Climbing High: Mother, Daughter, Rope, Trust

Cindy stood barefoot, sleeves rolled up, belaying for our daughter An.
The route was one of the tallest in the gym, with an overhang that challenges even the strongest beginners.
The holds were black. The climb was long.
Muscles burn fast on a wall like that—especially after several days of practice.
At home, An’s arms and hands could barely hold anything. Still, she came back.

Her movements were steady. Her ponytail bounced. Her chalk bag swayed with every push.
And at the top, without a word, she smiled—calm, bright, unstoppable.
A smile we remember from her high school days in Toronto,
when she won on a global pageant stage.
But this time, it wasn’t about winning. It was about reaching.

And I, behind the camera, just said:
“Yeah, great job.”