Facing my fear: Indoor rock climbing at Flying Squirrel Chatham

Palms sweaty. Knees weak. Arms feel heavy. Like Eminem, but no spaghetti. Just me, staring at the rock wall inside Flying Squirrel Chatham, trying to summon the nerve to climb. My kids stand beside me, their excitement an unbearable contrast to my growing dread. They don’t know their dad’s having a full-on internal crisis. I could back out—pretend I forgot something in the car. But then I’d never hear the end of it. No, I’m climbing this wall. Even if my pants are never the same again.

 

Why Try Indoor Rock Climbing?

I’ve never been a fan of heights. Not a debilitating phobia—more of a subtle, nagging discomfort. I fly on planes, enjoy roller coasters, but give me a ladder and a task that involves elevation? Nope. Just last year, I tried to paint a 20-foot wall in my house. I lasted five rungs up the ladder before realizing the job suddenly seemed less important.

So indoor rock climbing? Not exactly my idea of a good time. But here I was, staring at the towering climbing wall inside Flying Squirrel Chatham, all because my oldest had begged me to give it a try. He made it sound easy: Dad, it’s fun. You won’t even think about the height!

Lies.

 

Stepping Up to the Indoor Rock Climbing Challenge

The moment arrived. My son went first, scrambling up the wall like a natural, nearly making it to the top before he gracefully descended back to the ground. I stood below, doing my best impression of an encouraging, fearless father. I clapped, beaming with pride while simultaneously questioning all my life choices.

Then, it was my turn.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, fastening my harness with the help of the Flying Squirrel staff (who, by the way, looked far too calm given the situation). My hands found the first hold, my foot the first step, and up I went.

 

The First Few Feet—Panic Mode

My movements were awkward, my body stiff with fear. Every part of me screamed to climb back down, to return to the solid ground where gravity behaved predictably. But quitting in front of my kids? Not an option.

I forced myself to focus. One hand at a time. One foot at a time. The trick, I soon realized, was to stop fixating on how high I was and just concentrate on the climb itself. It helped—at least for a few feet.

Then I made the mistake of looking down.

The trampolines, the arcade, the Drey Cafe—they all looked so small. My stomach lurched. My palms sweat. My arms wobbled. I clung to the wall.

Breathe. Reset. Keep going.

 

Finding a Rhythm in Indoor Rock Climbing

Something changed around the halfway point. I started moving with more confidence, more fluidity. My grip felt surer. My breath steadied. I began to trust the harness, trust the holds, trust myself.

At one point, I paused—not out of fear, but out of awe. The park spread out beneath me, a blur of bouncing kids and laughter. The height didn’t terrify me anymore. It exhilarated me.

I was doing it. Actually doing it.

 

The Final Push to the Top

The last stretch was brutal. My arms burned. My fingers ached. The top still felt impossibly far away. But something had shifted—I wanted to reach the top now. The fear hadn’t disappeared, but determination had taken its place.

I reached, I pulled, I gritted my teeth and gave it everything I had. And then—suddenly—I was there.

I did it.

 

The Descent and the Takeaway

The ride back down was a blur. Gravity did most of the work as I repelled back to the ground, my legs wobbling but my spirit soaring. My son greeted me with a high-five.

Reflecting on it now, I realize that indoor rock climbing at Flying Squirrel Chatham wasn’t just about overcoming my fear of heights. It was about trust—trusting the equipment, trusting my body, trusting the people around me. It was about proving to myself that I could take on a challenge and come out the other side stronger.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. The fear is still there, but now I know I can push through it.

Now, about that painting project… Well, let’s just say Flying Squirrel is way more fun than climbing a ladder.