The Purple Route on the Slanted Wall
At the climbing gym, every route on the low wall was marked with colored plastic holds, and the purple ones belonged to a problem that Vera had been trying for three weeks. The wall leaned outward like a roof, so each attempt ended the same way, with her fingers burning, her arms shaking. Her body dropping onto the thick foam pad below. On her twentieth fall she lay on her back, stared at the ceiling, and announced to nobody in particular that she was just not strong enough.
An older climber named Ansel, who had been chalking his hands nearby, glanced up and asked whether he could tell her what he had noticed. Vera nodded reluctantly. He pointed out that she kept trying to haul herself upward with her arms, and he suggested that if she put her right foot high on the second purple hold and pushed with her leg, her hips would move closer to the wall, and then the reach would not be far at all.
Vera got up and tried it. The move felt strange, because it meant trusting her foot more than her hands. Her first attempt failed, and so did her second, but on the third she placed her toe carefully on a small hold, pressed through her heel, and felt her body swing inward as though the wall had pulled her closer. Her hand closed around the next hold with room to spare, and she kept going, past the awkward middle and onto the last hold, which she touched with both hands to finish. A tiny cheer rose from the people stretching on the mats. Ansel grinned and told her that it was not strength, just a better plan for her feet.