First Descents Day 3: So, this is what you call a "Rest Day?"

Yoga is not my friend. It never has been. In my mind's eye, it would go something like this:

Or this:

So why, after knocking over co-workers at Cendant years ago at our lunch-time yoga wellness program session like dominoes, and all my previous attempts & fails at yoga before, I decided to join the yoga session on our 3rd day with an instructor named Pretzel, I couldn't tell you. Perhaps it was because I was so in the moment, and I had succeeded in suspending enough of my neuroses that I felt that I could conquer it.

I'm pleased to report that I didn't knock anyone down. But Pretzel's pace was too great for me to keep up with and her "modifications" weren't frequent enough for me to follow. I'd asked her before the class if she was going to include modifications, which she said she would, but me thinks her definition of "modifications" and mine were about as similar as chocolate and umami. But, that's ok. I had done enough Windsor pilates to be able to modify some of the poses well enough. Besides, thanks to Bethenny Frankel, I kept reminding myself that yoga is more about the breathing and feeling one with the breath than the actual poses themselves.

It wasn't until we got to some of the stretches of the chest and back, however, that I broke down. As many of my fellow teammates from my years in basketball, fencing, softball and even ballet can tell you, I've always been flexible from the waist up. I could hook my arms backwards and pull myself in all kinds of different directions. Before. Before the butchery.

However, as we held a simple stance, reached behind ourselves, grabbed our hands, and then had to stretch our clasped hands up, I felt a strange tugging and disconcerting shifting in my chest.

Fuck.

The implants. My pectorals. These fucking, G-d forsaken foreign objects that yield to no one, that have turned my pectoral muscles to the surface just below my skin, so that every twitch of the muscle causes a disgusting, gut-wrenching yank and pull and ripple in what had been my soft, supple cleavage. I could lift 100 pounds, and my breasts still looked feminine. Now, just stretching made me look like a roided up Arnold Schwartzenegger in the Mr. Olympia contest.

My primary goal of this adventure with First Descents was to try and feel like myself - something I haven't felt since my diagnosis. I hate my body for betraying me. I hate my body for falling apart. I hate my implants. I hate these stupid fake nipples with no sensation. I hate my skin that is in a constant state of tangible numbness. I hate it all.

I felt the tears start to fall, and I tried so hard to stick it out, but when I felt the onslaught of sobs, I had to bail. I tried, as quickly and quietly as possible, to run to the bathroom where I just let it go. I felt so defeated. I'd have slammed my fists to these false breasts repeatedly, beating them up, if there were any option to feel anything - even pain. But there wasn't any point - I wouldn't be able to feel anything. I couldn't do anything with them. And I couldn't feel anything with them. They simply fill in my dresses and bra cups. That's it. They are hollow, useless, and unattached, but attached, permanent accessories.

I broke down, curling up on the floor, breathless with grief. My breakfast to this point consisted of my coffee cup and now a serving of tear water and snot. I was mortified. I couldn't believe I abandoned the class. I couldn't forgive myself for not being stronger. I just wanted my cat, Sammy, to force me to play with him and out of this funk. But he was at home. I had to do this by myself. I closed my eyes and just breathed. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

I tossed cold water on my face, as I know I have inherited my mother's tendency to get flush and terrible red eyes when crying, and I go back to the outside patio where the yoga class was continuing. I struggled through the poses again, quivering, stumbling, kneeling, chest heaving...

Yoga ended, Namaste, and I just wanted to curl up and die. But it was breakfast time. The coffee and food was too good to escape company, so I joined the group at the table. We prepped for the next part of our rest day - a hike, some shopping in town, and chilling. (I was opting for the shopping, as I wanted to see the town and I always enjoy seeing what the locals do wherever I visit.)

We pile into the vans, and our first stop is a drive through Rocky Mountain National Park. The views were spectacular. The photos say it all:

Hot Pink in a field of wildflowers...

Well, not really... just a planting at the gas station.

Yeah. I climbed over the safety wall. And?

