Fearless: Learning to Fall
By Cirrus

I.

Sam and I sat together on the hill, looking down towards the park and the thousands of people gathered below.

I checked my watch for the hundredth time that night. 11.57 PM.

"Any new year resolutions Jase?"

Not something I’d given any thought to before this moment. Resolutions always seem to be made in the passion of the moment, then forgotten two days later. Did I really want my life to be different – and if so, how?

"This year I want…"

A roar came up from the crowd far below as the first firework arced high into the sky.

"This year I want to be fearless."

And then the sky was alive with detonations.

II.

I unlocked the front door, and ever so quietly pushed the door open. I padded past the living room, making a beeline for my bedroom.

"Jason?" A thin whisper cut through the silence.

I backed up towards the living room. Lying on the couch, illuminated only by a small reading lamp was my mother.

"How were the fireworks?"

"They were great, really great. Best ever I think."

My mother smiled – a weak, painful smile. Her face was gaunt and weary, lines etched across her face. She had been in so much pain for such a long time, and the struggle showed.

"I couldn’t sleep."

"Would you like something?"

"No, I’m fine."

"Okay. G’night then."

I lay in my bed, tired but still unable to sleep.

Fearless. I’m not sure how in that exact moment, at 11.59 PM on December 31, 1999, while standing on Cotton’s Hill, I realised what I most wanted to be.

I vaguely recalled that sometime in my childhood I had been the neighbourhood daredevil. Must have struck fear into my parents’ hearts on a daily basis. But that time seemed so long I wasn’t even sure if it was true, or just the way I wanted to remember things. That was BEFORE.

But AFTER – after was liking walking on eggshells every moment of your waking life. Hanging on through the radiation, the surgery, the chemotherapy – the weeks and weeks of chemotherapy, trying to keep an even keel, with nothing for balance but the irrational conviction that no matter how bad it got, until she was actually dead, there was still hope of recovery.

But I didn’t want to live like that. I didn’t want to live that way any longer.

III.

Of course by February nothing had changed. Sam had prodded me on a couple of occasions.

"Come on, fearless. What are you going to do about it?"

But the excuses came pretty easily these days, and I was able to fend him off, till he apparently got bored of the matter, and gave up.

Or so I thought.

On the first back day back at school I found him staring up at one of the dozens of bulletin boards that seem to sprout everywhere at school.

"No, no, no. Not that… or that. Ah. That’s the one. That’s definitely the one."

He started writing something on a sheet on the board. He looked around, saw me, grinned wickedly, then added another line, signing off with a flourish.

"Done!"

This definitely classed as suspicious behaviour.

"What are you up to?"

"Have a look for yourself. I decided you weren’t going to fulfil your new resolutions without some outside interference."

"What have you done?"

"Just signed us both up for rock climbing as our summer sport."

"What?!?"

I stared at the sheet. He was right. There on the sign-up sheet for the climbing option was Sam’s name, and right below it, mine.

"I didn’t even know the school did climbing."

"It’s a new option this year. I guess one of the new teacher’s has an interest."

"And the point is?" I responded, feeling just a little weak in the knees.

"Fearless, You want to be fearless, remember?"

He had that look in his eyes that meant I would be climbing. No matter what.

IV.

Days later, I stood in the rock gym with Sam and a dozen other students, a small pile of equipment at our feet.

Sam had been right about the teacher. Mister Archer, the new school librarian was coaching the climbers.

"Climbing is not simply about strength. Climbing is also about technique. It’s about knowing how to conserve your energy, knowing how to move your body to make difficult moves easier. In a few weeks all of you will be better climbers than you are now. Trust me on this. But you’re not just going how to learn climb well here. You’re also going to learn how to climb safely. And that means learning the proper way to use all of this equipment."

We were climbing indoors, which meant we weren’t using any of the specialised safety gear needed to anchor yourself outdoors. Even so, we had to learn the correct way to put on our harnesses, the right knots for tying ourselves, and how to belay for the person climbing.

We started off with top-rope climbing. The rope is secured to a pulley at the top of the climb, so you only fall as far as the available slack in the rope lets you.

"Come on, Jase, you go first." Sam was not giving me one moments slack here. Looking at the available climbs, I chose one that looked reasonably easy, tied myself in, and set off.

The result was not elegant or pretty, but I managed to make it up. Each time I thought I was going to run into problems, another huge, wrap-your-entire-hand-around-it hold appeared. Even so, I was still shaking a bit by the time Sam started lowering me to the ground.

Sam and I swapped roles.

"Climber ready!"

