Embrace Fear – Ice Climb 2-16-19

Fear of Failing

Living with a chronic illness can dampen the desire and courage to throw caution in the wind; stifling the mind’s imagination; dulling curiosity; and killing the adventurous spirit within.  My mind free to spin a web of new truths from lurking anxious thoughts.   I buy into the anxiety that I don’t  belong with other outdoor adventurers because my body does not work the same as theirs; accepting the premise that failure is failure. Weeks of feeling less than healthy, have tipped the precarious balance in which story about myself is lived.  Today’s adventure is a day when I embrace fear, smile at failure and dig deep to enjoy the pleasure of being in the wilderness.

A Kernel of Hope

A seed of adventure given a ray of light, quickly sprouts. Growth crowds out anxious thoughts, and creates space for the desire to push past the fear of failure.  To taste the thrill of adrenaline surging, body aching with the effort of an unfamiliar movement, and a message of “you can do this” running through my mind. 

Seed of Adventure

Ice climbing is the seed of adventure that lights the motivation to move, take a risk and open myself up to a new experience.  The thought of climbing a frozen waterfall has been rolling around my mind for years.  I could always come up with the reasons my body would not cooperate with climbing ice – poor tolerance for cold, difficulty managing my grip, fear that banging ice axes into hard ice will cause my hands to swell.  Playing with a friend’s ice axes shift the thoughts.  I gently disclose to The Bearded One the gratification of hitting the axe into the ice.  A solid “thunk” as it sinks deep into the ice, a giggle escapes.

I arrive home from work to find a large, tissue paper wrapped gift on my desk.  The Bearded One busy in the kitchen allows me time to discover the gift and open it to find a new set of curved ice axes for ice climbing!  A quiet chuckle comes from the kitchen as I return to the kitchen with my new ice tools in hand.  “Now we need to try them out!”

Diagnosis Explanation

I find a course offered in Rocky Mountain National Park and sign us up.  Fears bubble beneath the surface as the date comes closer.  Fear of not measuring up, not being able to do what I imagine I should be able to do push against the desire to let go of the fear and enjoy the movement and elements of being in the place I love.

The morning of the class arrives, and we are packed and ready to go.  We arrive a few minutes early to explain the medical diagnoses listed on the form I had to fill out.  Looking at the list of diagnoses: Scleroderma, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Sjogrens make me worry the guide will decline to take me out.  After some discussion, he agrees that I can participate.

Finding Ice

Our group of 5 students gear up at the Glacier Gorge trailhead.  Overcast, grey skies, snow blowing and temperatures in the single digits are not the most favorable conditions for me, but today, I am moving forward.  Today I trust that I can embrace the fear, come out from behind the safety of my diagnoses and be who I am in the wilderness.

Ben, our guide leads us up the trail towards the gorge below the Loch Vale, where the walls are lined with frozen waterfalls.  We make our way up to a series of climbs where Ben sets up three climbs.  I step into my crampons, put on my heaviest layers and cinch my hood over my helmet.  The Bearded One has me on belay. 

I stand face to face with my fear.  A solid sheet of ice, ice axes held firmly in each hand and eyes exploring the icy, hard surface.  I imagine the sequence of steps.  My right arm reaches up, cocks, and snaps the axe into the ice. “Plink” and a chunk of ice shoots off the edge, hitting me in the face.  A smile erupts!  This is it – I am really doing this!  The next hit is more solid. I sink my left axe, stretching my body as long as it can be.  I raise my right foot and kick hard to land the front points of my crampons deep into the ice. 

Flow

I repeat the cycle of moving my hands and feet higher, finding flow.  Wind blows loose snow down the ice, showering my face.  Some hits graze the ice, causing an imbalance in my stance.  The movement feels much like rock climbing, just on a slippery surface.  The coordination of hands and feet, balancing body weight and making slow uphill progress tickles a primitive part of my brain – my body was made to do this.  In this moment of movement, the disease is forgotten, and I am simply a woman in her element. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WanderJill