Chipmunk

The Amazing FD 2012 Estes Park Gang

"I wish we could all get along like we used to in middle school...
I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy... "

The Amazing Wildflower

Yes, that's an Elk Bull.
Yes, we were that close from the car.

Next, we were onto our hike at Gem Lake. Those of us who were shopping would not complete the entire hike while the rest actually completed the trail to the lake itself. Though I'd been feeling winded during some of the walks we were doing to the rocks, it wasn't too problematic - I simply dismissed it as altitude or something. But I figured this hike should be a piece of cake - I've always been able to hike - granted, my knees would be problematic, but it's not that much of a challenge. Hell, most of my mountain bike races are hikes on the way up, and that's with a full Camelbak and a Trek 3900 in tow! But, in this case, it was merely a backpack with a couple of light items and no bike, and I was near hyperventilation almost immediately. Not only was it inconvenient, it was thoroughly pissing me off, which wasn't exactly helping. Chopper, Mermaid, Little Bits and I walked along - clearly, they were designated sweeps. The negative was falling back. The positive was that I was with a local, a photographer and a local birdwatcher - this meant I could take in the beauty around us. This trail was stunning. Well kept, looking over vistas that I'd never seen in this country, birds flitting about - it was lovely. We talked, got to know each other.

I didn't know that Chopper, for example, was a former cycling pro until Bits & I started talking about cycling, and I was trying to explain some of the strategy to Mermaid. He seemed impressed that I knew about the sport, the Tour, etc. If I recall, it was when I was comparing hiking up to cycling, and pointed out that I was more like a Jans Ullrich vs. a Contador when it comes to climbing, but the ideal is to be more like an Armstrong - with powerful legs but not overly heavy, so you can be a well-rounded player. Unfortunately, the topic didn't come up until we were almost at the overlook, so I didn't get to pry Chris with questions.

Here, Wildflower explained we would have a rock ceremony. We were, in silence, to choose 2 rocks, and a Sharpie marker. On one rock, we were to write down everything that we wanted to leave behind - every insecurity, trait, etc. One the other, what we hoped to keep with us, earn or takeaway with us. Tomorrow was graduation day, so it was time to really think. For my positive rock, I found a lovely stone with quartz crystals. It was small, light and lovely. The other had to be huge. I had a tome to write in order to list all the things I wanted to relieve myself of - so many issues, qualities, etc.

Now, I've participated in my fair share of similar ceremonies. And there is always this forced silence while you wait for everyone else to finish. But this was different... there was no urge to break the silence. There were no giggles, sneezes, awkward shifting. I sense that most of us finished our rocks long before anyone said a word. The air was so clean, the sun felt so good - it felt like such a whole moment that I don't think any one of us wanted to disturb that purity.

We all gathered at the edge of the overlook and, on the count of three (well, I needed 4 since my rock was SO large that I had to wait for everyone else lest I accidentally hit one of my friends in the head with mine), and our rocks went flying over the ledge. Poetically, mine hit an edge and splintered into hundreds of shards. I breathed in, looked at Snapjacks and the others (she happened to be right near me) and I said, "I may have been the last one up here, but I'll be damned if I'll be the last one down!"

It seemed like a bold statement, I could understand that, but bear one thing in mind - while I'm not a great cyclist, and at the speed required for mountain biking, I can't always find the line, when I have the chance to study a course, I can pick some damned fine ones. I knew I didn't have to run, but just find the lines of least resistance and approach it to scouting out a bike trail or road course. So I zipped down. Except for the occasional confirmation that I was making the right turn at junctions, there was no looking back, no stopping, no slowing down - just forward momentum. Until I saw a hairband on the ground.

Suddenly, I had a strange urge - something that had merely been a longing for months. I picked up the hairband, ran my fingers through my hair, pulled back as hard as I could, and deftly wrapped and tightened that band against the stub at the back of my scalp. More than likely, I looked more like George Washington vs Lady Godiva, but, for the first time in just under a year, I was able to pull my hair - my own hair - into a pony tail. (Ok. Pony tail is stretching it - maybe a bunny tail.) I grinned and then just let gravity lead me down. Before I knew it, I was leaning against the van, looking up at the trail, and I couldn't see Wildflower, who was the first one in the pack behind me. It was a few minutes before the group broke the clearing into the parking lot.

