Leute, ich bin wieder da, read my Whatsapp message to a group of climbing friends.
Not too long thereafter, I dusted the chalk from hands sporting four open blisters (rookie mistake: continuing to climb when the baby-soft skin first begins to rub away), went through my stretch routine, and packed up to go home.
I didn’t, but I could have skipped down the street. I could have grinned at every passing individual. My heart felt carefree. My body felt used, tired, worked. I took a deep breath and savoured it.
The last time I was in the climbing hall was on my birthday. I was at the beginning of my eighth month of pregnancy and had spent the previous months waiting for the moment when it would be time to stop. I’d felt a little too much pressure on my lower belly, a little too much tension on stretched muscles that I wasn’t supposed to engage. Objectively, the top rope route had been easy and boulders before it even easier, but I owed it to my baby and to myself to answer honestly when my belayer asked if climbing felt okay. “Actually no,” I replied then. “I think I’m done.”
And now, with my baby six months old, I was ready to come back. In some ways, ripping open my hands in exuberance was a reminder of what it means to return to a sport after so much time away: Go slowly.
While pregnant, my joints softened and pelvic floor stretched; my pretty darn good abs disappeared; my belly stretched out and knitted back together. My hands are no longer calloused. My body is not what it was.
Go slowly.
Early on in my pregnancy, I stopped climbing three days a week. And then I stopped climbing twice a week. I was content when I stopped climbing altogether, and surprised at the fury that took hold when I couldn’t start again once the baby was born. Everything that had been was no longer, and I didn’t recognize myself in the life that had begun. It took time until I stopped looking for who I had been and lamenting what I used to do. And then I found who I had become.
As a new mother, I am living in the very real luxury of a time that will not come again. I am home with my daughter, and this means that I can focus on her without having to worry about balancing work just yet. When I have the time, I can attend to myself.
Now that she is getting older, now that my body is fitter than it was, I’m back at the climbing hall, this time with a new appreciation for the time spent independently, in physical exertion, and as part of a community that knows a very different version of me. I’m a tiny girl’s mama, and a climber, too.
