I hated the wall. I couldn’t climb even the easiest face. My friend Susannah climbed the walls with great ease, her nimble limbs flying. She maneuvered around one baseball-sized, prosthetic rock with a "backwards heel hook." She faltered near the top and Craig lowered her. She landed with a thud, spraying cedar and pine woodchips around my ankles.
     "Your turn." She panted. The weight of my impending failure made my shoulders sag. I walked towards the wall, heels dragging.
     "On belay." I said shakily.
     "Belay’s on." Ian said.
     "Climbing."
     "Climb away!"
     This isn’t too bad, I thought as I slipped and fell off the wall. I paused for a minute with my head drooping. I hung two feet from the ground. Ian lowered me slowly.
     "You can do it, Picinich," his thick English accent encouraged.
     I leaped onto the wall, imagining I had become Susannah. I fell and Ian lowered me again.
     "Last try."
     "OK."
     I climbed. My mind became a blank sheet of paper, waiting for someone to create a masterpiece. Before I knew it, I found myself only a few rocks away from my goal. I reached over the top and pulled myself to victory. Looking around, I howled triumphantly.

     Three weeks later, I heard Ian talking about what he would always remember from that summer. At the end of the list he added, with a quick wink in my direction, "Kadi Picinich redefining success when she reached the top of the climbing wall and screamed so everyone within earshot knew what she had done."