“What’s the one lesson you need to learn over and over?”

“What’s the one lesson you need to learn over and over?”

Oh, thank you, NPR host, for asking this question on the radio, because it was EXACTLY what I needed to hear.

Let’s back up.

This month, I and my regular travel partner, Shawn, got the chance to gallivant about the Southwest for a few days. As we drove through the gorgeous countryside of Arizona and Colorado, I should have been blissed out; it’s truly spectacular country out there. Part of me was blissed out, but part of me was also a bundle of…something icky. Was it nerves, anxiety, trepidation? Name your affliction, whichever one gives you that slightly nauseous feeling of inadequacy deep in your belly.

I noticed it consciously as we approached Canyon de Chelly National Monument, where were planning to go horseback riding. I kept flashing back to being an overweight, inflexible kid who couldn’t put on waterskis in the water. Everyone else could, and I couldn’t. I remember those moments with brutal clarity, and I remember wanting to die of embarrassment. What if I couldn’t do something as simple as get on a horse?

It was foolish to worry, as the guide had a step for novices like me to use, and once up on the horse, I had an absolutely wonderful, peaceful four-hour ride into the canyon. In fact, I believe that I was a stellar horsewoman, perhaps even a Lord of the Rings character, in a previous life. :)

With that hurdle conquered, I should have been raring to go for a via ferrata the next day, right?

Nah.

Back came the butterflies, and it was the same overweight, wimpy kid who haunted my imagination. This time, it was the version who couldn’t pull herself up onto the boat after that failed waterski attempt. This time, she was accompanied by her grown-up self, the one who knew she hadn’t trained enough to build up arm and upper body strength. Dammit, you didn’t do enough pushups, Jodi.

Long-time readers will remember that I did a via ferrata before, and that it was one of my more triumphant moments. This one didn’t go quite as well.

Via ferratas are designed to give non-climbers a chance to experience what actual rock climbers see and feel when they are clinging to a vertical rock face. There are rungs placed into the rock, and cables that run the length of the route. Each climber wears a harness with three carabiners on it. Two of these travel on the cables; she clips and unclips them at every cable junction, one at a time so she’s never not clipped in. There is also an emergency rest carabiner, designed to clip onto a rung if the climber needs to take a break.

I didn’t take any pictures while on the Via Ferrata and Shawn’s aren’t ready yet. So I borrowed this from the official Ouray Via Ferrata instagram page.

The gear is there to prevent serious injury in the event of a fall. But as I’ve discussed before on this blog, no one, including me, wants to fall. One, because even with the gear, it will hurt physically, and two, it will definitely sting the ego. Trust me, I know.

The tale goes like this. We started out on the route whooping and enjoying ourselves. I had a moment, right away, on a traverse called the Mars Wall, where I had to clip into the emergency carabiner because my arms couldn’t hold me on the wall (should’ve done more pushups, Jodi). I summoned the best version of myself and let Shawn take pictures of me dangling above the water, and it was a blast. I rested, and was able to keep going.

The high point of the climb for me was an unnamed wall boasting a steep set of rungs that took us up-up-up above the river. Don’t look down, they say, but man, I loved looking down. This was one of a few moments when I actually felt strong, and Shawn and I exchanged a distanced high-five when I reached the top, since he was cruising along ahead of me. Later, I had a funny moment when I hit a blind corner and wasn’t sure where to go. I cautiously peeked around the corner to see Shawn hanging out on a vertical cliff a few feet away, grinning at me like “get a move on, Jodi!” So I had to basically swing around that corner, which was totally exposed, and straddle the rock to reach the rungs. Then it was a fun down climb, and some kind of boulder problem that everyone else seemed to breeze through, while I had to flail and flounder to get it done.

Then we hit the wall.

I can’t find reference to this wall in any of the blog posts about this route. I think for most people, it’s nothing big. But I knew the moment I saw the bit of overhang that I was in trouble.

The best I can say is that I really did try. Over and over, to the point where my arms were shaking like live wires.

Shawn was above me, trying to be encouraging, but it was white noise to me. All I could hear was my breath, the panic, as I tried to figure out how not to fall. Eventually the only thing to do was lower down, and gravity won that battle as I slid ungracefully down the cables to the ledge I was aiming for.

My worst nightmare had come true. My body had actually failed me in the way I’d been dreading.

All I remember about the next moments is wishing I could cry. It seemed like tears would be cleansing, and then I could catch my breath and figure things out. But instead I just sat there gasping and apologizing. What if I had to be rescued? It would be excruciatingly embarrassing. I felt well and truly stuck.

But it turns out I wasn’t. Shawn had climbed down to offer support and gently try to get me to problem-solve my way out. He mused that there was one point where I just didn’t have the strength to get myself up and over, and that there was likely a way he could help. He called it a partner assist, and he was matter-of-fact about it. “This is how you get through a challenge when you can’t power through on your own. Everyone does it.”

So he clipped himself in place and stood there, patiently waiting. There was nothing for me to do but try again.

And wouldn’t you know it, it worked. A strategic shove to my backside and up I went. Later that day, we would marvel at how just that little bit of help made such a difference.

I chose not to complete the route, because by that point I was physically spent. There was a convenient bailout point that allowed me to climb to the top of the cliff and hike down, which I gladly took while Shawn went ahead. I was glad he had a chance to climb for a bit without worrying about me. I plodded down slowly, knowing that I probably should have been feeling wildly emotional, but in truth, I was just flat-out tired.

In the days since, I’ve thought a lot about the idea of failure, and if this mishap on the wall qualifies. I’m always the first to say that if you get out there and try something hard, you’re a success no matter if you finish the race or the course or the hike or whatever. But it’s harder to believe that when you’re trying to tell it to yourself. It’s hard not to see not getting up that wall myself, which Shawn and everyone else was able to do, as a failure, but I don’t think it was. After all, I left the route on my own power, with only a few (ok, maybe more than a few) bruises to show for my trouble.

When I started this post, I thought the lesson was that I have to keep training, keep trying to get stronger. More pushups, Jodi! That’s a good lesson, but as I type these final words, I realize it’s not the lesson.

The lesson is…I should have asked for help sooner. I should have tried hard, assessed things, then trusted my partner to help, as he always does.

That’s the one. That’s what I have to learn over and over and over again. Let me say it louder for the folks in the back, myself included. It does not make you weaker to ask for and accept help.

Because that’s the point of having people in your life. They are there to give you support when you need it, and vice versa. If the box hadn’t been there to help me get on the horse, I could just have asked for a boost. No big deal. On the wall, I might have saved enough energy to finish the route if I’d asked earlier. That blows my mind, and that’s the only true regret I have from the adventure.

Ok, that’s kind of a lie. I honestly do regret that I didn’t do more pushups.