The one and only time I rock climbed, I went up Horsetooth Rock on the sheer side at dusk. I was in my early 20’s, I had recently been dumped by my HS sweetheart, and I beat that rock. There was a point I realized that if I went back down, I wouldn’t make it. I had to go up. It was the only way I would make it. I don’t like rock climbing, it’s too dangerous. This memory feels like a dream now, but I know it was real. Sometimes, you don’t need a witness to know that you defeated yourself. God did that.
My raft guide buddies often dual-wielded rock climbing. I didn’t understand it, but I respected it. They would sometimes infer that I was welcome to join them, but it was never for me.
I wouldn’t rock climb again, and NOBODY should attempt this EVER, but on that day, like many others, God kept me alive. This is my testimony.
