A Bowl of Stupid

“Oh Shit.”

That was all I could think as it was happening. There was no time for anything else.

You'd be surprised. The time it takes to fall 60 feet goes by in the blink of an eye.

To be sure, many movies show people falling in slow motion, making it seem as if an entire conversation could take place during the time it takes to fall 10 stories. But it’s really not like that. Not at all.

It goes by in an instant.

After “oh shit,” the very next thing I recall was wiggling my toes. I could feel my feet. And I could wiggle my toes. And at the time, nothing else seemed to matter quite so much. Not even the excruciating pain that was otherwise dominating my world.

In my mind, the concept of being reduced to the role of a paraplegic, or god-forbid a quadriplegic, was utterly intolerable. At the time, I would probably have preferred death. I had no conception of anything that could possibly be as horrific as losing the permanent use of my limbs.

That concept is still a dark one for me, and it still haunts me. But for better or worse, I’ve since learned there are many various shades of gray when it comes to chronic debilitation.

I’m in my late 30's now. And despite everything I’ve been through in my life, I still unfortunately have a bit of an invincibility complex. It was, however, much worse 20 years ago when I first started college. Indeed, I spent far too much time doing things that, in today's world, probably could have landed me a gig in a “Jackass” movie. Or in the hospital. Or both.

There was not much I wouldn’t try at least once. And very little I wouldn’t do on a dare.

Trust me, I have the scars, and my mother has the gray hair, to prove it.

It was during this initial stage of “invincibility” that I first explored the sport of climbing rocks – ostensibly for fun and fitness. However, I truly started rock climbing in earnest because of the danger factor associated with the sport. It was also an easy pastime to pursue where I went to college at Arizona State University.

In the Tempe/Phoenix area (the “Valley of the Sun”), there are a number of full-fledged mountain ranges on all sides, guarding the region like citadels. Moreover, there are dozens of minor sandstone outcroppings, remnants of a long vanished underwater landscape, scattered throughout the valley only minutes from campus. For me, these rocky outcroppings became a easy way to get a good workout, and a quick adrenaline fix.

I’ve mentioned in prior writings that I had two (2) distinct sets of friends in college – my roommates whom I first met during my first year in the dorms, and those friends whom I met from attending classes or via ROTC. Given that my roommates were not much into outdoor sports at the time, most of my adventurous spirit was, by necessity, satiated during outings with my ROTC friends.

It was with them that I first started rock climbing. And it was with them who I went climbing on May 6, 1990.

That particular day was special. It was the beginning of summer break. The last day of finals during my Junior year at Arizona State. On that day, my two ROTC friends and I had finished our finals by 1:00 p.m. And while we intended to go party later that day, it seemed somewhat overindulgent (and, frankly, impractical for picking up girls) to start partying so early in the day.

So instead we went to the nearby Papago Park to do some free-climbing on relatively low-lying outcroppings. Papago is a 1500 acre park located right in the middle of the metro-Phoenix/Tempe area, known for its distinctive red sandstone geological formations.

However, the particular rock formation we chose to climb that day, pictured above, only has peaks of 100-200 feet. As an added benefit, it also has several passes along the northern face which allow for relative ease of access on and off the formation's peak, if so desired.

But the south side is somewhat more treacherous.

Don’t get me wrong, a trained professional would likely have little trouble easily scaling and returning down the south face. However, I was, and still am, nowhere close to being a trained professional.

Nonetheless, I was 20 years old and invincible. So I thought nothing of attempting a descent down that south side.

I was entirely unprepared.

By the time I made the decision to make that descent I had already lost track of my friends, who were on the opposite side of the formation. So I started climbing down the south side alone. Along the high ridge-line, it was a fairly unspectacular angle of descent and I had an easy time making my way down very quickly. But then I reached a point where the rock face edged inward beneath me into a slight overhang.

At that point, I was unable to see beneath me. Nonetheless, I continued despite the fact there was no visible route down that part of the rock face.

It took only a minute for me to realize I would be unable to continue. But by then, I had already lost track of the path I had used to reach that point in the first place.

I stopped for a moment to gauge my surroundings. It was only then I realized that I was unable to continue either up or down.

Simply speaking, I was fucked.

