Forced to free solo a slab, you get onto a crazy staircase of bars glued into the cliff. They are thin, and shaped like a “U” but in block-letter font. You move upwards slowly, clinging to each little bar, cursing yourself for forgetting your belay gloves perpetually, and gradually, the route becomes overhanging. Maybe 25 meters of the ground, it’s a perfect time to freak out, and try desperately to protect yourself with your quick draws on each rung. You get pumped because it’s heinous, slow down because you feel lost with this new task of clipping and unclipping yourself into rungs, adding more and more quickdraws into the equation, cruxing, you feel safe. Ten draws deep, you feel ridiculous. Your gear was not made for this. Its lucky your friends aren’t watching because they would say, laughing, “Ca-va ou bien?!” Thinking to yourself, it's gonna be all right, you take a deep breath. Bordel. Drained of all your power, you just say fuck it, unclip all the quickdraws, and when liberated, climb with all your technique and experience up the rungs. Your huge backpack pulls, ropes coiled around your head slide, and sweating under all your three layers of clothes, you realize: this could be the end.