Free Leverage by Joshua C. Cohen Page A

for the moment.
    â€œOkay, that settles it.” Miller comes over. “Looks like you’re legit. But don’t let it go to your head.”
    â€œI won’t,” I say.
    â€œNow get ready to party,” Scott says, pulling out his mouth guard, “because tonight we’re kings.”

11
    DANNY
    G uys, you may think you’re alone out there, but you’re not,” Coach Nelson says from twenty feet up the rock climbing wall. It’s on the north side of the gymnasium and Coach Nelson built it before I attended school here. He basically drilled and bolted hundreds of pieces of rock chunks to the brick wall to create foot- and handholds to simulate a cliff face for climbing practice. It goes all the way up to the rafters, thirty-five feet high. He offers a class in the summer to all students, but because we gymnasts have the inside connection and we’re naturally good at climbing, he lets us climb the wall for fun a few times during the season and then takes us on a camping trip for real climbing in July.
    â€œThey say gymnastics and rock climbing are individual sports but I don’t believe that for a second,” Coach Nelson continues. He’s dangling by one foothold and one handhold, letting the other side of his body swivel out into space while he looks down at us. “No man is an island,” he says. “Do you know who wrote that?” he asks. While we chew on the question, Coach Nelson turns back to the wall and expertly scurries over and up another four feet. The harness clipped around his waist and thighs connects to two ropes that ripple as he moves. The ropes go up into the rafters through bolted pulleys and drop down to the floor, where Bruce is holding them. Bruce tracks Coach Nelson’s ascent with a lifeguard’s watchfulness.
    Coach Nelson now dangles from only one small rock handhold, his Popeye forearm flexing as three fingers form a claw attaching him to the wall. He swings a leg and catches a small rock chunk with his toe, then holds the position like he’s been spattered by a giant flyswatter.
    â€œIt’s tempting to pretend you don’t need anyone else, that your work and your score are yours alone,” Coach calls down to us. “You pretend if you do poorly, you only hurt yourself, and if you do well, the glory is all yours.” Coach Nelson grapples with a few smaller chunks bolted into the wall, then reaches with an outstretched hand for a piece of round stone that is beyond his splayed fingertips. No way is he going to grab it—and then somehow he does and pulls himself another two feet higher. He’s almost at the top now. “But glory is no fun if, when you look around, you have no one to share it with,” he calls down to us. “Make no mistake, gymnastics is a team sport. We count on each other in this gym: to spot each other on tricks, to offer advice and guidance on better technique, to push each other to do an extra strength set, to lead by example. The judges count the three best scores, not just your score. Remember that.”
    I glance around at my teammates and every set of eyes follows Coach Nelson as he makes his way upward. Some guys sit on the thick vaulting mats, some stand, some work on their hamstrings and straddle stretch, but all faces tilt up to watch Coach Nelson’s progress. Since everyone but Ronnie and Pete—the two freshmen—have attempted the wall climb, we know how impossible it is to do what Coach Nelson makes look so easy. Only Bruce has made it all the way since I’ve been on the team.
    A small bell jingles.
    â€œMost importantly,” Coach Nelson calls down from the top of the wall, where his outstretched hand flicks the dinner bell attached to the rafter—good for a free KFC meal with Coach if any of us can repeat the performance—“you need your teammates to be around when you need help because just when you think you’ve conquered the