Ethan Chang

Squeeze. The one word rushes through my mind with an intensity as large as the boulder I cling onto. I can’t fall, I just can’t. It’s my last year of college and I’m resolute on sending Moby Dick, the notorious V10 boulder at Rocks State Park. Grimacing, I heel hook a chip on the left side of the boulder and bump my left hand up higher, creating as much body tension as possible. Nearly falling, I bump my hand yet again and squeeze with all my adrenaline-filled strength. The crux of the boulder stares down on me telling me I’ve run into a wall – a dead end. 

But the years of training for this move reflexively guide me without hesitation. I rock my body in preparation for a large move, instantly throwing my right hand far up onto a sloper and hoping I don’t dry fire. Those 0.1 seconds pass like a slow instant, with my eyes intently honed in on the exact spot to hit as my body flies through the air. I stick it. The ear-splitting slap of hand on rock resonates through the woods. My foot slips from the chip and swings in a circle below me, urging me to slip off the handholds. Squeeze. I know that if I can survive this move, I’ve done it.

Pain shoots through my fingers and thoughts of falling flood my head and just as I want to accept my fate, I’m jolted to my senses. “HOLD IT!” my friends shout, swelling my spirits and determination. I finally manage to find some small chip to get my foot onto and I’m balanced. Already, the emotions start filling my body. It’s an indescribable feeling that all climbers understand. Despite not yet finishing the climb, I know the rest is easy. The test comes to an end as I stand atop the monster that I’ve fought for 3 years. 

Joanna screams “that’s my friend!!”, an iconic phrase that I’ve grown used to over the years. Sitting atop in disbelief, I look at my weary hands. With chalk only left on the joints of my fingers, they show a history of struggle and grit – my history.