First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
Illustration by Erick M. Ramos
My wife and I retired a few months ago and, like many others in our situation, made the move to Victoria. We purchased a house with our eldest son and daughter-in-law and eagerly anticipated new experiences. Retirement does not mean retiring from life but rather beginning a new life.
My son became interested in wall and then rock climbing. Although heights, or more precisely, the fear of falling and grounding from such a height always concerned me, I agreed to join him in his escapades. So he signed me up for wall climbing. And not the wall climbing we did when he was just eight. Apparently trying new things does not necessarily mean easy things.
We arrive for my appointment a week later. I look over the membership demographic. I do not see any other silverbacks. This used to be a metaphor, but now for me this became more literal. I walk toward another group looking around and appearing unsure what to do next. They look the way I feel. I join them. I am pleased that at the very least all the males in the group are old enough to shave.
I already signed my multipage waiver and release. I think the legal summary is EIYOF: Everything Is Your Own Fault. I wore a black t-shirt with a picture of a mountain goat in a toque and sunglasses. I thought it looked appropriate, but now I wonder if it looks like I am trying too hard.
Our instructor is young, thin and wiry. He has been climbing for several years and instructing for two. He smiles and looks confident. When trying something new, it seems to help to have someone confident to get over your own concerns. He looks old enough to shave. Albeit not regularly.
We go over the basics of getting into the harness and securing it properly. The other students have this body shape suggesting if they slipped out of their harness and fell, they could still land on their feet like a cat. I could see myself falling too, but my animal analogy would be more like a jellyfish landing on the sidewalk.
I turn on my active listening skills, which I picked up in one of the many emotional intelligence seminars my company sent me to. The possibility of serious bodily harm helps you pick up your attentiveness game.
This still does not help me much in that I get the knot wrong on the first attempt and I install the belayer mechanism upside down. Fortunately, no one is attached for any of this. I get it right when it counts.
I clamber up this one wall that seems relatively short with some major sized handholds. I think this is where they probably hold birthday parties. The floor feels like a trampoline. Not a good sign. If one did fall, you might bounce up, giving you an opportunity to fall a second time.
I build my confidence as within my group of three, I have climbed twice and belayed twice so far today. I am getting the impression, apparently false, that I am getting the hang of this.
My son comes over to check on me. He has the same body type as the cat-like climbers. If he falls, he’ll land on his feet anyway. He does not have that landing-like-a-jellyfish gene it appears.
My instructor suggests that my son could belay me and takes us over to a slightly more advanced wall configuration. Here the first eight feet of the wall lean back, then the wall reverts to vertical. The instructor says that the best approach involves doing the first section as quickly as possible to reduce fatigue. To me, this sounds like a good way to fall as quickly as possible. He suggests visualizing the first few handholds, so you know what to do before you get there. I fixate on this idea since visualizing going up seems much better than visualizing falling.
Interestingly, I begin to realize that I don’t really have a fear of hitting the ground. It’s more of a fear of just falling, even though the hitting part is where the pain comes from.
I quickly get through the tough portion of the wall only to encounter the tougher portion. The handholds change to offer more challenge, becoming smoother and smaller and more rounded rather than concave. I spend more time just gripping the wall tightly in order to boost myself with my legs.
By this time, my heart begins to pound. Mostly from exertion, but partly from the anxiety of climbing. I’m no longer in Kansas and each change in position begins to feel more like almost falling.
I near the top, and I can see the last handhold tantalizingly marked “Finish.” Just below, on either side protrude two other handholds. Both take the shape and size of half a softball. No easy concave handhold there. I know I don’t have the skill or the strength to try and use either as a handhold to boost myself up farther. I could jump ever so slightly and grab onto the “Finish” handhold. But if it’s rounded, there is no chance I could grip it tightly enough. If it’s even slightly concave, I could grab it with one hand and clamber a foot up to the next foothold. It’s a six-inch jump with 35-foot repercussion.
Since I want to finish, I need to leap up those six inches. And after all, retiring should not be so much about trying new things, but rather doing new things.
So, I did.
Gary Goodwin lives in Victoria.
Sign up for the weekly Parenting & Relationships newsletter for news and advice to help you be a better parent, partner, friend, family member or colleague.