The Fear Chronicles 2
- November 2014
- Climb
I started climbing in 1991 when I was taken out toproping at Carderock by a friend I met at the University of Maryland. In the first few months of climbing, I had no idea there was any other way to climb. Remember, we didn’t have climbing gyms and the internet at that time. A year later, I was on a student exchange at Colorado State in Fort Collins, and I was riding my bike to Horsetooth Reservoir and going on trips with friends to Devils Tower, Sinks Canyon and Vedauwoo, so I was starting to see there was a lot more to climbing. I did my first lead with gear at Joshua Tree on spring break. I could toprope 5.11s pretty regularly, and this was a good choice for a first lead because it was 5.7. I got to the top and belayed my friend to me, and asked him how my gear was, feeling proud of myself. “Well,” he said, “every piece fell out. Other than that you did great.”
A year later after that I was back at CSU in a master’s program and immersed in climbing. Climbing by myself at Horsetooth on the boulders was really interesting to me–there was one boulder problem that was about 25 feet high, on a short cliff band. The harder moves were near the ground, but the climbing continued to the top of the rim, and I just couldn’t get myself to commit to the end of the harder moves and get into what I knew was easier climbing to the top. I was always by myself and crash pads weren’t really a thing yet, so I would climb up through the hard moves and then downclimb again. It drove me nuts that I couldn’t climb past that point–mentally, not physically–but I was too afraid of getting high up and falling onto the hard dirt, though I went back day after day and tried to convince myself to just keep going.
Finally I took a piece of rope out there one day with a bunch of overhand knots tied in it and tied it off to a tree at the top of the bluff. From the bottom of the wall I climbed up, clipped a carabiner through my belay loop into one of the bights and then climbed up farther and clipped into the next one when I got to it–kind of like making a giant daisy chain of rope as I climbed up. It wasn’t very high tech, and I would have taken a little whipper if I’d fallen, but I knew now I wouldn’t hit the ground, and finally it allowed me to climb past the bottom of the wall and all the way to the top. At the top, with a bunch of knots hanging off my belay loop, I felt like I’d never felt before: quietly filled with joy, satisfied–and also proud of myself for figuring out how to break past my mental barrier in a way that worked for me, slowly and gradually.
After that, I could always boulder up that wall with no problem–the spell had been broken. But how annoying it was too! Physically the climbing was really not that hard for me–it wasn’t dead easy, but it was also not at or beyond my limit–yet I had been completely prevented from being able to do for weeks it by my fear of falling to the ground. It was annoying to the point that I finally simply had to figure out a way to work it out if only to get past it in my mind, and the experience caused me to put a lot of thought into an idea I became very attached to for about ten years after: the idea of what I called real fear versus fake fear. In this theory, real fear is when there’s actual danger, and fake fear is when you’re just anxious about something that you shouldn’t actually be afraid of. It seemed obvious to me that fear could really hold me back from life experiences that could make me grow and become better.
In this time, about 20 years ago, I imagined that I could totally apply myself to figuring out how to get over fake fear, how to recognize real fear, and that at some point in my future I would be absolutely free and happy and never afraid again! So that was a pretty exciting time 😉 The key word there is “imagined.”
And this is how and why I started to free solo, on small and easy walls. To learn.
Is there value in exploring fear, in doing things that have risk? Is it better to seek ways to be insulated and absolutely physically safe? Where do you draw the line?
There is no total material safety, we are all just tumbling through time, space and various environments. Harboring fake fear is a serious impediment.
I have thought about this idea of fake fear and real fear a lot, since I first heard you mention it. Perhaps it is partly about temperament and knowing oneself on a deep level. I have learned that I am a fairly brave and stoic person, and yet I sometimes have the anxious, gut churning fear based in anxiety. I used to see this anxiety-based or fake fear as an opportunity to test of myself – Can I overcome it? Can I work through it? Sometimes I still do.
But these days I find myself listening to and respecting the fear more often, no matter how real or fake it seems. Part of knowing and trusting myself is knowing that I have a tendency to act swiftly and boldly, and that no matter where it comes from, fear is a friend preventing those tendencies from veering into damaging territory.
If the “fake fear” is strong enough to negatively affect your physical ability to climb, it can become real in a hurry.
What a great metaphor for life, and the imagined fear that experience that we feel throughout our life. I was looking forward to your “Part II” and you did not disappoint. Thanks for sharing, Steph.
Hi Steph,
The ennemy of fear is movement, you can either run away or face the objects of your fears. Of course you can spend your whole life running away from everything. Sadly, you will miss a lot of nice things including love (because love can hurt too). A third extreme option that some poeple may encounter is that fear can immobilize them.
For me the line is clear, I want to keep on moving. However, just like you explained, it may be sometimes smart to be well prepared like repeating a route many times before soloing it, having a solid check list before skydiving, etc.
All fear is an illusion. They point the way to our soul’s greatest spiritual freedom. What you have called “real fear” is actually applying common sense and a will to physically survive.
So beautifully written! I find the experience of climbing to be a sort of distillation of basic sensations and reactions that we have to the world–it’s almost a “quick” way to discover your mental and physical state, in a way that feels very honest and vulnerable. I find that in both cases–when paralysed by fear on a climb and I end up bailing, or when I can power my way through what I know is irrational panic, I learn about myself in ways that are so valuable and applicable to all other parts of my life. I think this learning is the main source of my addiction to this sport.
thanks Katherine
i think so too.
there will be more..
yes 🙂
that is really interesting, thank you
yes, me too
Hey Steph,
I believe both kinds of the fear you described is real fear, because falling from 25 feet is potentially a terminal event. So, I accept my fear to fall even in the climbing gym but I doesn’t let it stop me – in reality, accidents happen, even if chances are slim. While climbing outdoors without a rope, I make a decision every few moves “Am I 100% sure I can do this?”. If the answer is yes I just focus and the fear is not bothering me.
Beat Kammerlander once said: “You have to loose your fear of fear and gain courage for your courage”. That’s a good bottom line for me.
that is a great suggestion from Beat.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Now, unless I missed something, when “every piece fell out,” the instructor-placed pieces were (theoretically) enough to stop you if you fell? Or were others at the top belaying the both of you? If your answer to both is “no,” I’d say I’m probably not suited to duo or group climbing, because I won’t abide that much chance.