9 minute read
FROM CRAGS TO CRADLES: EMBRACING THE CLIMBER-MOM LIFE
by Kate Scanlan
For the last decade-plus, when anyone asked me what I do, my answer came easily: I’m a climber. At some point I might also mention that I’m a physical therapist, I’m from Chicago, I’m a sister, and own a dog. But for the majority of my adult life, climbing has defined my personality. It’s reflected in my social circle, in my part-time work schedule, and in my choice of home city. Climbing is my worldview, my way of life.
And then there’s this other thing: for as long as I can remember I have wanted to have kids. That feeling, too, was strong— until a break-up and a cross-country move from Chicago to Portland left me second-guessing if having kids would happen for me. In Portland, largely thanks to the Mazamas, I became friends with people decades older and younger than me, including many who were childless by choice and were living immensely fulfilling lives. Maybe that could be my life, too. I grew a routine of annual trips to Indian Creek and Squamish, and spent weekends at Index, Smith Rock, and local crags. It felt like I had found my best life. Maybe I didn’t want kids after all.
In 2019, I met my husband, John. We loved getting outside together. We were married in 2021, and honeymooned in our truck camper, climbing across the country for two months, followed by surfing in Costa Rica and Morocco. Life was great!
When we talked about kids, John was 50/50 and I was now 60/40. Would we be able to travel and climb and surf and ski if we had a baby? Could we give up a piece of this beautiful life we had built to make room for a child?
As we began to consider the question, trad dad after trad dad told us “Of course you can keep climbing! Look at me!” John was comforted by their answers. Each time I asked “Does your wife climb?” the answer, inevitably, was “No, not really.” I became exasperated. I take pride in being a female climber who mostly climbs with other women, especially in the alpine. In a continued on next page. sport where men outnumber women 2:1, I feel empowered by climbing with women. Where were the trad moms?
We occasionally met climber families out with small children. Watching them, we learned climbing with kids took a will of steel, come hell or toddler meltdown. Could we do it? John sweetly promised that if we couldn’t, then I could be the climber in the family. That raised new questions. Was it wrong to put my joy above his? What kind of mother would that make me? Aren’t mothers supposed to be selfless?
After many conversations, we decided to go for it. We kept the pregnancy private until after the first trimester. My narrow, self-imposed definition of climbing required leading, but I wasn’t sure if it was safe for me to lead while pregnant. There is very little research on pregnancy and exercise and certainly none on climbing fall factors and their effect on fetuses. I didn’t feel comfortable falling but felt I couldn’t stop leading with my regular partners until they knew about the pregnancy. So, with John, I mostly top-roped but with other partners I dropped my leading grade, told them I was climbing for mileage, and prayed my partner wouldn’t whip when I was belaying. I questioned my integrity in making this compromise but the need for normalcy and belonging in the face of a vast sea of change was too strong.
Once I got past the first trimester it was a joy to finally release my secret. I stopped leading, but continued to refuse to wear a pregnancy harness—it wasn’t comfortable, and its impractical single-gear loop was laughable, especially when cleaning trad routes. As the pregnancy progressed and I slowed down, I started to feel like a burden to my climbing partners, or worse, often felt left out. Friends would blast the group chat “Who wants to lead tonight?” which to me read, “Anyone but Kate want to climb tonight?” On top of that was the challenge of watching my body change. As a teen, I was brainwashed into believing a twiglike body was best. But climbing changed my relationship with my body—I thought as long as my body was strong it was good. Now that well-honed instrument was growing into a body I didn’t recognize, and I began to hate it, and hate John because his body wasn’t changing.
On the flip side, there were friends who slowed their pace on hikes to ensure I didn’t feel like a burden, and friends who put up climbs easy enough for me to do when my abs no longer functioned. There were also the friends who went on a final babymoon climbing trip with me, who carried all my gear and did all the belaying so I could be more comfortable. At the Advanced Rock graduation party that spring I saw an old climbing friend I hadn’t seen in years. Seeing my enormous eightmonth-pregnant belly, he lit up and told me I looked beautiful. At that time, it felt like one of the kindest things anyone had ever said to me. Rarely have I felt so loved as these friends made me feel, and I will never forget their inclusivity and kindness.