I had done it. I finished first. And I was barely winded.

Shopping in town was fine, though not my cup of tea. We only had an hour, which was a shame, because that barely left us much time to do more than hit some of the typical t-shirt/souvenir shops and an ice cream store. Personally, I love to mill around, look at the galleries, look at the craftswork, jewelry and art work and spend $50 on a piece of local, handcrafted specialties that represent the place I'm visiting vs. $50 worth of t-shirts and hats, but that's ok. I was able to find keychains for both of my kids - a tradition I started several years ago - a keychain for every state I travel through for each of them, a couple of magnets and some postcards (which, dummy me, I forgot to put into the mail). Besides, I'd already gotten my special Estes Park goodies earlier in the week, anyway - a key chain and key from the Stanley Hotel Room #217 and a door plaque for my bedroom, now known as Room #217.

I will say this: Huckleberry Ice Cream is Colorado's equivalent to Maine's secret weapon, Blueberry Ice Cream. I won't choose one over the other, but they are both equally divine.

We met up with Wildflower and the others and headed back to the ranch for dinner and our campfires, which aren't actual campfires - but more like a communal gathering where we reflect upon the day and award each other with one of 3 special tokens - a monkey for work "On The Rock," a set of maracas for work "Off The Rock," and a turkey hat for... well... anything else - spirit.

Before dinner, though, I was feeling stiff and tense for the next day's climb. The guides and staff had been hyping it all week, and the fact that, at best, I'd done moderate climbs, everyone else had attacked the advanced and expert climbs. I didn't. I felt out of my league, so I did something I didn't think I would - I went into the hot tub. Everyone else went downstairs to play Hydration Pong (I never really got Beer Pong, anyway), and I just took in the mountain air while surrounded by bubbles. I started to sing. I felt that if I could sing, in the hot tub and perhaps even the mountain, I could maintain my breathing and pace myself. I think I was in there for 2 hours.

Then, I heard the announcement that dinner was ready - those beautiful lasagnas Antelope Jamboree and Chamomile had been working on all day with their hearts and souls. It was sumptuous. Everything (but the pasta) was homemade. It was divine, comforting, soothing, nutritious and filling.

As we went through our campfire ritual, we gave our staff and guides a token of our affection - a Red Solo Cup printed with a cute message, signed by each of us. And then it was onto the awards.

I was still so relaxed by my soak in the hot tub, I was barely awake when I heard Snapjacks re-quote me to the group,  "I may have been the last one up here, but I'll be damned if I'll be the last one down!" My meltdown repelling on Day 1 made an impact on everyone, as it was mentioned a few times at Day 1's campfire as a moment of inspiration, but this one I wasn't expecting. The next thing I know, I'm receiving the monkey for work On the rock. ME.

I was honored. And stupefied.

And I realized I had a lot to live up to the next day on Graduation Day. I would be carrying the monkey.

Failure would not be an option.

Was I ready for the Challenge?

First Descents Day 2: Rock on Out

After my meltdown on Day 1, I was determined to do one of two things: 1) Not to cry again 2) Not to start something and not finish it. No way. It was time for my salvation on the rocks. I diligently packed 3 water bottles, left all books behind, and was set to climb.

We reached our destination only to be met by 2-3 spaces being taken by a busted up silver Subaru Outback. Some tool decided to occupy some of the precious few parking spots with this contraption. Spare Parts ran up (seriously, does this guy have a built in cannula feeding him oxygen & vapor steroids? Damn!) to see what the situation was. Sure enough, as soon as we were wondering around the parking area, the decision is for us to relocate and find another rock to climb.

