Who Thought Jumping Was a Good Idea?

Photo by @gerandeklerk

I comfortably ascend, marveling at all the choices I have made that lead me to this moment, climbing a thirty-five-foot telephone pole in the middle of Missouri. It is a beautiful day to explore all the camp offers in team-building exercises. However, my enthusiasm for the task quickly drains from my body as I near the top of the pole, realizing the next step will be much harder than I first thought; impossible, I think.

What began as a fun afternoon quickly spirals into a tornado of dark inner thoughts amidst a barrage of cruel self-attacking messages. I am eager to abort the mission and clamber down.

Clambering down is not an option. But I am not sure the next steps are even possible. If I successfully place my enormous size-eleven feet on the pinnacle of this pole without holding onto anything as expected, there is no way I will be able to push myself off to grab the trapeze that hangs out in front of me.

When we first arrived, a few in my group immediately volunteered to go first. One girl, in her late teens like me, confidently began the climb with ease. When she climbed, I cheered along with my fellow staffers as our friend neared the top. I applauded as she, in one sure movement, placed her feet on the top and steadily raised herself until she was fully standing.

Then, she quickly assessed her marker and jumped out, grabbing the bar of the trapeze and swinging gleefully before signally she was ready to be lowered back to earth.

Now, languishing where she triumphed, I curse her as I struggle to consider my options.

I generally like challenging myself, having left my home for the summer to head out to the middle of the country where I don’t know a soul. And I thought this was going to be quite easy. I enjoyed the initial climb. I loved passing the thick forest ceiling in all its vast, green density. I felt strong and exhilarated as I moved, reminded of fond childhood memories of summer days spent in trees.

But when I reached the last foothold, I realized there was just one more rung between me and the apex of the pole. Now, stuck here in limbo, if I advance further, the top of my body will extend out into nothingness. I pause, the reality of the next steps washing over me. Exhilaration crumples into fear.

The woods below fall away as my vision narrows on the tiny eight-inch disk in front of me. Suddenly, the harness strapped onto me earlier seems like nothing more than dental floss loosely tucked into my pockets.

“Um, I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” I say out loud, not sure the counselor holding the safety ropes can hear me.

“I may just climb down!” I say a little louder.

“No!” the group cheers with enthusiasm. “Go on!” You’ve got this! Go, Mandy!” they yell, enjoying their role as cheerleaders. They are determined to see me follow through, to complete all of the instructions for this ridiculous exercise.

Instructions for Pole-Climb-Life-Lesson Activity: Participant climbs. She waffles. The team cheers and encourages. Participant musters her courage. She jumps. The team claps. Jumper learns life lesson.

And scene.

It becomes increasingly clear, however, that my part in this drama is not going to play out to script either, my waffling turning to terror, a terror that is starting to hijack my body as I once again review the life decisions that got me into this asinine predicament.

I tentatively push myself upward reevaluating how I’m going to stand on the tiny shelf and force myself up one more rung, a dull ache now starting in my temples; the corners of my eyes beginning to sting.

Bent over the microscopic platform I can see my fellow camp staffers down on the ground smiling but their cheers do nothing to abate the tears that begin to drop.

Our leader calls up, “Now just put your feet on the top and stand up. No sweat. You’ve got this.”

Yeah right, I think, beginning to brainstorm bait-and-switch options where my so-called friends will be distracted and I can quickly scramble down. A bear, perhaps? Bears are a real possibility in the area.

The shame of being such a baby overtakes me andI press on. With what feels like violent shaking, I move one foot up now in an extended stretch, uncertain I can bring the other to meet it. The pole begins to sway ever so slightly with my movements.

Panic.

But the ache in my calf outweighs the anxiety-induced cramping in my stomach so I attempt my second foot, sloth-like until I can place it on the thin strip next to the first. There is nothing left to do but straighten my body, although remaining bent while clutching my legs for dear life seems like the better option.

I gradually, at a glacial pace, uncurl my back one vertebrae at a time, arms hovering just above my hips, certain the quivering in my legs will knock me backward. Finally, I stand at full height looking out over the Ozarks, reviewing what I had for breakfast, certain it is going to make an appearance at any minute.

“I’ll start counting and you jump on three, okay?” Our leader calls brightly.

Fuck you runs through my brain. Words I so desperately want to scream but realize if I do, it will result in my quick dismissal from this Christian camp.

“Okaaaay,” I squeak back.

“One! Two…”

“Wait! Wait! I just need a minute!” I yell.

There is no way I can do this, I think.

“I’m just going to climb down,” I call out again, signaling to the people holding the safety line attached to my harness. “I think I’m good,” now imagining a Cirque du Soleil-type body contortion to get my hands and feet safely back around the pole, waiting for rescue. Helicopter perhaps?

“No! No!” They yell back.

“No, really. I get the lesson. I’m coming back down,” I reply, now fully engulfed in desperation.

“No!” They yell together, playing their parts in this drama with expertise. They, the chorus, are still energized by the hope that the hero, me? the anti-hero? will faithfully complete her part — triumph over adversity and leap to her reward.

Is their enthusiasm beginning to wane? Is that impatience creeping into their voices? Boredom setting in? I can’t separate my cohort from the sneering voices in my head.

“Ok,” I called, choking on the sound. “I’ll count for myself.”

“One…two…”

Pause.

“Hold on…I don’t think I can…”

“Come on already,” I hear. Or do I imagine it?

Resignation. I am going to climb down.

“Sorry. Never mind. I’m good.” I declare again. “I’m climbing down?” I plead in more of a question than a statement.

One last time the chorus erupts with their lines, “No! No! You’re doing great. Just jump. We’ve got you!” Are some of the girls studying their fingernails? Did she just stifle a yawn? Is that disdain in her tone? There is disdain in my head.

The voices in my head taunt me accusingly. Why do you have to be so dramatic anyway? You’re weak and ridiculous. This isn’t that hard you moron. Those people down there aren’t cheering you on. They are simply eager to get on with it. You are taking up way too much time in this afternoon of supposed fun.

The gnawing in my stomach intensifies but I can’t will my feet to push off from my perch to reach the trapeze. No amount of pleading, cajoling, or threatening from inside or out can launch me from this space. Tears run and run.

Just go already, Mandy. For god’s sake, get on with it.

It is time for all of this to be over.

So.

I shuffle off into nothing, my feet simply not-standing anymore.

Falling.

A quick catch on the harness.

A smooth descent as the safety leads are slowly released.

With such a deflating end to this torturous experience, I expect a few cursory pats on my back with exasperated exhales before the group moves on to the next activity.

But as my feet touch the earth, I am immediately and overwhelming embraced in a group hug. I weep.

“That was awful,” I choke, trying to find a place for a laugh, uncomfortable in the huddle.

“You made it!” someone declares as others clap.

Then they begin to gather their packs ready for the next activity. And as we head to the next event, I consider new instructions for the pole climb:

Instructions for Pole-Climb-Life-Lesson Activity: Participant climbs. She waffles. She questions her self-worth. She hobbles off. She realizes she is loved anyway.