hands or feet as tears welled up. Unable to step off, the instructor had to literally peel me off the rock. Despite his gentle assurances, and the sympathetic onlookers, I was embarrassed, mortified, and I found the exposure nauseating as I waded through the crowd to compose myself. I had wanted to do this. Somewhere deep inside me I’d felt I NEEDED to do this, yet the reasons eluded me.
Back on the rock, I began the first climb still with fear and trepidation and a very real awareness of my limitations. As I made my way up, all that existed was the wall of rock, the handholds, and the footholds I could push against with my toes to move up whilst trying not to fall off. When I reached the top, absolute fear mixed with exhilaration coursed through me. By the end of my first day it became clear to me that moving on the rock, nothing is given. I had to look all around me and make decisions about what I could hold on to, where my feet might stick to push me upward and how I needed to use my body to balance. And then there was the thing called Gravity! Even though my body seemed to be coping, in my head, it was a different story and I quickly learned two things: one, climbing really takes place in your head and two, climbing is not about comfort. When I think back to that first attempt, I was so far out of my comfort zone that I knew I’d never be the same again. All the way up the rock I had the voice in my head saying: focus….find a hold, step up….keep moving….you can do this! Don’t stop now! That first attempt changed me. I knew then that fear is in the mind and can be ignored because when you think you can, you can. The climbing I do is toproping. It’s rock climbing with the rope anchored at the top of the climb which lessens the potential distance of a fall and creates a more controlled situation in which to hone climbing technique. It is also at the heart of learning to climb. It’s the safest for me, given my dysfunctional pelvis and when I tie on my climbing shoes, I know I can do anything I decide to do. By default, rock climbing has since become my ‘mantra’, the statement that provides me with motivation and encouragement when I need to focus and achieve a goal, and the feeling of accomplishment can at times almost feel seductive.
I made a decision that I would learn about this climbing stuff, the skills I needed to get up the crags because if I really wanted to give this a go, it was within my reach. Climbing has taught me things about courage that might easily have gone undiscovered if I hadn’t given it a go and the decision changed my life. Each time I was able to climb, I was in my zen phase. And each time I came back from that phase, everything else seemed clearer, more understandable, more sensical. Climbing gave me a different kind of strength. One that gave me direction and purpose. And it freed me mentally and emotionally from the struggles I faced because whilst I was climbing, nothing else could occupy my mind.
My next climbing adventures then happened in 2019, in Scotland, and with each accomplishment, my life changed a little more, and my world expanded beyond the physical trappings it felt when I experienced the exhilaration of exploring what I was physically capable of. Being up on the crags helped me accept the limits of my body as my mind emptied of everything except where I would place the next handhold and foothold. It helped me realise what I was capable of and each time I worked my way up another crag, another route, I learned more about myself. I wanted to do it right and become good at it.
In June 2021, I sustained a thoracic spinal cord injury between T9 and T10 which brought my life to an abrupt halt. I questioned my strength, my courage, my ability and willingness to endure another physical setback that could adversely affect the rest of my life. Would I ever be able to do the things I love most, the things that drove me and brought me peace? Dealing with the psychological trauma was worse than the physical pain at times. The drug induced haze in hospital and upon being discharged did nothing to ease my fears and my emotions over the months fluctuated from severe anguish and fear to numb acceptance. I wanted to be strong, to stay strong but I was waitlisted by a system that did not consider my condition urgent enough to warrant immediate attention and I felt imprisoned in my own body, unable to move, sit, stand, walk or brush my hair without excruciating pain.
Eventually I realised that it wouldn’t help to dwell on what went wrong. I’d been through pain before and I told myself again that pain was growth, that the trauma would enhance my focus and make me stronger. Pain had become a constant in my life once again but thinking about climbing helped me make sense of it and I was finding the will to look at life with hope instead of pain and darkness. I imagined myself climbing and neither the past, nor the future existed. Thinking about overcoming my predicament to get back to the crags, forced all other thoughts from my mind.
Thinking about climbing became my path to focus on healing and a greater truth. That perhaps, most of us are just trying to get by, trying to connect with people, places and things we love, trying to live with individual purpose and meaning.
When on 20 July 2021, my rehabilitation started in earnest, my goal was to create an environment for my body to start healing and for me to develop toughness, both mental and physical. At first therapy was painful especially with the non-implantable electrical therapy which sent shocks into my spinal nerves, isometric exercises focused on my weakened core, rehabilitation exercises inside and outdoors offered the benefits of both environments, and gentle woodland walks which I looked forward to with great relish helped to keep heart and lungs conditioned.
My life started to feel better, richer, as I was exploring my limits and embracing the unknown. And I told myself that hopeful acceptance was a better mindset than blind optimism.
Every so often, pieces of wood along the trails started to catch my eye and I would pick them up. In some unfathomable way, the strewn pieces on the woodland floor, in my imagination, resembled the shape of crags. Always in awe of how nature has the power to inspire in ways we don’t always comprehend, I took it as God’s way of speaking to me, letting me know that He knew where I was, what I was going through and where my mind kept willing towards. While washing and glazing the pieces of wood, I was subconsciously developing mental toughness and building a mindset of invincibility because if I kept trying my hardest, kept up with my rehabilitation, stayed strong and positive and came up short, it would be psychologically and emotionally exhausting and the failure would surely cripple my reserves to endure. Those odd shaped pieces of wood, neatly lining a little corner in my room, have become my beacons of hope. Each one is dated and corresponds to little victories I’ve achieved since my ordeal and they are there to remind me that, soon, I will be back in form, looking up and reaching out for the next tiny crimper to place a handhold and an edge where I can rest my toes.
Everyone has a story to tell because we all experience hardships and triumphs. And if through our stories we can inspire others in some way, then we may begin to understand that embracing ourselves, our potential, our ability to persevere and endure, can often be defined as the adventure of a lifetime, we can share with others.