"Belayer reader."

Within a minute it was obvious he was a natural. Where I huffed and puffed my way up, he simply flowed uphill. Footholds magically seemed to appear beneath his feet, pushing him upwards at an unbelievable pace. I was flat out hauling in slack on the rope, trying to keep up with him. He wasn’t even breathing hard when he returned to earth.

"Are you sure you haven’t done this before?" I asked suspiciously.

"Nope. Maybe I’m just made for climbing." I considered that a moment and considered it was probably true. There was no extra weight on him at all – and I’d seen his flexibility in gym class. At thirteen he could still do stretches that only the dancers (read: girls) in our class could do. I ruffled his brown hair.

"Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a lard-assed couch potato before you climb Everest."

"Be careful what you say. Fifteen year olds have tried to climb Everest before you know."

Now I was nervous. Was that a joke… or a threat?

"C’mon, Jase. Let’s try something more challenging."

V.

Where I come from, it always rains a lot in winter. And even when it’s not raining, it seems to stay overcast for days on end. In other words, a perfect season for melancholy.

Climbing had finished for the summer a couple of months back. In it’s place, my parents and school seem to have conspired to rob me of all my spare time. Between music practice, soccer (spare right back for the Under 15 "B" reserves), the extra work my parents seemed to think I needed to fully stretch myself and get that headstart on a good University place, I always seemed to be either coming or going.

And to top it all off there was a girl. Stephanie Russell. She had transferred into our school for the second term, and I was utterly, horribly smitten. She was in my art class, and those 45 minutes a week were torture. The one or two occasions I’d had the opportunity to talk to her I had been completely tongue-tied and incoherent. Since then I’d settled into a regime of self-imposed torment, longing from afar.

At this very minute, she was eating her lunch four tables over, and I was completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

"Wassup?"

"Huh?" I blurted, interrupted from my latest improbably but highly-elaborate fantasy. Sam stood there confused.

"Man, Jase, what planet are you on?" Sam stared. "Oh wait." He scrutinised the table.

"Stephanie Russell, right?" I glanced at him. "And before, you ask, yes it is that obvious."

My head slumped on to the table.

"Ow. That really hurt."

"Where have you been, man. I haven’t seen you in weeks."

"I could ask the same thing. What happened to soccer?"

"I talked to Mister Archer. He’s allowing me to keep climbing through the winter. He thinks I could do well in competition next summer."

"You’ve been climbing?"

"Bouldering mostly. Sometimes I’ve run into people at the gym, and I’ve gone climbing with them. I could really use a partner though." There was a small accusatory note on the last sentence.

I sighed. I had disappointed him by not sticking with the climbing, disappointed him by not trying to fulfil my new year’s resolution, disappointed him just by not being around. None of it might have been true of course, but in my self-pitying state I was soaking up every excuse for misery like a sponge.

"Don’t just sigh, Jason. Say something." Ouch. Could he read my mind?

"I’m free Saturday. Let’s go climbing. Show me all those moves you’ve learned."

"That’s more like it."

At the moment, Stephanie Russell left her table. I think a sigh involuntarily left my lips. Sam just shook his head.

VI.

Which is how I found myself staring up the most imposing climb I’d ever thought about attempting. First, straight up, lots of small holds. Then an overhang to overcome. Then finally, another succession of holds that looked far too small to finish.

Sam handed me the rope.

"Tie in, you’re going up first."

"But that means…"

"You’re going to lead it." He handed me a handful of quick-draws. Top-rope is one way of climbing. Leading is the other. You work your way up the rock face, placing protection (in this case, quick-draw carabinas, clipped into the wall) as you go. The difference between the two is how far you fall.

"You’re kidding me. I’ve never lead something like this."

"Good time to start then. Climb!"

Nervous as hell, I started to climb.

Compared to when I started, my climbing was light years ahead. But if some of my technique remained, most of the strength had not. And there’s a curious paradox to climbing. As you practice more, and get stronger, you realise how exactly how much effort a hold will take to support your way. If your out of practice, you grip the holds tighter, expending more energy than you need, and wearing yourself out quicker.

Highly strung nerves don’t help either.

I reached the first wall bolt. This was the part of lead climbing I hated the most. First, you unclip the quick-draw from your harness and clip it onto the wall (one handed). Then you ask for slack in the rope. You try to gather as much as you can with your one free hand, and then clip the rope into the quick-draw. With one hand the operation can be much trickier than it looks. And while you’re trying to clip yourself in you know the following facts:

1) The distance you have to fall before the anchor below you can stop you is at its greatest.

