We were unable to get a Burning Question answer from Regan (rumors are that she's deep in the woods hanging with rock stars).

So, during lunch break I point the question at an old lady sitting at the bus stop in front of the Stoodio 32 offices.

"I'm sorry son, what was your question?"

I repeat the question. Slower.

"Well, that's obvious."

Awesome. I honestly didn't think you'd have an opinion.

"Of course... I'm sorry son, what was your question?"

A little confused, I ask the question again. Even slower.

"Well, that's a pretty straight forward... I'm sorry son, what was your question?"

Starting to catch on, I ask her how long she's been waiting for the bus.

"Well, that should be obvious... I'm sorry son, what was your question?"
Climbing Rocks

REGAN KENNEDY ISN'T A PHENOM. She didn't start climbing at an early age, and hasn't been an athlete since high school. She isn't the strongest climber in the world, or in the country, or maybe even in the room. She isn't low maintenance. An hour and a half in the bathroom to straighten her already straight four-inch pixie cut - and the ubiquitous scent of flowers - attest to that. She isn't demure, being known to declare that she has the physique of a twelve-year-old boy. A hot one. But that's just it. Gunner, as her friends call her, has never really been defined by what she isn't. Instead, she sits atop a long list of is. 

Almost two and a half years ago, Regan Kennedy was invited to an indoor rock climbing gym for the very first time. An exchange student in her lab coerced her to join him, and quite literally showed her the ropes. Her last participation in a sport had been in the 11th grade. Fast forward ten years, a decade of education: a B.S., a master's in Plant Cell Biology, acceptances to five PhD programs, and suddenly this teacher was again the voracious student. In her life's timeline, there was also a BC - Before Climbing. "I took everything more seriously,” She remembers. “My eating and my health and my fitness -- and it was all about 'How can I get better at this? This is amazing.’”

At 29 years young, she has a 9-year-old daughter named Brooklyn who she often sees through an open adoption -- "her mother is like my sister." Since her first climb, she’s gone from instructing Biology at the University of Saskatchewan to working at her local climbing gym, and, only two years in, has climbed 5.13a. Many climb for a lifetime without bagging a route this hard. For the uninitiated, Spiderman and levitation come to mind. The fact that she's female rarefies her accomplishment all the more. These feats and her commitment to the climbing community explain her multiple sponsorships from established companies, despite her newness to the sport. "When you first start,” She recalls, “You see people climbing grades or lines that you just think are amazing and you're convinced that you're never going to touch anything like that in your life." She looks at me."And then you say, 'Let's do this.'" Everything is a driving force to push her climbing further. Right now, there is nothing more important. 
I meet Regan in the middle of the Bluegrass State, surrounded by alien, unearthly beauty.

The Red River Gorge, or the Red, boasts vastly overhanging cliffs of hardened sandstone, world renowned for its unusual formations and beautiful lines. Almost all of the climbs here are bolted, meaning large, swinging falls are relatively safe, and almost inevitable. The cliffs are so tall and steep that climbers rope up all day in pouring rain, bone dry. Until the deluge on the hike back to the car.   

This promises to be three full days sliced from a two month long trip, a whirlwind tryst in the timeline of a climber. For weeks and sometimes months at a time, this particular breed of human will migrate to starkly vertical parts of the world to participate in a ritual they consider their lifeblood, their raison d'etre. Regan explains, "You don't go out and drink every night with your friends. Instead you're going to the gym on Friday nights, climbing with your climbing friends."

Surprisingly, these literal hangers-on come in all shapes and sizes, though the hardiest and the most accomplished are usually denoted by their anatomically protuberant back musculature, prodigious lack of body fat, and what they like to call their positive Ape Index -- that is, the disproportionately long length of their arms in relation to their body height. Abilities to open salsa jars, no matter how stubborn, come standard.? 

