Once again I awaken in the city that never sleeps.
The music in my ears: "It's not a cry in the night, It's not someone whose seen the light, It's a cold and broken hallelujah."
The words in my head: "Release yourself from judgement."
The feelings in my body: Exhaustion, recovery, repairing and preparing to move forward.
The feelings in my head and heart: Deep soul ones and light surface ones, old worn-out ones, and new on-the-cusp-of-discovery-and-adventure ones.
At first, disappointed I let my body retain more weight than I have in quite awhile, thus making it more difficult to navigate the 108 floors of the Stratosphere.
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| Arriving at the Stratosphere. |
The first five or six floors are a glimpse of what it might feel like with less weight. For those opening flights, I move fluidly, gliding up the stairs, double-stepping with ease, reaching hand over hand--a perfect blend of pulling myself up and propelling myself forward. One-foot pivots on each landing, hands reaching around to the rail of the next flight simultaneously with the pivot--a rhythmic thing of beauty in the smooth ascent.
Grateful for Jesse's presence supporting my climb, for his quiet guidance, companionship, and his words, "You're doing great Cheryl."
Desiring to move forward quickly, to waste no more time, in realizing my potential.
Hoping to find my next course of action, to create out of my experience, and, to express what an amazing adventure this has been--a human one, full of wonder and struggle.
Appreciating my own participation in the midst of champions, experiencing a small glimpse into how it feels to do what they do.
In awe of their camaraderie, their good will, and the love they spread and give to each other.
Glowing from the radiance, the energy, the highest vibrations.
This event is the first U.S. World Championship tower race. The best of the best climb.
They know something on a visceral level, having pushed their bodies beyond what mentally seems possible, competing having worked so long and hard toward this day. They've laid it on the line--on the ascent, in the stairwell. They come out at the top, first into spent oblivion, then rising back into the room--the tower-top experience of breathing the same air. Almost magical energy courses through each one...the auras of all this energy overlapping, intermingling, filling the finite spaces and permeating the infinite.
They look into each other's eyes and see the reflection of their own journey...for a moment, for an hour, for the rest of the day. They understand connection and awe. They call each other step-brothers and step-sisters. It's a family.
A family that works together--whether as a Forensic Examiner in Sacramento or an Environmental Scientist in Schaumberg, a Motivational Speaker in Mexico, or a high-rise dweller in New York City, a country road runner in Indiana, or an Investment Analyst in Seattle--they continually work preparing their bodies for this ultimate workout. This race up towers, beyond what the average person can even comprehend, and they each find a unique path... but bottom line, it's work.
125 mile daily bike rides in Texas, or 90-second highest elevation intensity runs in Washington, or training individuals and groups all day long, every day in Chicago, this family works, many miles apart...together.
The strength, endurance, speed and intensity in this presence of physical preparedness, and in the execution of this race up the Stratosphere (top 10 results between 7:16 and 8:40) is matched with emotional strength, endurance, and intensity--allowed, even demanded by this shared experience, as well as certainly by a massive release of endorphins!
When I first started stairclimbing, I simply wanted to survive the climb to the finish, make it to the top and never quit.
Through nine tower races over a two year period, I did just that. But with each one, I wanted something more. Early on I wanted speed, before I was ready. I took off sprinting for 10 floors, then paid the price the remainder of the climb and afterward. Then I wanted recognition--to be first in my age group. Miraculously I ended up in that #1 position at a race in which the timers lost my time, then found it again. It was probably an error, because I wasn't really ready for first place yet. Then I wanted to experience the steepest, most difficult, highest climb--Willis Tower--and I did, with Jesse's non-judgemental support following me all the way to the top.
The second year I wanted to improve all my times. I climbed with music and without, with splits written on my arm and without, with family and friends waiting at the top and without, in town and out of town, overweight and closer to the right weight. I improved and learned what to expect, techniques sometimes executed perfectly and sometimes not.
I learned I can climb 90 more floors once I've reached my maximum heart rate. I can push myself to keep going, though I think I can't.
This year I shaved 2:10 off my time at the Stratosphere, 4:75 off my Hancock time, and 5:14 off my Aon Center time.
Catching my breath, resting at the top of the Stratosphere while talking with Jesse, one by one his step-brothers come over to talk to him.
One asks Jesse and the others to pose for a picture with him before he has to go catch his plane to NY. They eagerly join him, shoulder to shoulder, readying for the camera. I 'm close by, so I quickly move out of picture-range so he can get his shot...when he says, "No, you stay here in the picture too."
I shake my head, moving further out of range, and yet he insists I join them. So I do.
I experience a brief moment with this family of competitive stair racers, I'll always remember. There I stand with four stairclimbing warriors, sharing the incredible energy, ever learning a little bit more about love and joy's infinite capacity.
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| Cheryl, Jesse, David, Steve, David |
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