"¡Tienes miedo!" teased our guide, a short, pretty Argentinian, who, for her, was only spending another day at work belaying nervous and pale tourists.
"Uh, a...Ya." was all I could muster in response. She was right, I was scared. It's no secret that I'm terrified of heights, and yet there I had been, knowingly agreeing to the activity of mountain repelling in the pre-Andes Mountain range the day beforehand.
Click. My carabiner was disconnected from the steel line set up for those waiting to repel. Click. My carabiner was connected to the safety line (not much more than a glorified dog leash driven into the side of the rock-wall). Click. I was connected to the belay rope that hung 200 feet to the ground. Click. I was disconnected from the safety line.
I inhaled, turned to face my smirking guide, and took a backward step. Then another. Then remembered to breathe.
To be writing now is a clear testament that the rest of the repel went forward as intended, one foot after another, until both were planted together, and I stood again perpendicular to the surface of the earth, not horizontal. And even though the feat was nothing to brag about in most circles (a 60 meter repel is no thrill-seeker's dream activity) I found myself on the ground feeling accomplished, and ready, if necessary, to do it again.
What happens when we decide to and knowingly walk through fear in our lives? In my experiences, not only with rock-climbing, I have found that these situations become me versus myself, rather than me versus the task. The hardest part for me is figuring out when something scares me, when I avoid uncomfortable, challenging situations without consciously taking note. The easy part, I've found, is just doing it. Just walking through the fear. It has become autonomic. Once I've decided I'm scared, what else can I possibly choose?
All in all, any openings for a window cleaner?
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