2) The amount of slack in the rope is also at its greatest.

It’s winning combination designed to ensure peace of mind. By the time I had clipped myself into the very first bolt, I was a sweaty mess.

I continued slowly up the wall, trying to remember all the tricks I had learned, but fighting against the holds every inch of the way.

My palms were getting slippery with sweat now, and I was starting to second guess holds I wouldn’t have thought a minute about two feet off the ground in the bouldering room.

I reached for one hold three times, unable to quite commit to trusting most of my weight on it.

"Move your feet Jase!"

I looked down. A nice foothold was located just a foot above my left leg. I tested it, pushed up, reached out with my arm, and wrapped a hand around a "bomb-proof" hold. I cursed myself for making such a simple mistake. It’s easy to think so much about where your arms should go, that you forget about the legs – which provide 70% of the power in the first place.

I breathed hard. I had reached the overhang. Time to clip in again. I twisted round to wedge myself in, then clipped on the quick-draw. I managed to add the rope without too much more drama.

Time for the "crux" – the hardest part of the route. I would have to work my way upside down along the short roof section, then haul myself up and around the edge of the overhang. A challenge in any situation.

"You ready?" yelled Sam, from what seemed far too far below. I took a deep breath, and reached for the first hold.

The holds were bigger here – but that didn’t make it much easier. On a straight up and down wall, most of the weight is supported by the legs. But as the slope increases, progressively more of the weight is born by the arms.

I negotiated my way slowly towards the edge. At the edge. Now reaching a hand above the roof section looking for a hold. While I’m looking for the hold, my left arm is holding most of my weight. My feet are wrapped around a hold just keeping me from swinging out. Got a hold. Now to carefully bring my left arm around. It’s on a hold too. My arms are dying. My fingers ache. My shoulders are screaming. My legs are starting to develop a nervous twitch (I think Mister Archer said it was due to lactic acid build-up). And I’m only halfway there. Because my legs are still stuck on the roof section.

I’m looking up at the holds above me, and I just can’t see a good way to do this. I can’t bring my legs up until my hands are higher. But the handholds above don’t look that secure. To reach them, I’ll have to let my legs swing free. And that extra force could be enough to break me free.

"You can do this, Jase. I know you can. But the longer you stay there, the harder this is going to get."

I tentatively pushed off a bit with my legs, reaching up at the same time. Nowhere near close enough. I pushed off firmer this time, bracing my legs straight, and reaching as high as I could. I touched, but couldn’t hold it.

These trial runs were putting more pressure on my already overtaxed arms. I might have only one more shot at this. I reached again. With everything extended I could clamp a hand on the hold and keep it there. One leg was hanging free. The other leg was kicked out straight against the hold. My left arm was bent and screaming. I didn’t know where to go next.

Then my arms decided for me.

Suddenly, spontaneous, my muscles up and quit.

"Falling!"

VII.

For a second I was fell freely. Then my harness stopped with a jerk. The rest of me stopped soon after. I spun freely, hanging in space.

"Uh, Sam. I think it’s safe to let me down now."

Sam gently lowered me down.

"You almost had it there."

"From my point of view, I wasn’t even close."

"You just got to commit to the move. Your problem, Jase, is that you’re afraid to fall."

I slumped against the wall. Everything hurt.

"I’m afraid to fall?"

"In climbing. Life. Everything. You never take a chance, because you might fail."

"Like what, for example."

"Stephanie Russell. It’s so painfully obvious dude, it’s not funny."

"Shut up, okay? It’s not like you have anything to be afraid of. You climb like a natural. The girls love you. You pass at school without having to work at it."

His face fell. What had I said? He didn’t give me a chance to apologize. He simply tied himself the rope into his harness, and looked up at the wall intently, waiting while I prepared to belay. He took off his shirt and approached the wall.

My eyes popped. Sam had always had a pretty good physique, but now he was… "ripped" the phrase that came to mind. He seemed to have muscles on top of muscles. And not the bulging body-builder kind either. The lean, sinewy, tightly-knotted kind. You could play his stomach like a xylophone – how many girls at school would give their right arms for a chance like that?

He began working his way up the wall. That smooth, liquid style was still there. He didn’t rush, he just remorselessly flowed up the wall, moving from hold to hold with an almost effortless grace. As he went, he clipped himself into the quick-draws I had left behind on my abortive attempt.

