Eight Miles High (well, not quite)

If you know me, you know I’m competitive. Very competitive. To the point where I’m nervous about teaching my son how to play games — even something as innocent as Candyland. I play to win. Always.

If you also know me, you know that while I love sports, it’s safe to say I wasn’t born with the best set of athletic skills.

Very competitive. Not a great athlete. Interesting combination.

Where is this going? I’ll tell you.

I made it just more than halfway up a climbing wall yesterday. That may not sound like much to you. But, to me, I might as well have been on Everest.

I don’t consider myself afraid of heights. I’m more afraid of ladders or any other tool you need to get to the height. Once I’m there, it’s no problem. It’s the getting there than can be a problem.

So, when my five co-workers and I went to a Challenge Course yesterday for some teambuilding, I was like, hmmm, not really sure I’m going to be into this climbing thing.

But, once there and seeing the climbing wall, my competitiveness took over. So much that I wanted to climb first.

With encouragement and guidance from my office mates, I reached my max height. I couldn’t believe I had made it that far — let alone how hard it was.

I felt really good about what I did. I mean, again, unless you really know me, you don’t know how big of a deal that was.

What killed me though, was then watching the next five go…two of whom reached the top. Being able to visualize what they did and see their course, I was like, OK, I can get to the top. Now that I really see it, I can get there. My competitive spirit was what was driving me to want to do it again — so I could be better than I was the first time.

So, that’s my story. I climbed. Kind of high. Higher than I thought I could go. That’s the cool part. It may not have seemed like a big deal to someone that could scale the wall without issue, but to me, I might as well have been, as The Byrds sang, Eight Miles High.


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