There's Something About Climbing

There's something about climbing. Hanging by a thread. Clinging to the face by my fingers and toes. There's something humbling. Something about knowing my life is attached to this rope. This rope - a nylon umbilical cord stretched taunt from my middle down to the belly of the belayer below.

There's something about climbing. Something about time. Something about the way seconds flex and move. When my forearms are screaming, minutes feel like days. Other times, it's suspended. It stops when I sit back in the harness with my feet braced against the rock. When I squint into the barely pink sky, high above the green fields, the river, and the winding canyon road, the world freezes. Dangles there, perfect for a moment.

There's something about climbing. There's something about friends. Climbing isn't a solo sport, you know. There's something about laughing at each other from the opposite ends of a cliff. There's something about driving up a canyon in a white '88 Camero with the top down. There's something about singing The Postal Service as the warm wind whips our hair and clothes. There's something about holding that green nylon snake, watching it follow my friend up the rock. Something about knowing that if he falls, I can catch him. There's something about giving your life to your friend. There's something about climbing.