"We're each of us our own ... bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real."A Great and Terrible Beauty; Libba Bray
I went climbing with Nate and the kids. The first of the season. The rock still had that cool winter chill. I was the first to climb; leading a 5.7. An easy first-of-the-year climb with holds every few feet the size of your palm and ledges to stand on. I laced my shoes. They felt good and I wondered why my feet hurt on the rock so much last year. I placed my hands to the rock. Felt its crisp, sharp edges with my hands.
I start the climb and a sharp pain rips through my toes. I toe in anyways and gave it my weight. "Oh, there's the pain" I think. I continue to the next hold and the next. I clip my first bolt but, I start to hesitate between moves. I begin using my arms to hold me to the rock; not wanting to place my weight on my feet. I clip into the second bolt and continue on. I notice the long pauses I am taking to give reprieve to one foot and then another.
Pause.
My mind races to find ways to convince myself to continue past the hurt. I no longer evaluate the climb. The pauses became longer.
At the third bolt, Nate suggests I come down. I clip in and call down to him. The way down is sketchy, ungraceful, unbalanced. I did not want anything to touch my feet.
Back on the ground, I collapse on a bench and start removing my right shoe. My hands shake. Nate down on his knees, starts working on the left shoe.
My naked feet, reveal what I fear; deep, dark-purple toe joints. "Dam RA has been doing too well." I look at my shoes now lying on the ground. Then refocus. With some hesitation, I cram my feet into a different pair of shoes; one that does not force my toes to take my weight. I start climbing the rock again. I try not to think about what happened.
Days later, Casi speaks to me about it. "It was obvious you were in pain. You never come down from a climb." We make eye contact and hold each others gaze. Neither of us knows what to say. The silence is awkward.
And, I still dont know what to say. About any of it. The event, perhaps, still holds too much emotion, pain, heartache, sadness, loss, annoyance, resentment, outrage, anger, hopelessness, and doubt. But I also feel thankful, promise, hope, determination, clear blue skies, love, family, and happiness.
I guess, not much changed. I can still climb and I will still reach the top, eventually, with or without, those dam shoes.
I start the climb and a sharp pain rips through my toes. I toe in anyways and gave it my weight. "Oh, there's the pain" I think. I continue to the next hold and the next. I clip my first bolt but, I start to hesitate between moves. I begin using my arms to hold me to the rock; not wanting to place my weight on my feet. I clip into the second bolt and continue on. I notice the long pauses I am taking to give reprieve to one foot and then another.
Pause.
My mind races to find ways to convince myself to continue past the hurt. I no longer evaluate the climb. The pauses became longer.
At the third bolt, Nate suggests I come down. I clip in and call down to him. The way down is sketchy, ungraceful, unbalanced. I did not want anything to touch my feet.
Back on the ground, I collapse on a bench and start removing my right shoe. My hands shake. Nate down on his knees, starts working on the left shoe.
My naked feet, reveal what I fear; deep, dark-purple toe joints. "Dam RA has been doing too well." I look at my shoes now lying on the ground. Then refocus. With some hesitation, I cram my feet into a different pair of shoes; one that does not force my toes to take my weight. I start climbing the rock again. I try not to think about what happened.
Days later, Casi speaks to me about it. "It was obvious you were in pain. You never come down from a climb." We make eye contact and hold each others gaze. Neither of us knows what to say. The silence is awkward.
And, I still dont know what to say. About any of it. The event, perhaps, still holds too much emotion, pain, heartache, sadness, loss, annoyance, resentment, outrage, anger, hopelessness, and doubt. But I also feel thankful, promise, hope, determination, clear blue skies, love, family, and happiness.
I guess, not much changed. I can still climb and I will still reach the top, eventually, with or without, those dam shoes.
You seem to have the right attitude!
ReplyDeleteIt is important for children to understand pain.. to prepare them for when they are surprised by its intensity in their own lives. Even so... Moms have to be tough. They hide a lot of pain.
ReplyDeleteCreating a new sense of self is a painful process. I am saddened that you are seeing a loved part of you morph into something else, and that it is so physically painful. Even when we have a positive outlook, we still miss what has gone. We gain new qualities and perspective in these times of our lives, but often present in our minds is the question "is the quality/perspective worth the cost?" I quess the answer to that is up to us. And in my case, the answer changes day do day.
ReplyDeleteWhenever I come to make a comment and then I read what Tink say's first, I pause for a while because she explains things so well and it seems she sometimes takes the words right out of my head. I too, am saddened that you have to deal with such pain. Especially when it interrupts those things you are so passionate about and that bring you such zest for life. I admire your determination!
ReplyDeleteI would love to come take pictures of you all out there climbing I love that you all do it together as a family!
Ang, I know saying sorry for the changes that are occurring within you is not what you want someone to say. I know that you don't want pity. You are one of the toughest gals I know. You always make the best of things. I know that you will keep reaching for new heights, even if you have to alter your course to get there. You inspire me to keep trying harder even if the things you love seem further in the distance.
ReplyDeleteThanks for helping to remind me that change does happen to all of us, it's how we face that change that defines us. -Lisa