This year, almost out of nowhere, I became a serious outdoor rock climber.  My first time ever climbing was Summer of 2023 while on a cruise to Alaska.  I signed up for it because it was the most active excursion that day, but I was terrified of it.  I didn’t understand anything about it – especially the safety aspects – so I did the bare minimum almost as if I just wanted to be able to say I did it and be done.  After all, it was cool just that climbed for the first time at almost 49 years old, and I could check it off my “do something scary” list.

But something nagged at me afterwards.  I began to wonder how much I held back and whether rock climbing was really something I could do.  Or did I just want the photo?  Perhaps if I understood how it worked – the belay, the technique, and the repel – I might trust it enough to be able to try harder?  Or perhaps the minute I faced the opportunity to do more, I’d panic and be done — but with no regrets?  At no point did I ever think that I could fall so in love with the sport that it would change me (and my fitness routines). But that happened – or better yet, it’s happening.