A note about climbing in all its forms: To say there's only one kind of rock climbing would be to say that there's only one kind of movie. While the medium is the same, the expression can be wildly different, in timeline, equipment, in movement. It's universally a delicate dance with the rock and the line, the subtle combination of yoga, sudoku, running, flying. All seem to tap into that primal drive to feel one with the world, reducing you down to just your movement, your breathing, the rock, the moments etched in time when all feels right.
We arrive at night, and sleep fitfully in our own domiciles, taking advantage of rental car and tent alike. The morning is brightly apparent, and reminds one of how people used to wake up in the world, before alarm clocks and rush hours. Breakfast complexity is proportionate to motivation, and the word "instant" in front of "oats" assures that it is a daily staple. Tasty Chocolate #9's sponsor samples are quickly promoted to favorite oatmeal topping.

Coming off of rest days in the city, Regan is fresh and eager to rejoin the party, looking to tick the routes on her mental checklist. But even as she and her friends are eager, Canadians all of them with grand aspirations for the epic trip ahead, we all start together. A spot is agreed upon for warming up, harnesses happily donned to give one another a catch on the rope.

At the wall, there's no such thing as trash talk. Whether warming up on a straightforward 5.8 or running laps on the day's 12b project, each move is met with approval and encouragement. When I mention this later, Regan replies, "You're not competing against each other, you're just competing against yourselves." A share and share alike mentality is so pervasive that we've all used each other's ropes and gear by the end of the first day. It's so commonplace that climbers routinely label their gear with colored tape, so they can re-sort it all at the end of the day.

An outsider might be surprised at this sort of instant community, but all climbers share the same risks, and literally rely upon one another, moment by moment, to stay alive. Everyone bonds as they literally tie their lives together; this is how relationships are formed. You've put your life in someone's hands before you've even learned their name. Asked about the people she’s met since she climbed her first rock, Regan comments, "My climbing friendships are only two years old, but they're some of my deepest friendships. And whether two years or two days, your life is in their hands, you both share a passion for something, and you work hard together."

Most of this particular day is spent reacquainting with the rock. I flash-pump my forearms on one hard climb and am immediately unable to open my camera's battery cover, much less hang on a hold. Photographs of the beauty become pastime. Regan sends some, leaves some for later, a typical frustrating first day back. She's used to it. "The rock doesn't forgive,” She offers later. “Every time I take a break or if I get injured, it's always a journey back.  But I always learn something new."
Regan learned the ropes by pulling down on plastic at her local indoor climbing wall--the nearest suitable crag was in Canmore, a five hour (one-way) drive away. The gym included its own benefits--the roof and heat in the winter months made it the spot for literally hanging around--but most importantly, it was the hub of a small and tightly knit local climbing community. She started relatively late to progress so quickly, but it became evident that it was all just perfect timing.  

The next day, Regan insists on taking me climbing elsewhere, knowing that I cannot match the difficulty grades that her friends and she were working on the day before. Part of it is polite Canadianese, but much of it is inherent in the sport. We spend time relaxing on easier routes, reveling in the luxury of a lifestyle so simple, so pure. We have a photoshoot for the sponsors, taking advantage of every opportunity. Later in the day, I learn how to ascend a rope to hang from it, allowing me to take photos from above. Hanging in place is by far the hardest workout of the whole trip. 

Each morning, the trees are more brilliantly glowing shades of red and gold, contrasting the undulating grey shadows of the overhanging rock. My last morning is particularly spectacular; the sun has come out. The previous day at the crag, people without ropes and packs were a reminder that some people actually come to places like this just to see them, and we feel fortunate for getting to play within and upon.

After a few final adventures out exploring the woods and rocks, I’m giving Regan a ride to camp before heading to the Louisville airport. From there, home. We meander back, stopping for pizza, the conversation lively. This is more words than we’ve spoken the entire trip. Climbing is a sport of doing, not talking, the shared silence beautiful. I ask her one last question as she’s getting out of the car.

"Do you ever just shake your head at that girl from 3 years ago?"

"YES.

“And I shake my head too at…what's more astonishing to me is how FULL the last two years of my life have been. How many trips I've ken, how much I've seen, the goals I've been able to accomplish in climbing, the amount of people that you meet. It's amazing. Totally amazing. I feel so lucky.”

She pauses for a beat, and finishes, “If I get injured and stop climbing tomorrow, my life has been very full. I've been lucky to be able to do…basically whatever I want."