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The Climb:

How a simple WEEKEND assignment became a self-improving adventure

Written by: Shannon McEnerney

A minute ago I was laughing, but now I'm panting. Scared.

My palms are a sweaty mess, and all I can think about is falling. Just like one of those dreams -- falling into a black pit, never knowing when I'll smack the ground with a dusty thud.

But that can't happen. For some strange reason, I begin feeling more invincible as I prepare for my ascent. First the ladder, then the totem pole, then the platform nearly 30 feet in the air. Not so hard. So I take my first step off the ground and instantly clutch the rattling ladder for dear life. Not so invincible anymore.

For a person afraid of heights, each step upward brings more fear than the last. The mission of the Adventure Center at Belmont, however, isn't gawking in fear at height: It's challenging yourself to overcome it.

Beginning to climb, I stubbornly refuse to look down -- a task more difficult than it seems. My face: a sweaty mess. My brain: a puddle of nerves. My hands: clinging for dear life. My breathing: unsteady at best. It hurts to swallow, and every muscle is working overtime. My fear tricks my mind into thinking every movement will be my last.

I need stability.

I look up at the trees, at the sky, as I slowly but methodically move one foot, one hand, another foot, another hand. Over and over along the rungs lining the tall, wooden pole. Reaching the platform, words of encouragement rain down from above and greet me with reassurance. "OK, maybe I can do this," I think, as I gasp for breath and collapse my arms around the pole -- clinging to safety, 30 feet above the ground.



It's hard to believe that just a few moments earlier, back on solid ground, group leader Fritz Harbridge had greeted me upon my arrival at the Adventure Center. He shook my hand with a wide smile and asked if I was ready. "Okay, I'm ready," I said. I really had no other choice.

The Great Adventure ropes courses at Belmont, located in Brown County, is a land where dangling nearly 50 feet above ground is very real. The site has a total of four ropes courses. Two are smaller courses, but the one on which I'm sitting is the double-decker-high ropes course, about 40 feet tall. It's connected by zip line cables to the 50-foot adventure tower, which has two climbing walls, among other challenges.

The zip line that connects the two also serves as the only way down. Just strap in and hang on.

Fritz said the Adventure Center attracts all sorts of groups, from CEOs trying to promote teamwork and communication skills to younger groups just trying to have a good time -- groups like the one comprised of the five Girl Scouts who are here today.

But no matter what kind of group they come with, each participant walks away with a greater sense of height.



Back on the first platform of the high ropes course, all the Girl Scouts are dangling and walking through the course as if it's second nature. Only one of the girls, Katie Stergar, is sitting with me on the first platform. She's terrified of heights, too.

Part of me wants to join her and just sit out the remainder of the time. My feet are cemented in position as I'm still too afraid to move. The next step for me involves horizontally moving across one of the cables, pushing forward on another cable the entire time. Sharon McGuire, another instructor, tells me that as long as I continue to push outward on the chest-level wire, I will make it across without a problem.

I doubt her, but it's only because I'm too terrified to think otherwise.

I'll be freely relying on nothing but a three-quarter-inch cable to keep me stable on another cable beneath my feet.

"It's now or never, now or never," I keep repeating to myself until I finally place my gym shoes on the wire with one slow, solid motion, then push out on the second cable and begin to shimmy across to the other side. Sharon shouts up at me, "There you go! You can do it!" And somehow I believe her.

The girls all around me are fearless. One of them, Katie Young, has been to the Adventure Center seven times. Proving her fearlessness, she completes one of the challenges backwards -- never thinking twice along the way. "You're a pro," I tell her, but she brushes it off as if it's nothing because she's having fun.

For me, each new platform is met with a five-minute panting fit before working up the nerve to cross another barrier.

But with each new task, the course becomes easier. That is, until the final crossing.



Belmont's Adventure Center is a world of example. Here, Fritz and his team strive to teach a simple principle to those who visit.

"Being afraid of heights keeps us safe," Fritz explains. He adds that we're generally more afraid of the potential of danger than actual danger itself -- evident at the Adventure Center where the ropes prevent any real chance of harm and only potential danger exists. It's when we don't know what's going to happen next that fear develops, he says.

When climbers are 40 feet above the ground, pushing on the wire for safety isn't the only structure being tested. So is personal growth, Fritz says.

One of the most rewarding parts of instructor Tyler Kivland's job is seeing the challenges people overcome in the span of four hours. Tyler recalls Katie, the girl who sat on the bottom platform but who later made it to the second platform to zip back to the ground without hesitating. Earlier, Tyler said he wouldn't have expected Katie to overcome her fear. But she did, and Tyler said he couldn't have witnessed a better challenge won.

The younger you are, the less fear you have because children have more trust than adults, Tyler says. When adults participate in the ropes courses, they have a harder time because they have to re-learn trust and fear. But in the end, both children and adults are reminded of the center's basic principle: the mind, not the 40-foot cables, present the obstacles.



The last obstacle consists of two cables, roughly five feet apart, that extend from my platform to the zip line waiting about 10 feet from me. In order to get across, I'll need to push forward against the palms of my friend and photographer Karly Tearney. Together, supporting each other, we will make it across. What we're doing isn't our only option, but as Fritz and Tyler tell us, "it's the most rewarding." Karly and I look at each other with nervous glances.

"I'm in, if she's in," I say.

Shaking, Karly and I begin our gravitation toward the last platform. We quickly get the hang of it, and as we near the platform our jittery feeling of fear is replaced with shakes of excitement.

We both let go and collapse on the wood, breathing and smiling relief. We give each other high-fives, and Fritz says, "You did awesome."

The last step before reaching land is to zip down another cable wire, 40 feet to the surface. As soon as we push ourselves off the platform, we will be traveling at a roller-coaster velocity before slowing down. I prepare for the descent, realizing that this will be another mental obstacle for me. I tell myself that when I say three, I will go -- no hesitations. If I hesitate, I'll never go.

"1, 2, 3." Go.

My eyes remain shut at first before I force myself to open them and watch as I zip down the cable. It's freeing. When I reach the final platform, I climb down the ladder, touch my feet on solid ground and turn toward the course I just completed. And as I stare at the 40-foot structure, reflecting on my previous fear and apprehension, I'm reminded of something Tyler said earlier in the day.

"If you can do this, you can do anything."

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