We pack back into the vans and go back to Mary's Lake where we climbed on Day 1, with constant guide reassurances that we would be climbing different rocks. Indeed, these were not only different, but the rocks were facing one another rather intimately, which proved beneficial in that we were even closer to one another as we climbed. Without question, as we reflected later that day, the ability to look over your shoulder while mid-climb to be able to check on and cheer on a peer provided a wonderful bonding opportunity. To make things even more exciting, we were joined by the incredible Chris Anthony, aka "Chopper," former pro-cyclist, skier, star of 18+ Warren Miller films, photographer, and all-around amazing adventurer, who supports First Descents, chose to document our journey. What a privilege - to not only adventure with Chris, but be a subject in his lens and be part of the story he was telling!

I was just about ready to climb, but that uneasy feeling of being over my head started to set in again. I didn't want to fail. I didn't want to let anyone down. I didn't want the First Descents folks to feel like I was overwhelmed and miserable. I didn't want anyone to feel obliged to cheer me on - you know, that pity-support. So, I jumped at the chance to belay Wildflower & McStillin on the most advanced rope set up. That way, I could contemplate what I was dealing with, see how my fellow climbers handled things, and assess how I could attack the climbs.

Besides, I enjoy belaying people. I really do. I get to understand the climb better. It's as though I can sit back and have a screen in front of me of the climb and I get to take a grease pencil to the screen and draw my lines. I can help map things out for the person I'm belaying at the same time that I can figure out my own route. (Not that I had any intention of climbing this particular peak.)

Wildflower - Photo by Chris Anthony

First, Wildflower went up with a spider-monkey-like climbing style. He's all wiry, flexible, long-limbed and quick. Despite being several inches shorter than McStillin, he could stretch in so many amazing ways! All four limbs were nearly always on a parallel ledge after every move - rarely was he sprawled out. Very stealthy. Very ninja like.

Prepping to belay McStillin
 - Photo by Chris Anthony

Then came McStillin. McStillin is easily taller than 6 foot, much stockier, and, on appearance, doesn't look like the most flexible guy in the world. But as limber as Wildflower is, McStillin is powerful. Where Wildflower started the climb way off to the side in a sitting position, almost using me on belay in a reverse rappel, McStillin just reached up like an NBA player slamming a dunk shot and pulled himself up. The rock became his ladder, and he climbed it as though he were just heading up into his treehouse. What took Wildflower 6 moves to weave up the rock, McStillin accomplished in the same time within 2 or three simply because of his vertical advantage. His style was choppier, but stronger. And equally successful, using a different approach, as Wildflower.

Before I have a chance to come off belay, Little Bits catches my attention and directs me towards the other rock. There, I see a happy little rock, no ledges, no roofs, just a nice sloped rock. I asked if that was for me, and nodded. I clipped in and went. I learned some new techniques, including "smearing," which I explained to Little Bits, since I'm a Jew from New York, will henceforth be known as "schmearing," mantling, etc. I traverse the rock a bit, reach up, and then I've touched the caribiner. It was a piece of cake.

I come down, giddy from my success, and I try and attempt the climb next to me. The real challenge of the neighboring, more advanced climb is the start. It's smooth for the first 7-10 feet. There are no real hand holds/foot holds. Off to the right is a crag formed by the main rock and a boulder upon which several of us were hanging out. My strategy is to make use of this crag and climb up that way, then traverse to the left back onto the main rock.

I forgot to mention the bushes. The bushes, that, despite the lack of thorns, are some of the most prickly things I've felt against my skin in a long time. I come up a few feet, and I get my right leg well situation with a solid foot hold. The challenge arises with the next move - where do I put my left foot? I try schmearing (no lox) my left foot, but that doesn't work. I try stepping up, with my left foot by my elbow, but the angle left to straighten my right leg is too great. Finally, I try and use the small space between the boulder and the main rock. My rope is tightened as I start to move, and then I hear a faint, but distinct *POP* and a sharp, unfamiliar pain shoots up the front of my right knee cap. I realize that as I straightened my right leg, my right foot remained slightly turned in towards the left, but my right knee was clearly pointed outward towards the right. The pop occurred as I was trying to align the joints, but neither wanted to budge. I wail, "STOP! SLACK!" and I slink back down to the ground. Something is wrong with my right knee. With some help, I hobble over to a comfortable rock, and Little Bits & McStillin help me secure an ice pack from Ranier, our medic. I set the ice on my knee and work through with McStillin and Ranier what I did to my knee. Sharp pain when pressure is put on the outside, top right of the knee cap. I can't bend the knee fully.

