The June 2025 Writing Contest asked writers to describe the most important move of their lives in 500 words or less. The following submission won fourth place and a one-year Outside Digital subscription.
My one move wasn’t a move at all—it was staying still. I was standing on a narrow ledge at the top of a pitch in the Shawangunks, clipped to an anchor, holding a video camera. I was there to film Genuine Climbing’s first-ever climbing retreat for cancer survivors, and I was looking through my viewfinder at the perfect shot. The move now was to not blow it.
Coming up the wall was Gabby, a young woman with a fear of heights that was currently on a low dose-chemo cycle. Gabby was frozen three-quarters of the way up the wall battling fear, inexperience, and a year of crippling chemo treatments. Through my lens just in front of me I could see Anyssa, the founder of Genuine Climbing, leaning over the edge and encouraging Gabby, calmly coaching her through the final 15 feet.
It was the kind of moment you hope for as a filmmaker—the characters, the emotions, the moment. Gabby, struggling but determined, and Anyssa, a cancer survivor herself, cheering her on. I remember thinking, this could be the end of the film. My mind was racing. Why had I chosen a manual focus lens today? Would autofocus have been safer? What if the sun comes out and blows the exposure? Was the audio set to a good level?
When Anyssa first invited me to film her retreat, I was honored, but unsure. She had seen a short film I’d made called Five Dot Fun, and believed I was the right person for the job. Still, I hesitated. It was an all-women’s retreat, and I wasn’t sure how I’d fit in. But my father, a climber himself, had recently passed from cancer, so this project felt personal. I prepared for the shoot.
On the first day of the retreat the women sat together and described their experiences with cancer, and I knew I was the right person for the job. “I’ve never been in a place with so many people that understand,” Sarah said, and I too, understood. The ability to be together without having to explain what going through cancer was like was a relief—an automatic empathy that allowed for deep and immediate connections between the women. The shared activity of climbing made conversing easy and natural.
Gabby’s hand slapped around the rock to a chorus of encouragement from Anyssa above and the other women below. Finally, she found a hold and pulled herself up onto the ledge. The sun stayed behind the clouds, and not three feet from me the two survivors embraced, sharing a hug and a cry over everything that that climb represented. Earlier that year Gabby had been trapped in her room, too weak to walk outside, and now she was standing on top of a mountain. Through blurred eyes, I tried to keep the shot in focus, thinking to myself that the three of us would remember this move for the rest of our lives.
Read more winning essays from the June 2025 Writing Contest at the contest results page.
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