Lift Off

A conversion to climbing takes Meaghen Brown to new heights of fitness.

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Let me tell you about my back. Or, more to the point, the deltoid muscles that jut from my shoulders like a pair of superfine arrowheads. And then there are my triceps. I’m still nowhere near the realm of Michelle Obama (who is?), but it’s hard to summon the desire to hide my newly toned arms in any of this fall’s oversize cashmere sweaters.

I owe it all to my sudden love of indoor climbing. Until not long ago, I’d been happy with a daily combination of yoga and trail running, a one-two punch that kept my mood and body in check. In Santa Fe, where I live, climbing is a way of life, and everybody seems to be supplementing days at the crag with visits to the climbing gym. I’d read enough Jon Krakauer to know that an activity designed to mimic suffering atop an icy peak was not my thing. After a long campaign, my boyfriend, Matthew, finally got me to join him at the gym when his belay partner (the person on the ground at the other end of a climbing rope) was sidelined with a broken finger. “Just this one time,” I agreed.