I have a long history of bad knees - left and right - though left is typically the most difficult knee. But this was a bit different. It wasn't the usual pain. It was sharper and more focused. I couldn't believe it - could I have dislocated my knee? This wasn't a hamstring issue, like I've had cycling. This wasn't a knee cap moving like I used to playing basketball. I just needed to breath through it. Relax. Sense what's happening. I sit, pissed, waiting for the ice to do its magic so I can get back up there. I watch Ranier start an advanced rope set up by Spare Parts, just below where Chopper is taking photos. I look over and Vagabond is starting a climb, along with Glass and Sidetrack. I watch, plotting the courses ahead of each of the individuals in my mind the way that we see instant replays assessed on TV during the Super Bowl - with that imaginary magic marker leaving trails of solid white and yellow, marking the players locations and paths. Vagabond abandons the yellow line I'd plotted for him, and he gets stuck. My mind's eye screen clears and resets a new path for Vagabond. He moves forward and struggles. I look over to Ranier, and she's moving along course.

I'm chomping at the bit to get back onto the course, as I return to the rock that I was last on, and Glass is past the part where I got stuck on the green rope. She figured it out and I missed it. Damn. But she's moving strong. That's it. I gotta go at this.

I stand up and put pressure on the knee. It's not happy, but it's not rebelling. Keeping the ice pack on, I start leaning into the rock, stretching and feeling around for how the knee cap is settling. I know that if I can put body weight on my right leg, it's not dislocated. So it's functional. I start to bend the knee into a lunge. Not as bad as before, but not feeling great. But I can grin and bear this. McStillin, also a medic, looks back and sees me stretched and shouts back, "A little PT for the knee, Hit & Run?" I grit my teeth, smile, and say, "Yep!"

Glass finishes the green and comes down, and I scurry to the top (in the interim, Lilac, who'd fractured her toe the day before, has run through the red line), and clip into the red ropes. Little Bits raises an eyebrow, and I ask if I can run red one more time before trying green again. Little Bits explains that he was thinking that rather than starting with green from the bottom, that we try something new - I'd be clipped into both lines, start red, then traverse the rock and finish with green. I look, visualize where I have to go, and decide that's perfect. I ask to do a trial run of red one last time, this time, rather than taking the course of least resistance as I did the last time, to find a more challenging path. Little Bits agrees, as he calls McStillin over to get ready to belay me on green.

I clip in and call back, "On belay?" I hear back, "Belay on," from Little Bits reassuring voice. I can't put my finger on it, but there is just something so inherently soothing about Little Bits tone. There's a positive lilt to his voice, with a solid, manly timbre, but a comforting, arms around your shoulders quality. He sounds like the older brother I never had whenever he speaks - and not the obnoxious, "I stole all your underwear and hit it under my bed" kind of older brother, but the older brother that is full of encouragement, protection and awe. I forget to shout back, "Climbing" to wait for permission to move and I start climbing. Little Bits calls up, "Climb on!" I start moving up.

I see, off to the left, some dark rock and a crack near the exchange between the red and the green lines. I also see a more challenging path to the top of the red, so I opt for that route. I start moving to the left, laterally, so I can get some more schmearing practice, and I then, rather than reaching and pulling  up with my arms, I realize the ledge at my hips gives me better upward motion, so I place my hands palms down and push up until I lift my lower body up and get my right foot on the lip. Little Bits shouts up, "Good move! That's called 'mantling'!" Confidence level boosts up one notch. I keep moving, and before I know it, the caribiner is being smacked against the rock and I'm shouting down, "Coming down!" From across the way, and from the ravine, this Hit & Run person is getting whoops. Then I realize that I'm Hit & Run. I rappel down, and then clip into the green line.