He reached the overhang and stopped, resting on one straight arm. Then he started to move again across the roof till he reached the edge. He reached one arm over to grab the same hold I had used. But then he swung his legs off the hold I had braced myself against. For a minute his legs hung in space – but they never flailed. He was under control the whole time. He positioned his feet on another hold on the roof, one in front, one behind. This hold was further along the edge of the roof. Then he twisted his whole body, and reached up with his other. The repositioning allowed him to reach just that little bit for a better hold than I had been able to get.

He swung his legs again, and this time was able to plant a toehold on one of the features above the edge. Another twist and stand, and suddenly he was moving above the overhang, towards the top. He clipped himself into the fixed carabina at the top and lowered himself down.

"That was awesome, Sam. Totally awesome."

He shook off the compliment.

"You can do it. You will do it."

"What is with you, man?"

"I’ll tell you after you reach the top."

He was still brooding, so I left him alone, and tied myself in again. I looked up the wall. I figured I’d save some energy on the way up, second time round. But my arms were still pretty dead after the first trip, and I didn’t know long how long they would last on an extended climb.

Deep breath. Time to do this.

As I worked my way up the first flat section, I tried to keep the picture of Sam snaking up the climb in my mind. Three points of contact. One hold at a time. Even getting the rope into the carabinas didn’t seem as much of a chore.

Finally my nemesis – the overhang. I worked my way across the roof again. Grabbed the handhold. I tried to copy Sam’s method. Feet locked good. Now twist, reach and…

…short. My thoughts at this point were not suitable for polite company. I was going to have find another way to do this. I grabbed the handhold I used before. Two hands over, two feet under. No way of getting them up. I scanned the hold above me. Unless…

A plan was forming. I dropped my arms straight and scanned at the holds on the roof. Ah. Perfect. A couple of small holds, closed to the edge. Too small for most uses, but possibly just enough for what I had planned. I placed my feet on the holds, scrunching up my entire body.

There would be just one chance to get this right. I hoped the hold above me was as good at it looked.

"Don’t hold back. Commit to the move. Don’t be afraid to fall." I needed all the psyching up I could get for what I was about to do.

Time slowed. Stretched. I could hear my heart beating.

And without any more thought I leapt.

VIII.

In climbing, the move is called a "dyno". All four limbs are off the wall at the same time. They’re spectacular, but ridiculously hard for two reasons. First, you have to get enough spring to reach the hold you’re aiming for in the first place. Then you have to arrest all those forces that got you moving long enough to actually stick to the hold.

At first I didn’t think I’d make it to the hold. Then with elation I realised I would. My hands started to slip over it, and the fear was that I wasn’t going to hold on. Then… grip. I held. One leg managed to find purchase on one of the lower holds.

"Waaaaaahoooooooo!" I screamed. "Did you see that Sam?! Did you see that!?"

"You’re a legend man! You’re an absolute legend!"

"Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!" I guess I was little giddy at just being able to pull off that stunt. Maybe it was the adrenaline overdose. Either way, I guess I got a little cocky as I stood on one leg, punching the air with my arm.

My foot slipped. My sweat covered hand lost its grip. I remembered at that exact moment, that I hadn’t clipped myself in above the overhang. Sam had let out a lot of slack on the line. This was going to be painful.

"Incoming!"

IX.

When I first touched the ground, I was too wired to say anything. Then the adrenaline went, and I just collapsed on the floor of the gym. Sam sat down beside me.

"You could have had it man. The last bit is easy after the overhang."

"It can wait. I don’t think I’ll be able to do a dyno like that again."

"I didn’t know you had it in you."

I smiled at him. "Don’t fear the fall."

"Ha! I feared for you on that one!"

"Nine point nine from the Ukranian judge."

For a minute there was silence between us. I was just too tired to think of what to say next.

"Jase?"

"Uh huh?"

"I gotta tell you something."

"Uh huh."

"I’m gay."

"Oh."

There was more silence. After my reaction, I don’t think Sam knew what to say next. I was too tired to do anything more than process small thought very slowly.

Sam gay? The words echoed in my head, but I couldn’t get beyond to what they meant. But I had to say something.

"So… you have a crush on someone special?" I kept the words slow, distanced.

Sam turned to me. Looked at me deeply with those dark brown eyes. "I’m sorry."

This piece of information took more processing.

"I figure you have two options. You can either be outraged, or you can be flattered."

I thought about this for far longer than it should have taken.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I’ll choose to be flattered."

The relief in his face was palpable. "Thanks."

I ruffled his hair. "No, I should be thanking you."

I pulled a couple of bottles of Powerade out my bag, and tossed one to Sam.

"Here’s to being…"

"Fearless!"