Around me, desperate people were falling while trying to reach the top. A horrific infernal hole? No, simply a climbing gym on a Sunday morning. Sitting on the matress ensuring safety in case of a fall, I took a break after two hours of intense climbing. The chalk emitted an alcohol-like smell that blended with the scent of sweat, floating like an aroma of general determination. I could see on each hand the blister wounds covered in white chalk, on each arm marks of past impacts and burns, and on each face an expression of concentration and observation. Even though we were all in the same room, most seemed to be in their own bubble, battling against tiredness and muscle numbness. Others were analysing together the different ways to find the right path, attempting to put their original theories into practice. I often like to think that such people would never speak to each other if they crossed paths on the street, and it only took putting them in front of a vertical pathway for them to start thinking together about how they can find their very own way of moving forward. In the end, despite the faces marked with effort and often failure, I could truly feel people's profound happiness at being in such a soothing place.