Sidetrack is still working the line next to the green, and Ranier is still working that complicated ledge. Three J, however, seems stuck on the face where I belayed Wildflower & McStillin. It's the first time I've seen her struggle. I cheer her and Ranier on. Sidetrack seems to be in a zone, and I know how hard it is, sometimes, to get into that zone, so I opt out of calling out her name. (Besides, she earned her camp name, I don't dare 'sidetrack' her.)

When I realize that by clipping into two lines, I'm tied to two men, the naughty side of me comes out. "It's a good day when I'm tied up to two men!" I shout out! McStillin blushes, Little Bits laughs. A few more heads turn. Scenes from "Fifty Shades of Grey" start flashing across my mind, and I'm getting revved up. "OK, boys, ready to hoist me up? Let's get climbing!"

I start going up the red line, following the path I took the second time as I had familiarized myself with the rock. As I get closer to the dark grey patch I'd noted before, Little Bits calls up and suggests a slight change in course. I follow his direction, as now not only am I more confident in this rock, but I'm more confident in my skills as well as hanging in the harness, as I'd seen Three J dangle off the side of the rock, sitting back as though stepping away to regain her approach. I look over to see Ranier getting closer and closer to getting the knot at her harness touching the caribiner - Spare Parts' challenge. I look to my left, and Sidetrack is still scaling the rock, and we're almost side-by-side. Ranier is an agile climber. Her gracefully long arms and legs compliment her strong and lean figure beautifully for this sport. Her fingers seem to have suction cups - every handhold she attempts conforms to her skin. Grit teeth, the occasional grunt, and I can tell she's in a bind in the last 2 yards of this climb.

Photo by Chris Anthony

Chopper is leaning back, shooting her between his knees, which Little Bits and I joke would make a great photo when she makes the final move - her head will be right in his crotch - and I wish I could be above him with a second camera to capture that shot. The dirty jokes come flowing. Vagabond is attacking the same rock that bested him earlier in the day. Three J has just found a small landing and has made a little nest for herself. Sidetrack is now out of the zone and equally interested in what's going on in our small canyon of climbing cancer survivors, so I take the opportunity to call out her name and cheer her on. We both shout over to Vagabond, who's clearly still stumped on this peace of rounded rock that runs from his collarbone to just above his knee. I'm not expert, but I'm also not seeing any clear footholds for him. I'm just as stumped for him as he is. I call out, "Come on, Vagabond!" and I turn back to Ranier. As much as I want to continue to climb and finish the traverse, I want to see Ranier throw back into Spare Parts' face that her knot met the caribiner. Mermaid, our FD photographer, a wild child surfer chick from California, who's half Israeli and endowed with that stunning, rich chocolate Israeli hair that thickens and lengthens at will, sunkissed with golden threads, and the chillest attitude ever, is positioning herself to capture the shot I wish I could.

Ultimately, I realize that Ranier is going to be taking baby steps, so there's enough time for me to finish my traverse from the red rope to the green, so I go back to the task at hand - hitting the dark grey rock and maneuvering to the green path. It's a bit of a stretch, but those lateral moves, no matter how challenging, are so much easier for me than the vertical moves. I look back to see how Ranier is doing, and I see Chopper has just taken a break from her and shot me. I call out to him, "Does this rock make my ass look big?" and I hear a cacophony of laughter from all directions. Chopper responds, "Nah!" and he gets back to shooting Ranier.

Traversing from Red line to Green line towards the Grey Rock
 - Photo by Chris Anthony

I know that I'm close to the top, but I can't help but pause to see how Ranier is doing. Finally, she hits it. I continue on. When I reach the next level, and a small roof, I realize how close I am to the top. Yeah, I could just reach up and go, and I think Little Bits is reading my mind because he calls up and tells me to keep going left, towards the next line over. I keep moving over and I see what he's doing - he's forcing me to try some more challenging surfaces. I hit them. I didn't struggle - I mean - I physically struggled, sure - but I didn't mentally struggle. I could do it. And I did. I made it over a small roof and I touch the caribiner. I look up, and Chopper somehow ended up above me on the rock from the other side of our little canyon. I smile, give a thumbs up, and rappel back down the rock.

