You love climbing. You love the approach. Tie in your safety knot, and take a look at the wall. The grade--tough but well within your range. So you slip into your shoes, and brush your fingers against the rock, getting familiar with the surface, seeking those first few elusive holds. Then you pull up and take that first step off the ground. Don't look back. Don't look down.
The first several holds are a bit awkward as you struggle to get used to the route. As you climb higher, it gets better and better. You're high enough up that you know a fall now won't be fatal. You get a feel for the moves. Goddamn, you think, this line is fuckin' rad! It may be the best route you've ever been on. And you love it.
Hard enough to keep it interesting, you reach each bolt with excitement. Any bit of nervousness dashed as you find that deep hold and reach down to clip your rope. Safe again! Shake 'em out. Stay fresh. You want the line to go on forever. You love this route. Your fingers get so familiar with the intricate crimpers and tiny pockets. It's like it was made just for you. Clipping!
As you get higher, you feel stronger. You start to dream of sending--all the way with no falls. But just as you start to think that, you feel a pump coming on. Ignore it. Continue up. Don't check your rope drag. Don't estimate how far past your last bolt you are. Keep climbing.
Grasp the hold and squeeze! The next bolt is just up there. One more move. Forearms start quaking. Latch your thumb and fingerlock. You can do it. Pull. Look for foot holds. Don't give up. Don't look down. Must clip that bolt! Losing grip. No! Stay on, goddamnit! Fingers start opening of their own accord. Adjust your hold. Slipping--no! It's right there. Oh God, how high up are you? Don't think like that! Go for the hold! Errggghh. Rational thought vanishes. Ahggh. Evvvhh. Stay strong. Ffffff.
Falling! you blurt.
You lose your grip and plummet. Wind whistles in your ears. Hands instinctively flail. As death rushes up at 9.8 m/s, suddenly you're caught up short, and your feet slam against the wall. You look skyward. Fifteen feet up is your bolt, pointed out by your taught rope. Now what? You've lost the onsight. Are you too tired? Will you ever see the route the same again? Try to shake off the defeated feeling.
Climbing! you call. Time to move on.