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Brianna Bell is a writer based in Guelph, Ont.
“Why would you walk when you could climb a wall, or fence, or tree?”
This is the question posed in Allegra Goodman’s poignant coming-of-age novel Sam, which gripped me from the first page and kept me wrapped up in its world long after I finished it.
Sam is nine when the story begins and around 19 when it concludes – there’s something about this girl that reminds me of myself and the three daughters I’m raising. Gravity cannot keep Sam’s feet planted on the ground, and throughout the novel she grows into a young woman and ferocious athlete dedicated to the sport of rock climbing.
Sometimes a book gets into the marrow of your bones and changes something within. Sam’s love of rock climbing felt contagious. So, I decided I would try it out for myself and last winter took my kids to our local rock climbing gym. I figured I’d attempt to climb a wall once or twice but would spend most of the time on the ground, supervising my younger, stronger, much more athletic children. Instead, I left the gym with a little plastic membership card – I was committed to coming back, again, and again, and again.
As I began to climb my first wall that day, I was terrified. Would the rope hold me? Would my arms be able to stretch far enough? Would I have the strength to lift myself up, farther and farther? As my hands gripped the colourful plastic holds, the people below me faded away – it was as if I was one with the wall. My arms burned and a part of me begged to stop, but a stronger part pushed forward – just one more hold, and then another, until I’d reached the very top of the wall.
I’d done it – “it” being climbing the easiest wall at the climbing gym. But for me, it felt momentous.
I used to be a pretty fearless and strong young woman. I spent my lunch period in high school running with a friend or sometimes alone – not for any specific reason, just because we thought it was fun. In the summer, I’d hike deep into the woods, my legs covered in mosquito bites and scraped raw from low branches. I kayaked on Lake Superior and jumped off cliffs into crystal blue waters.
And then I had three children – my body became soft and fleshy, making room for these tiny human beings who grew beneath my skin. They spent years suckling at my breast – some days it felt like they’d suck the life from my bones. My hair became limp and weak, falling out in clumps in the shower. I developed adult acne, my skin bumpy and irritated. My muscles gave way to something new – my once-flat stomach rippled with stretch marks, bulging over the waistband of my underwear. I avoided the mirror, because I didn’t recognize whoever she was.
On the climbing wall, the woman with the loose tummy converges with the girl standing at the top of a craggy rock, getting ready to dive straight into the lake. My arms don’t fail me. They may jiggle a bit as I reach my fingers to the next aqua-hued hold, but beneath the jiggle, there’s muscle and strength, formed over years and years of carrying heavy children – lifting them onto my shoulders, holding them to my chest. When my body begs to stop, my mind propels me forward, pushing my legs and arms up the wall until I’ve conquered it.
The people at the climbing gym look nothing like me. Mostly, they’re university students who are lithe and long and swing like monkeys. There are children too, like my own, who hesitate cautiously until that fire hits their belly and they realize they want to keep going, higher and higher. My husband, a former competitive gymnast, jumps from one hold to another – he’s already doing advanced routes.
As for me, I saw steady improvement during my weekly climbs through the winter and spring. After a summer at the cabin, I’m now armed with a 10-visit punch card and ready to resume my regular attendance. I can also finally ditch the uncomfortable rental harness. It took a few visits to different stores, where I was defeated by the typically tiny ones that were too snug, but I finally found one (an Edelrid, for anyone else looking) that fits comfortably around my waist. Some days I feel like this is a sport that was made for people with younger bodies, for taller, brawnier, more agile folks – not for an overweight, five-foot-nothing, 30-something mother like me. But the chatter in my head dies down the second my feet lift off the ground. With my arms above my head, I finally remember: I’m still that mosquito-bitten girl – and I deserve to be here, too.
What else we’re thinking about:
My celebrity crushes have always been a little bit unusual. Forget Zac Efron and Channing Tatum, I’m more into John Krasinski and Keanu Reeves. After a hiatus from acting, my long-time celebrity crush Jason Segel returned with Shrinking earlier this year, an Apple TV+ show he created and stars in. The show is the perfect combination of light-hearted and gut-wrenching. Segel plays Jimmy, a therapist mourning the untimely death of his wife and failing in his attempt to raise his teenage daughter – that is, until he starts to look at life, parenting and grief from a different perspective. I already can’t wait for season two.
Marianne
Marianne Kushmaniuk for The Globe and Mail
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