Photo by Chris Anthony

I conquered the rock, the rappel, and my fears. I was content to finish the day, especially since lightning was sighted approaching us from The Diamond. It was time to start packing it up, which we did.

But I was entering our rest day with new confidence.

It was a good day.

First Descents Days 1

If anyone is wondering why I'm not online much, nor answering my cell phone, it's because I'm in Colorado climbing the Rocky Mountains. No, you didn't misread, I'm climbing the Rocky Mountains. I'm participating in an adventure trip for fellow cancer survivors called "First Descents." My friend, Tal, kept raving about this organization, and I think he would have boiled my kitty if I didn't ultimately go. (He's not a demanding kind of guy, but this he was pretty stern about.)

Saturday morning I boarded the flight and landed in Colorado a few hours later (during which I completed the entire first book of The Hunger Games and started Catching Fire once I got to Dallas). When I arrived in Denver, I followed the directions towards Baggage Claim where I was supposed to meet the First Descents crew. Instead, I wandered around in circles, eyes enlarged, completely lost. I had no idea where to go. An unfamiliar number called my cell, but I ignored it - I didn't have a clue. All of a sudden, I hear people calling and I look up - there is the First Descents sign. I head up to where they were bunked out, but I soon had to "Hit & Run" (which became my camp nickname - we don't go by first names - not yet), and catch up with my friend & fellow LIVESTRONG Leader, Erik Pearson, and his wife, Lynne. Erik was at the US Pro Challenge, so I didn't get a chance to see him right away (and I was quite jealous, as he was hanging with Chris Horner, possibly the chillest pro cyclist I know!). His wife picked me up, and we went to her dad's home, into which she & Erik are moving, and headed out to lunch with her sister, brother-in-law and waited for Erik and his son to join us.

Once we were all in one place, and we were regaled with tales of the US Pro Challenge, we piled into the car and headed out to Estes Park. Our destination was, first, to hit the Stanley Hotel, the most haunted hotel in the country and the inspiration for The Shining, and the remake with Steven Weber (the Nicholson/Kubrick original movie was actually filmed in Oregon). I got a couple of fantastic souvenirs (will reveal later - can't spoil the surprise!), had gelato, and took some obligatory photos. Then, we were off to Narrow Trail Ranch, our home for the next week.

Wow - what a place! This is a stunning 5-bedroom log cabin, with plenty of extra space for more beds to be set up to accomodate all of us "campers" and staffers. The kitchen is a tremendous chef's kitchen, an amazing set of decks, including one that has a hot tub, a fireplace, etc. One of my fellow campers and I share the loft - I'm sofa-couching it, but I'm happy! This place is palatial. We had a meet & greet over "Happy Hour" and then a splendid dinner of tacos - fillings included all kinds of vegetables, bison, homemade guacamole, and this incredible green rice. After dinner, we chilled out, we all got to know each other and then got to bed.

The next morning, I got up very early (as, apparently, many East Coasters do), and I helped Antelope Jamboree & Chamomile, our cooks/camp mom, make stuffed french toast. The group filled up on breakfast and headed to Mary's Lake for our first climbing outing.

The night before, the 13 of us shared that most everyone, but me, had climbing experience. I really had none. I'd gone bouldering locally years ago, but that was about it. So when I saw what was being set up for us to climb, the fear built up. The "easy" climb had a large, round piece of rock jutting out of the side. I'm sorry, but I thought that sheer, flat rock was going to be tough, let alone rocks that were convex! I started to climb, but it was not happening. The panic of climbing set in. I was way over my head. Everyone else seemed to be flying up these rocks with very little struggle. I couldn't get higher than 4 feet in the ground.

