Via Ferrata with Fear of Heights? I Said Yes…

I found myself at the very edge of control, trying to regain grasp by mumbling countless expletives at the tiny, innocent ants on the rock just inches from my face. It seemed as though my heart was trying to climb its way up ahead of me, and I tried to pull it back in with deep breaths. My legs trembled, my eyes watered, my hands were incapable of gripping any tighter to the metal rungs, and in the midst of it all, my friend below me was telling me my butt looked good, which somehow made me laugh.

I was clinging to a piece of rebar on the side of a rock, hundreds of feet above a river in a canyon outside of Peja, Kosovo. It was my first attempt at a via ferrata.

To Climb or Not to Climb

My question in the months leading up to this moment had been whether or not someone with a true phobia of heights should attempt a via ferrata climb. Those two things probably go together as well as Taylor Swift and boyfriends.

The term “via ferrata” literally means “iron way” in Italian, and they consist of steel cables and footholds originally built to safely expedite the movement of troops and equipment through the Dolomites during WWI. Today, they are constructed for sport in tourism, allowing thrill-seekers of all shapes and sizes to get a feel for climbing, even without previous experience. Via ferratas are essentially protected climbing routes up the side of exposed cliffs.

In other words, they’re not exactly fear-of-heights-friendly.

The heights factor is a legitimate concern. Anyone with a true phobia knows the gripping fear that is a reality when phobia strikes. It’s not a matter of logic, which is out the window with phobias. They have a supernatural power of completely undermining a person’s strength, mind, and reason.

My hesitation to do a via ferrata wasn’t just about my own safety; I was fearing that I might let the group down by having a massive meltdown on the side of a cliff and not being able to move a muscle in my body, except maybe my tear ducts.

In the end, this decision that was solely up to me. Only I know my fear of heights, and only I could have any idea of how I might respond. And even that would be an educated guess at best, yet something was drawing me to this opportunity. I felt it in my gut.

I decided to do it.

To Climb

When the day arrived, we drove along a river up a beautiful canyon in Kosovo and pulled over at a seemingly random spot on the side of the road. We piled out of the van as the guide said, “That’s our route” pointing straight up over our heads. I took a deep breath and barely managed to tilt my head far back enough to see the cliff face, towering over me. I almost thought he was joking, until I reminded myself that yes, that is actually what we came to do.

The knot in my stomach tightened with every yank of the harness around my legs.

We set out in single file, practicing clipping in to the cables, moving upward from one stretch of cable to the next, always with at least one carabiner locked on. I spent so much time fumbling with the carabiners and cables that I silently hoped I would be too distracted with the gear to be scared after all.

Then we hit a slight overhang. Insert expletives here.

I was completely exposed on a rock face, standing on a thin piece of rebar as big as my foot, my back to nothing, a roaring river in the canyon below. The second I began the movement of going up and out, what felt like backwards away from the “safety” of the rock, towards The Nothing, I started to freeze.

This was the moment I had been fearing. My grip didn’t seem enough, yet readjusting (or moving at all), even taking the next step, meant letting go of something I was trusting with my life.

The dilemma was twofold: the only person who could get me off that cliff was me, and the only way to go was up.

The only option was to continue, so there was no point in wasting time frozen to the cliff. I let this logic take over my momentum.

I closed my eyes. Step after step, I felt my way up, blocking out The Nothing that surrounded me. I focused only on what I felt, trusting in my physical strength, which helped me move more easily through the toughest parts. Unfortunately, that only worked while the steps were consistent. I made it about five rungs until I couldn’t blindly sense the next move, and then that strategy was gone with the same wind that threatened my stability.

My mental energy drained with my physical strength as I pulled my body up each time to the next rung, intently focusing on the encouraging words of my friends around me, and the “fact” that I was actually safe.

I did not know the extent of the several exposed, difficult sections ahead of me. Each time I got through a fear-inducing overhang, I thought the worst was over, until I hit the next one. Still, I never asked how much was left. I could not let Fear control the next section.

I took my time, feeling encouraged and protected by the people I was with. This sense of safety kept me going.

To my surprise, we did eventually reach the top. I thought I would be more excited, but something was holding me back.

It’s Not All Rainbows and Butterflies

Honestly, this via ferrata won’t make my list of favorites. While I was proud of myself for having done it at all, my fear held me back where it didn’t hold others back. It tested me hard. I felt like it made me look weak, when in fact I was being as strong as I could. I felt it made me look slow, when I’m used to being good at athletic things.

I realize I put those labels on myself, as we so often do. Not a single person I was with would agree; in fact, they were all impressed.

I wish I could have returned their high fives with the same enthusiasm they showed me, but I didn’t have it in me.

The moments on the cliff where I had to stare at the rock and muster every bit of physical and mental strength I possibly had to get me to the next rung were not worth it. While I was suffering in my fear, trying not to completely lose it on the cliff, others were hanging back against their harnesses, taking pictures of the view, hooting and hollering and laughing all the way.

The via ferrata was certainly not my idea of “fun.”

This made me wonder, what is the point when I couldn’t even enjoy the view or the thrill of the climb? To simply test a fear? To try to get over a fear? To exhaust myself physically and mentally? At what point do I have a “breakthrough”? After the second attempt? What if it doesn’t happen, perhaps I try a third one?

Related: On Being Brave When Fear Comes Knocking (Again…)

What I know for sure is that every via ferrata is unique, and just like the first one, I will never know how a second attempt will go until I try it again.

Here’s what else I know after climbing a via ferrata with a fear of heights:

• It is a personal decision, not one that anyone should make for you.
• Trusting your climbing mates and having their confidence and encouragement as you climb is crucial.
• Make sure those around you are aware of your fear and can respectfully help you through it.
• Keep moving, trusting in your physical strength.

Lastly, feel free to swear at the rock in front of your face if you have to, the ants don’t seem to mind.

Related: Less than a month later, I completed my second, very different, via ferrata. Listen to the story here.