Jumping off point

I lunge up, my fingertips catch the lip of the rock, I cling tightly, tendons in my arm in unified rigidity, every neuron in my mind focuses on the texture beneath my fingertips. I let out a primal grunt, almost a scream. I lift my left foot to reposition it higher, straining to keep my right foot on the rock. My right foot pops off and my legs swing out like a pendulum. I look down at my feet as they start to swing, and I see the water 15 feet below, and for a split instant realize the very real possibility I will fall into that water now. I am not afraid of the fall, it will hurt, but it will not hurt much. It would be so easy to let go, I have gotten far, I have done well, there is no shame in falling. But in this moment where I couldn't tell you my name, where there is not a stray thought beyond the instant of the climb all I know is that I do not want to fall, that I cannot fall, that my life up to this point has culminated in a single purpose at a single time, that time is now and that purpose is not falling, in this moment I am at perfect peace and all is right with the world. I swing my feet back in, catch a small pocket the size of my toe. I find a small edge of flat rock just wider than a #2 pencil, and I put my other foot on it. Then I continue climbing, every move as if it were the last move my body would make before I die. Continually at the limit of possibility with no assurance of success. Then I stand at the top, triumphant, relieved, proud, and a little saddended. Saddened because the climb is over.

And like a junkie I am already thinking about my next fix.