THE CLIMB: A TRUE STORY

I stared up at the thing, a skeleton of rusted steel and lumber. Little more than worn out scaffolding, standing like a monolith against the deep blue sky. 

Jason was halfway to the summit, while my feet were firmly planted in the muck and weeds, still trying to wrap my head around the idea of it. 

A few minutes earlier, he had pointed to the top of the old, abandoned roller coaster. “We’re going to shoot up there.” I wasn’t shocked. No one else would have done it, but this is what Jason Lanier does. I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to be his assistant for the day.  …well, I didn’t exactly know I was in for this. It’s just a general “expect the unexpected” kind of a thing.

I could have said no, of course. I wasn’t required to put my life at risk. And make no mistake, climbing this ungodly thing was doing just that. But refusing would have meant going home. I wasn’t prepared to back down.

Understand, this was not an act of bravery, but rather a streak of intractable stubbornness I inherited from generations of dumbasses before me.

I took an extra second to examine the situation. The first hurdle was getting on top of the coaster’s railing. It was about four feet high with no ladder. Ten years ago, this would have been easy. Even being massively overweight, I’ve always been quick and fairly agile for my size. But that was then. I’m in my forties now and fat don’t fly like it used to.

I centered my sling bag with my camera as much as possible and grabbed the steel cable above me.  My right foot braced against the metal pylon and I did my best approximation of a pull up, until I could get my left foot up on one of the wooden 4 by 4 inch planks and sort of roll myself onto it. As it turned out, it was slightly easier than I thought it would be. Not that I planned to do it ever again.

Now that I was standing on it, that last task seemed infinitely less troublesome. I could see Jason at the top, setting up to shoot. He was waiting on me. And honestly, if I stood there and thought about it, it would only prolong the deep dread soaking me to my bones. 

I put my hand on the cable that I’d used to pull myself up. It was thick and covered in rust from years of sitting unattended in the weather, but it was sturdy. That cable was going to be my lifeline. I knew that I couldn’t make a move unless I had a firm grip on it. If I slipped, that metal wire would be all that kept me from falling to my death. 

With my hand firmly gripped on the cable of angels, I stepped forward into the abyss.

There’s an old saying when you’re climbing. Just don’t look down. Generally good advice. Looking down at the ground only reminds you how high up you are and serves to freak you out. You don’t want to freak out that high up.

The problem is that refusing to look down wasn’t an option for me. 

Each wooden board was a full stride apart from the next. I had to look down to make sure I was stepping on solid wood. I needed to be acutely aware of everything that was going on, including listening to make sure the wood wasn’t cracking. Sure the boards all looked solid, but they’d been untouched and without maintenance for decades. There was no way of knowing for sure.

With each step, I was keenly aware of how high up I was, and somewhat aware of how much further I had to go. For someone living with intense acrophobia, this was unquestionably my worst nightmare.

My fear of heights was near legendary.

A year earlier, I found myself standing with a friend at the rim of the Grand Canyon. “How are you doing this?”, he asked. A reasonable question for someone whom he’d once seen get a case of the screamin’ willies on a tall step ladder.

“I’m afraid of everything. All the time. I can’t let it stop me from living.”

An elegant, if overly simplistic explanation. The fact is, my fear of heights dominates me more often than not. I haven’t always shined in the face of my other fears either. But when I really want or need to do something, I allow myself no choice but to move forward.

I once climbed fifty feet of solid lava rock in Hawaii so that I could jump off of Blackrock Cliff into the Pacific ocean. I was scared out of my mind, sure I’d fall off and break my neck. But once I’d gotten on the path, I continued to put one foot in front of the other.

Nothing I’d ever done compared to this, though. 

Each step was a fresh hell, accompanied by a deep breath and a shiver. The fact that this thing remained intact after years of inclement weather was a testament to human ingenuity. Yet the thought did nothing to assuage my anxiety. I swear I could hear the wood creaking beneath me. I wondered if this mistake would be my last. 

Perhaps out of a desperate need for distraction, I started to wonder what would happen. What would they tell my Mom? What would the internet headlines say? “Obese Man Becomes One with Pancakes!”

Or worse, was someone out there with a cellphone, documenting my demise, preparing for me to live on in infamy as part of one of the millions of video collections of idiots getting poetic justice?

I took deep breaths and tried not to dwell on the thought.

Finally, I took my last step onto the peak.

Jason was more or less setup to start shooting. With a big, bright smile on his face, he congratulated me. He said other pleasant things, but I was too caught up thanking whatever Gods were listening for my continued breath.

I wish I could tell you that I felt a sense of accomplishment or elation. That some sort of profound change occurred within me after taking on the most dangerous task I’d ever embarked upon and staring my deepest fear in the face.

But honestly, I was mostly trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do when we had to go back down again.