My arms begin to quiver. I feel the burn and think of that time I laid outside by the St. George pool for too long and my body became an offering from the sun’s kitchen. But this burn was different. It was more like the burn I felt in my legs as I leaned back in the bindings as I floated down the cirque trying to stay above a newly laid 3 feet of freshies. I lean toward the wall and push up on my left foot, which allows my outstretched hand to grasp the next handhold. My eyes immediately begin surveying the area looking for another hold that is within my climbing pattern. All holds with a green piece of tape below it are fair game. I see a small wedge shaped hold and go for it. My foot grazes the hold and slips off and I fall backward but don’t fall. The rope running along my ear is tight. I look over my shoulder and smile at my belayer whose right hand is holding the rope tight to his hip. His firm grip is keeping my 175-pound frame safely suspended 20 feet in the air. I close my eyes and try to mentally force some strength back into my unconditioned limbs. I blink and my eyelids flip open. I flex and throw my body back toward the grips for another go at it. And I climb.
