I dub this The Winter of the Ill Technique.

Even indoors, this is a beautiful, exciting climbing season.

Everything is new and exhilarating. I have so much to learn, every day is filled with endless possibility for improvement. That is that is one of the sweetest aspects of climbing no matter the climber’s level of mastery. But the chasm of my ignorance is so vast that every pearl of wisdom gleams supremely illuminating.

Slowly, my awkwardness fades. I used to be so tense that I sometimes slipped out of sheer nervousness. I have moved past the point of desperately clinging just to stay upright. Now I can bust a few moves that I find divinely elegant when I watch other people execute them. My movements have become less strained, more instinctive. When I flag correctly, it’s as comfortable as sitting on my couch watching TV. But infinitely more rewarding.

Fumbling through exercises awkwardly, my lack of climbing ego serves me. If I were ashamed to look like a noob, I would be mortified from the beginning to the end of my practice. However, it’s more likely that the people who watch me end up being embarrassed.

Like a few days ago, I was doing the climbing blind exercise, tentatively groping for holds as I ascended with my eyes closed. (“The Self-Coached Climber” suggests a blindfold, but closing my eyes is simpler.) When I reached the top of the wall, I felt stares boring into me. I opened my eyes and turned around. The two people staring up at me could not hide their shock.

The lady quickly ducked behind the bouldering wall, apparently embarrassed to get caught staring. But her friend lingered as I downclimbed (eyes open).

“Were you climbing with your eyes closed?” he asked when I reached the floor.

“It’s an exercise from my book,” I said.

“My friend said ‘She’s blind!’ ” he said. “Then you turned around and looked at us.”

“Miracles happen climbing,” I said.

For more from Sarah Jane Alexander visit her website: time2climb.com