Defeated, I went to as quiet, removed part of where we were as possible, pulled out Catching Fire, determined to finish reading it, which I did. Our camp dad, Two Dogs, came over to chit chat. While talking, I explained my hesitation. Not only was I afraid of heights, but I'd been out of commission, physically, for too long. I was stressed over the expectation of being affiliated with LIVESTRONG as a leader to be the one cancer survivor in the group who excelled in athletics despite teh disease and treatment, and that I felt lost because I couldn't meet those expectations. And the fact that I hate quitting, but it was too much.

I honestly felt that I was going to miserable all week - that I'd be sitting for hours on the ground watching everyone else, just as I had on Monday. I just wished that a guide had set up a real beginner rock to work on. I started to cry, once alone, as I saw that there was such demand iun the group that the guides set up additional climbs to keep up with everyone's pace while I sat, watching, without the ability to climb anything but in and out of the minivans.

Then, Little Bits came up and told me that he'd set up a climb just for me. It was on the same rock as the most advanced climb, plus, it had a tree. I was a bit intimidated, but he assured me it was easy. I harnessed up and I started climbing. And climbing, but he assured me it was easy. I harnessed up and I started climbing. And climbing. And climbing. I hear people shouting, "You go, Hit & Run!" "Kick that rock's ass, Hit & Run!" Little Bits told me to look down, and I did. I was high up in the air. Not a little, but a lot. And I was inches away from touching the caribiner in victory. When I reached up to that metal hook upon which my life-line was hooked, I couldn't believe it. I had climbed this rock. My confidence was up.

I came down and saw that everyone was charging back to the "beginner" rock. I followed suit and discovered that Spare Parts had set up some rappelling. I decided that I would go for it.

I go on belay again, and start my descent. I'm doing fine until I get to a roof. I cannot see anything below this rock. I cannot see where to set my foot. Panic sets in. Spare Parts keeps reassuring me that he has me. He tells me to just do it. At this point, all eyes are on me. And the hysteria sets in. I'm cursing at Spare Parts, screaming, crying, snot bubbles blowing out my nose because I realize that I'm trapped. I can't go up, I can't go down. My legs won't move. I'm shaking, I'm terrified, and I'm paralyzed with fear. I can't see where my feet should go. I don't trust the equipment. This guy who weighs as much as my thigh is literally holding my life in his hands, and I've got a big drop to go.

"Trust your feet" starts echoing through my head, the mantra my old friend, a climber, taught me when we were sixteen - that same friend who got me into cycling and that hasn't spoken to me for 2 years and won't because he can't get over his anger. This makes things worse - now, not only am I hanging over a precipice, but now I'm flooded with grief and longing for a friendship that is overdue for repair that I miss terribly. So now, I'm friend-sick, terrified of the drop, feeling out of control, weighing way too much than I should, with the harness digging into me leaving what I'm sure will be wicked welts. I'm low enough to the ground and far enough from the top that I really only have one choice - GO DOWN. I'm trapped. With all eyes on me, cheering me on. "GO HIT & RUN! You can do it!" I can't type out what I said because I'm too much of a lady, but let's just say that I threw curses at the man handing the rope keeping me from falling - probably not the wisest move - and throwing profanities that would shock Robin Williams.

Then, there's a scramble at the top. Two of my caribiners clack together and there's a shift. I feel a small rock fall on me. I start panicking even more, but Spare Parts explains it was just the rope adjusting, nothing was falling, it was ok. He was cool as a cucumber (earning him the second nickname "Ice Man"). Another guide, Little Bits, rushes over with another rope and some gear. I just close my eyes, now shaking because my arms are so tired and my hands are burned from holding the rope in a death grip. Next thing I know, Little Bits is next to me, with his leg below mine guiding me below the roof. All of a sudden I feel rock beneath my toes. Slowly, we go down together and I make it to the ground.

I have no other reaction but to laugh hysterically. And I start cracking jokes.

I did it. I was done for the day.

After that, we went back to dinner and our campfire. I was floored that so many folks brought up my breakdown as their favorite moment - not because of entertainment value - though it must have been quite spectacular - but because I conquered my fear.

I don't know how much of that was me conquering a fear, but just doing what I had to do. If it helps someone else, though, that's awesome.