Nothing's Changed

The first week of February will find us in Munising, Michigan for the annual Ice Fest.

Every year people descend on Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, decked out in helmets and harnesses, and clomp around in hulking Frankenstein boots, crampons and ice axes slung over their shoulders. They head out to the Curtains, or the Amphitheater, of the Dryer Hose, in search of beautiful waterfalls frozen into climbable ice.

You need a lot of ego to climb a frozen waterfall. And endurance, nimbleness, a good belayer. But mainly, you've got to have something to prove. It doesn't have to be big, and maybe it's only to yourself. But something to prove - yep, the key ingredient to ice climbing.

Last year, five months pregnant, I definitely had something to prove. Nothing's different, nothing's changed. I can still do what I have always done. This baby is not going to slow me down.

I should tell you here that I'm not an ice climbing superstar. I usually go once a year, and I get a lot of help from my belayer about where to place my axe and what the easiest route to the top will be. But I love getting to the top. I love swinging that axe. I love coming back to the hotel, muscles aching, and sitting in the hot tub.

How much could a five month-old fetus change anything? The biggest problem I figured was the twenty extra pounds I was carrying. Okay, so maybe it would be some more work. And maybe the hot tub wouldn't await me at the end. So what? I'd be able to say I'd still climbed ice, pregnant and all.

I signed up for the chicks' class with my three sisters-in-law. It was a beautiful day - sunny and warm. We headed out to the climb with a great teacher. I volunteered to be one of the first climbers and approached the wall. My belayer called, "Climb On," and I swung that axe. Swing, swing, kick, kick. Things were going well, I was making my way up. And then, maybe twenty feet off the ground, a surprisingly loud voice in my head said:

"What the hell are you doing up here? You're five months pregnant! GET OFF THE ICE."

I couldn't go any further, despite everyone cheering me on. I came down, tried to shake it off. Get up there again, I told myself. I tried, made it about halfway. Tried again, couldn't do it. My sister-in-law and I climbed side-by-side. I felt confident with her beside me, till my axe slipped out of the ice and I brought it down, feeling it catch on her leg. I looked over, horrified: no broken skin, just torn pants. I couldn't stop shaking, came down again. The belayer said come on, try it again. Maybe she thought I needed to build my confidence, get back on the horse. Instead, muscles stiff, I made it about halfway before I let go of the axes and fell on the rope about six feet. My axes remained up in the ice. "Climb up to get them," somebody called to me. I couldn't do it. I got down and watched while someone else climbed up to get my axes.

A pretty miserable day. On the van ride back to the hotel, I talked with my sisters-in-law about having a baby. I sulked, nursing my hurt pride. I couldn't ignore the truth. Things had changed. And I knew that things were going to change a whole lot more.

This year, I didn't even go out to the climb. I stayed at the hotel with my son and his cousins and my sisters-in-law. I skied, maybe an hour. I swam in the pool. I played with all the kids. You know something? It was the best Ice Fest yet.