The Slow Climb

I just finished nursing the open burn on my finger, the rope marks imprinted on my calves, and various other blisters on my fingers.  They’re all battle scars, souvenirs, from a CrossFit WOD (workout of the day) I did a few nights ago.  The most challenging part of the WOD was the 15 rope climbs, 17 feet each, for a combined total of 255 feet.  Even though it took me a good 20 minutes longer to complete it than the few others who even attempted the challenge that day, I am still feeling very accomplished. 

I can’t help but reminisce about my first rope climb and how each one after that has felt like a personal feat.  

It’s safe to say I do not have an athletic bone in my body.   When I was a child I was always reading or playing with my dolls and stuffed animals.  I remember in elementary school when we played dodge ball our PE teacher would appoint the most athletic kids to be team captain. One by one they would take turns selecting who would be lucky enough to be on their team.  I would just sit there, kind of shy and embarrassed feeling really sorry for whoever ended up with me.  I know they secretly hoped they wouldn’t get stuck with me.  Inevitably I was always the last one chosen and the first one out.

My hand/eye coordination didn’t change as I entered junior high and high school.  I tried out for the basketball team my 7^th grade year, but that was before the days when everyone made the team in some form.  Needless to say, I wasn’t chosen.  I’m probably the only batter who has ever successfully hit themselves in the face with a softball.  I took clogging lessons (that’s what you do when you’re raised in the backwoods of Missouri), but I wasn’t a dancer either.  Not only was I lacking rhythmic skills, I was kind of klutzy and awkward.  Everyone would dance off to the left and I predictably turned to the right.  I envied my sister because she was so graceful and talented.  She had the moves down; she traveled with the performance group. The only performing I ever did was at our family reunion in Arkansas—family loves you and thinks your adorable no matter what. 

As a young undergraduate student I did everything I could to avoid taking physical education classes.  I didn’t even earn my associate degree because I didn’t want to take PE.  Working out for me consisted of picking up books and walking from my car across campus to class. My habits didn’t change very much as I transitioned to a graduate student, entered the workforce, and the early years when I first started my doctorate.   Recall during this time I was completely entrenched with Ed (my eating disorder).  Aside from graduating, losing weight or at least maintaining it through very unhealthy means was my primary focus.  I lived to please Ed. 

Fast forward to August 1, 2011 I was well into recovery from Ed, gaining more and more strength each day and climbing the rope for the very first time.  I still vividly remember that day.  My friend Laurie was the one who encouraged me to do it.

 [An aside, Laurie is absolutely an amazing woman.  I know I sound like Desiree on the bachelorette talking about the 25 men she’s weeding through to find true love…she always raved on and on about how amazing they were.  Seriously, I am proud to say I am fortunate to have some really remarkable friends.  Laurie, a wife, mother of twin girls (toddlers) and full-time professional is not only one of the sweetest most beautiful women I know, she’s also pretty much a bad ass when it comes to CrossFit.  She caught onto everything really quickly.  She was effortlessly picking up weights like they were feathers, doing pull-ups, double unders, and rope climbs way before I was.  Even now when life takes her away from the gym she comes back and still runs circles around me within a few days.]

Okay, back to the story about my first rope climb.  We had just finished class a few minutes early.  Laurie went over with me to the rope and showed me how to wrap it around my leg in order to get the best grip to make the climb.  I had tried it a few times before, but was never successful.  For whatever reason I was determined to conquer the rope that day.  It helped that Laurie, Adam, and our coach Paul were all there to cheer me on.  I remember wanting to stop when I was halfway up the rope, but I could hear the cheers from Laurie, Adam, Paul and everyone else in the gym “go Shelly, you got this.”  Inside all I could think about was it wouldn’t count as a PR unless I touched the beam 17 feet up.  The combined internal strength from within and the support got me up the rope. 

The support continues to grow. On Wednesday I was the last one finishing the workout (ironically no one else choose that option in my class).  I remember feeling very fatigued, my body shaking as I was finishing that last few climbs.  I wanted to quit, but I knew that wasn't an option. Not only was I determined to finish the challenge, I had a large support group, everyone in the gym was cheering me on and encouraging me to finish it.  The support was the magic energy

I needed to help me finish.

Every climb since then has been a personal victory.  I always think of the little girl who was never able to climb the rope when we had to take the President’s Physical Fitness test in grade school, the awkward girl in PE class that was always chosen last, the girl(woman) suppressed by the intimidation from Ed for so many years.  Even though it may be a slow climb inching my way up the rope each time, it’s a climb.  A personal victory, personal accomplishment, that helps me continue to build strength.