by Kathy Philpott

Created on: November 04, 2009

My motives for learning to rock climb at fifty years old, were not based on a yearning for adventure or risk. The lust filled fact was that I had a school girl crush on a climbing guide. Up till then my only crushes had been on Bill Russell, Henry Kissinger and Steve Martin. The object of my new crushes name was Jack.

I had seen him in the audience one night during the run of my one woman show. He was hard to miss. Sitting in the front row adorned with a shock of silver hair and smile lighting up a handsome, weathered face, I was entranced.

Several days later, he showed up at my day job at a high end print shop. Suddenly, I lost all the confidence I was blessed with on stage and came down with a severe case of the stupids. My stammering and red face perplexed me. No amount of deep breathing could stop my heart from racing as I tried to appear professional.

I tried to avoid him when he came into the shop as the days went by. Although we had several good conversations, I found my feelings outside my comfort zone. Finally one day, I confessed that I was a little uncomfortable around him because I found him very attractive. In a polite way he said that he was flattered and then left the shop. The exit had been so abrupt, I was certain he threw up on his way to his car.

A week later he walked into the shop with an envelope for me. He leaned over the counter and whispered in my ear, Please say yes.

He had invited my daughter Claire and me to a day of rock climbing as his guests. The only day I had off was Mother's Day. Claire and I decided it might be fun. We had no idea what was involved except it was free and a chance to enjoy beautiful spring weather in the Columbia Gorge.

We met Jack and several other young men at Lewis and Clark State Park early in the morning. We spent the next several hours getting familiar with the equipment. Safety was stressed and I marveled how Jack controlled the entire event. He was all business which I appreciated. The harness we had to wear was something out of an S & M movie (not that I had seen many). Wrapping the leather straps through my legs the harness created a less than flattering look.

The face we were going to climb looked more like a cliff than a friendly, small rock. I started thinking about all the dark, spider filled places I would have to put my hands if I really wanted to climb. Pondering this problem, Jack became less and less attractive to me. The risk of falling several hundred feet did not seem as terrifying

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