Of course it was a very secure rope, but ropes break! At least that is what I foolishly told myself as I made my attempts to climb.
I would always get to the same spot, the spot when I knew that if I fell and that rope did break, I could break my neck. My friend was yelling encouragement from the ground, but I clung to my log like a squirrel for a few minutes. I could feel my legs trembling with effort and with fear.
And then as with most things in life, it took a leap of faith. I had to push off of a rock and trust that I could catch the next log or trust that if I missed, the rope would catch me. The first time I failed miserably. The second time I scraped my knee and had to start over. The third time I made it.
After that, climbing wasn’t nearly as hard. It was as if I had to get past that point of no return to realize that I could keep going.
Of course once I got to the very top of the tower, I realized that the only way off was to jump and pray that the rope caught me. It did.
After two leaps of faith in within the span of an hour, I was ready to be back on solid ground.