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ones. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”
    I know what Alexandre was talking about – Concentration with a capital C. I have never been so focused. They say the rope will catch my fall but I can’t trust the equipment, I need to do this on my own, rely on myself. I gingerly put my foot on a hold and try to push my way higher. I manage and feel elated.
    “See that little orange-colored knobby bit just up at the level of your thigh?” calls Chris. “Raise your left foot up there and push up through your toes.”
    “No way! Are you crazy?” I yell. “That’s miles away! I can’t lift my leg up that high and keep balance.”
    “Yes, you can,” shouts down Alexandre. “Climb like a cat —quiet, deliberate, and precise. Picture the move, and then execute it. Use your feet as you would your hands. Pick out the place for your hands first – plan your move. Take your time, this isn’t a race.”
    I raise up my left leg. Yoga has nothing on this.
    “Now balance yourself,” Chris call up, “with your right hand. Lift your arm higher. Try to climb in an X shape with your hips being the middle of the X. Hang with your arm straight. Your skeleton can take much more of a load than your muscles can.”
    Skeleton. Cat….which?
    “Up you come, up you come,” Alexandre coaxes.
    After what seems like decades, I finally pluck up the courage to raise myself up. I feel myself falling, my insides churn and drop to my groin, but miraculously I manage to balance myself with my right hand in time. I’m spread-eagled against the rock-face. My elbows and knees are already scuffed and scratched.
    “Bravo!” cries Alexandre.
    “And now what?” I scream into the rock, my mouth kissing the stone. The sun is getting warmer now. I’m pressed like a starfish, immovable, terrified. All this to try and impress Alexandre but I must look like a total fool. My right foot starts to shake uncontrollably.
    “Okay, I can see you’ve got sewing-machine leg,” Chris bellows. “That’s because the heel of your foot is hanging too far down and your leg is starting to shake like a sewing machine. This is very normal for a beginner. Don’t worry, just apply more weight to your toes so your calf muscle spasm can stop.”
    I do as I’m told and he’s right, my leg stops shaking. Almost. I push up again and am amazed at myself. The impossible is melting away. I feel free, invincible. I hook my fingers onto a tiny crevice, and what is a small opening feels like a crater to my sensitive hand. Everything is magnified by a thousand. Every indentation. Every chirp of a bird, every whistle of breeze, every miniscule scar on the rock-face, which I use as my life-line to cling onto. I can smell the rock. It is alive with molecules. And right now it’s my best friend in the world. We are at one, the rock and I. I am a daughter of nature. I can think of nothing else except my hands and feet, the rock and my next move. Like a cat I push up once more. I’m not even listening to their instructions any longer; I’m trusting my own instinct, following my intuition. I’m higher now. I can no longer even hear what Chris is saying, he’s so far below. I look up and see Alexandre smiling at me but I don’t smile back. I’m too inside my own intense moment.
    “You’re nearly here. You’re doing great,” he cheers on. “Grab that bit that’s jutting out to your right, above your head.”
    “I can’t, it’s too high.”
    “Yes you can. Just do it.”
    “I reach up but feel myself slipping. Oh no! Mother of Mercy, what’s happening? I can feel my body lose balance, I’m going to fall, I’m going to kill myself. I yelp. I slip. But at the last second my right foot finds a hold and I’m re-balanced, hugging the rock-face once more.
    “That’s a tricky bastard that tiny crack, isn’t it?”
    “I almost fell,” I pant.
    “But you didn’t. I knew you’d find that hold – you were positioned right,” he says. “Well done, chérie,