Battling With Gravity

The Fall

by Jaimee Blocksom

Publication Date: July 1996

I knew at some point it would happen. I practiced for it (if that's possible). I knew what to do-- I'd discussed it often with more experienced friends. But I still wasn't quite prepared for it to happen. I was next to the clip, getting ready to set the draw when I realized my forearms were refusing to cooperate. I down climbed, I traversed, but all to no avail. I reached down to get the draw off my harness and it happened. I yelled "Ready!?!" to my belayer, but before he could reply, I popped.

The strangest sound echoed off the cliffs. Instead of my normal eruption of fear and frustration, a long shrill scream sounded for the entire time it took me to fall 30 feet. I had been trying what would have been my hardest ever lead, "To Defy the Laws of Tradition" at Red River Gorge. I had been doing fine until I reached the run out at the last bolt. Waves of fear and fatigue pounded into my head and arms, and gravity won a temporary battle. When I finally stopped falling (I still can't decide if it took seconds or hours), I was surprised that it didn't hurt. I wasn't broken or dead, or ready to give up. I shook it off, and tried again to make it to the top.

Once more, as I neared the last bolt, I felt my arms refusing to cooperate. I wasted too much energy and confidence searching for a decent handhold to clip from and as I was chest level to the bolt, I felt my arms starting to give. I reached down to detach the draw from my harness and again I felt myself falling. I vaguely recall looking down to see how far above the last bolt I was. This time my scream of terror was cut short by a loud "thud." I felt my backside exploding and I thought I was going to pass out. There was nothing my belayer could have done to get me down fast enough, but I kept yelling at him to hurry.

A small crowd had gathered on a nearby rock to wait for their turn to climb it. They had seen both of my falls, and quickly offered me Ibuprofen and ice. Once we determined that I wasn't broken, but bruised, (I was climbing with two medical students who gave me a quick check) they all began recounting what they had seen. Their version of the events was much more humorous than the one I had, and soon I was laughing. I realized that in my young climbing career this was my first fifteen minutes of fame. I had suddenly become the girl who took the 30-foot fall, TWICE. As I lay face-down with a bag of picnic ice on me, I began to consider yet another go at the climb, top-roped of course. But the sudden realization sank in that I couldn't stand up, so additional ascents that day had to be scrapped.

I'd always hated falling. At first I was afraid to, and then later, I equated it with failure. Slowly, by talking to more experienced climbers, I began to look at falling as a way to prove that I was at my limit. I had to convince myself that it was OK to fall if it was because I was at my limit, not because I'd given up. As long as I was going for a move when I fell, it was OK.

Three short days after my mishaps at To Defy, I was back there climbing. My first couple of attempts at leading were rather weak as the fear lingered in me. Finally after top-roping my hardest climb ever, I felt a little of my confidence returned. I successfully TR'ed To Defy, and was again ready to be on the sharp end.

My new challenge was AWOL, my hardest lead attempt. I tried it out on top-rope and found someone I was comfortable with to belay me, as extra precaution in case I took another long fall. This time, when I fell, instead of a loud scream, a simple "cool" escaped my lips as I felt the rope catching me. I had decided to clean the route though so I knew I had to keep going. Each time I fell, I congratulated myself on handling it well. I had finally accepted what so many had already tried to convince me: Falling is a necessary evil if you wish to progress.

The next day, as I was reaching for a hold only a few inches below the anchors, I felt my forearms complaining. I down-climbed to safety and tried to convince myself to hold on for the last little bit. Though it helped my fear, it didn't relax my muscles and as I again neared the top, I felt myself pop off, and those around me laughed when they heard it: "AAAIIIIEEE*#@...cool."