I became a mom on June 25, 2023, at 5:21 a.m. as the sun was rising. Due to a wicked combo of a COVID-19 infection and a hemorrhage, recovery was harder than I anticipated. While I climbed up until the week I gave birth, it took three weeks before I could get on the easiest routes at the gym, and even that required breaks and left me breathless. Looking around, the only climber mom role model I saw was professional climber Emily Harrington. She had a child around the same time as I, but she ski-toured at two weeks postpartum. Was I failing already? I still defined myself by the grade and amount I climbed. Isn’t that what we as climbers so often (foolishly) do?
I started making timelines of when I needed to be back to before-pregnancy shape.
During parental leave, John and I would bring our son, Remy, to the gym at off times. Remy would happily sleep through it all. I still couldn’t help but wonder if I was a bad mom for bringing him there. What if he got germs? What if he inhaled too much chalk dust? Were other climbers judging us? I felt especially insecure if he began to fuss.
We took Remy to the crag for the first time at seven weeks. I was so stressed about sun exposure, temperature, diaper changes in the dirt, breastfeeding in front of our friends, and if a rock would fall and hit Remy... I top-roped one route and my friends held Remy—he was happy, and I was mentally drained. It felt like a big victory just being there, but I could hardly think of climbing. I questioned if it was worth it.
We continued to try to climb as a family but generally couldn’t get in more than a route or two. When Remy was nine months old, we juggled endless logistics to book a family trip to Red Rocks, outside Las Vegas. The weather looked good, we were meeting a bunch of our friends, and my parents would come watch Remy so John and I could finally climb together. Ultimately though, we had to cancel. I was beyond bummed out. After listening to me complain, my good friend Angie heard me out and planned a Red Rocks weekend trip, including finding me a partner. I balked. Should I go? Was it fair of me to leave John alone with Remy so I could climb? Was I a bad mom? John and Angie reassured me.
Getting on the plane, I was nervous about my rusty trad climbing skills and worried I wasn’t in shape and couldn’t keep up. But from the second we landed in Las Vegas, I felt alive and stoked for the days ahead. I was doing what made me, me. Andrés, who I knew but hadn’t climbed with before, was the perfect partner for the trip (thank you Andrés!) We prioritized fun, hiked at moderate paces, and chatted the whole way. He let me talk through the challenges of being a parent, partner, and climber. I called Remy and John every morning and night and was equally excited to see them. The pressure I had felt—about what constitutes “real” climbing, about climbing defining me, about whether climbing made me a bad mom—began to relax. By giving myself room to do the thing I loved, I loved being a mom even more. And by being a mom, I didn’t have to let climbing determine my entire worth.
Making room for this new identity over the last year has been challenging and fraught with self-doubt. I can’t put everything into climbing anymore, so things have had to change, but mostly for the better. I’ve had to learn to be kinder to myself if I’m not training or climbing as hard as I would like—because I’m also teaching Remy to walk and how to go down the slide; and comforting him when he’s sick or devastated he can’t eat the dog’s food. While there are moments of FOMO (fear of missing out), climbing trips now feel ultra special. Their rarity makes each one a gift that I no longer take for granted. I don’t have the mental and emotional space for hard and scary routes. I focus on fun now, and I’m not bothered by being a toprope hero anymore. Motherhood has made me less afraid of what others might think, and I judge myself less harshly because there’s simply not room for it in my brain anymore as I juggle everything else. For that, I am so grateful.
And with the perspective of a year of motherhood, and a decade and a half of climbing, I can see this is all a phase anyway. I may climb more or less in the future, depending on how our family grows and Remy’s interests develop. And while I hope to someday swing leads in the mountains with Remy, I’ll be happy if he can find what makes him come alive like climbing does for me. Even if it’s not climbing.