I tried to remain calm and do the responsible thing. Frankly, that was the only thing I could think to do at the time. There was a small indentation in the side of the rock-face about 10 feet to my left. It appeared, and ultimately was, large enough to house me briefly while I attempted to figure out a way either up or down the rock. I stayed there for what seemed to be hours but was, in all likelihood, probably no longer than a minute or two.

In that brief period, however, my presence was enough to attract the attention of a hiker walking along the base of the formation some 60 feet below.

“Hey! You! Are you okay up there?” I heard someone yell.

I said nothing, collecting my thoughts.

Then again, “Hey! Are you okay? Can you get down okay?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, looking down. “I can’t see directly beneath this overhang. Is there a route I can take to get down on this side?”

Silence for a moment. Then, “No. Not really.”

“You need to either go back up the way you came or rappel down,” he said. “Oh wait, you don’t have any gear, do you?”

“No,” I replied.

“Oh. Shit.”

"Yeah," I remember thinking, "I’m way ahead of you on that one, but thanks anyway. Great talking to you."

This was about the time I started to worry. Seriously started to worry. For the first time, I began to see another, grimmer, option present itself.

There was a distinct possibility that I could get hurt. Badly. Very badly.

And that’s when I started to panic.

Ironically, it was at this point that I overloaded on what I had initially been seeking – adrenaline.

The initial adrenaline shock was overwhelming. In particular, I distinctly remember that sharp bitter taste in my mouth, like touching your tongue to the top of a live 9-volt battery. That stinging, tangy, electrical taste.

To be sure, it was not quite what I had initially intended.

After several more minutes, I realized that I couldn't stay up there forever. Something needed to be done.

So I finally started away from my little “cave.”

More adrenaline.

I made it only several feet back out onto the rock face before my hands starting sweating profusely. Then, my left hand started to tremble uncontrollably. Not so much at first, but it was noticeable enough. It was also sufficient to trigger the next phase of panic. My other hand began to tremble, which in turn then caused my knees to start trembling.

In only a matter of seconds, I was clinging to the side of a vertical rock-face, 60 feet above safe and solid ground, shaking uncontrollably.

Even now, as I write this nearly 20 years out, my eyes water and my heart skips as I recall the unhinged terror of that moment.

That single defining moment. My god. I will never forget that, ever.

It was in that moment I realized the only way I was going to make it down that rock-face was by falling.

By then, I was both physically and mentally unable to move. I could still hear the hiker from below trying to coax and guide me towards what he thought may have been a safe route of descent. But it was no use. I was unable see what he saw, and even if I could, I would still have been unable to go there.

I was just too panic stricken.

So I let go.

I was barely holding on anyway. And as I’ve told myself many times over the last 15 years, it was only a matter of time before my shaking would have caused me to become dislodged from my tenuous perch. However, I obviously don’t know that for a fact because I let go before I couldn’t hold on any further. Regardless, I let go.

This is the first time I’ve ever mentioned this. To anyone.

But Eddie’s death, and Kang’s related comments, got me thinking. Apparently I have been to that point where I believed I could hold on no further.

In retrospect, it’s probably the one moment in my life that I truly and utterly despise.

I gave up. My desire to live – hell, my survival instinct – gave way to expediency. How fucked up is that?

And all I can remember thinking at that moment when I let go was, “Oh shit!”

Then impact.

The words barely had time to echo through my head before I hit the ground.

Although I've since been told that I never lost consciousness, the only thing I remember next is lying there stunned, with an overwhelming pain emanating from my nether regions. A pain so uniquely powerful that I actually though my legs themselves had been torn asunder.

I tried to move my feet. "Thank god! I can feel my feet." From seemingly miles beneath the crushing pain, I sensed the weight of my legs still intact.

"My toes. If I can move my toes, that means I’ll still be able to walk," I thought. And they worked. I could feel my toes wiggling, brushing against the interior walls of my shoes.

Again, the only thought I could muster was, "thank god!"

Despite the raging tempest of pain, I was in absolute ecstasy. Not that I believe in god, but the only phrase I was able to muster, again and again, was “thank god, I can still walk.”

Everything else, anything else was simply icing on the cake. So long as I wasn't crippled, any part of my body that may have broken or torn was entirely irrelevant.

I later found out it wasn’t that simple.

In yet another ironic twist, I was to wind up being the recipient of that same bitter, electrical, adrenaline taste in my mouth far more often than I ever thought possible – or ever intended.

(continued … Fall From Grace - Part II)

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