After going through treatment for cancer, Gemma Powell tried bouldering as a way to regain her physical strength. Climbing at TCH Plymouth, she learned that bouldering is a gateway to so much more, and it has now become an integral part of her life. Gemma shared her story with us, and the lessons she has taken away from the wall.
Gemma's Story
On December 23rd 2023, the world as I knew it crumbled beneath my feet. Two weeks earlier, at the age of thirty-three, I had practically skipped into an appointment at a breast clinic alone, naively believing that cancer was something that happened to other people. I don't actually remember the words the doctor used when they told me my test results; I just remember the sigh before they spoke, which told me all I needed to know.
Over the following months, it felt like I slowly lost the pieces which made me, my role as a wife and mother, my job as a NICU nurse, my love for the sea. In their place were my various responsibilities as a 'cancer patient': the seemingly endless tests, scans, and medicines. My goal in life had shifted from living, to staying alive, and every day felt like an uphill climb.
Fast forward nine months to the end of active treatment, and I found myself feeling lost all over again. My days were now empty, my body was weak, and my mind overwhelmed. I found myself scrambling to find those lost pieces in an attempt to put myself back together. That’s when I found bouldering.
The Power of Little Victories
Healing doesn’t happen all at once - sometimes the progress can be so slow that it's difficult to recognise at first. By the time I’d finished active treatment, I was feeling completely let down by my body. The thought of being able to get to the top of even the simplest climb felt like an impossibility, and I almost gave up on the idea of bouldering before I’d even started. But then came a crucial shift in my recovery mindset; I learned to appreciate the little victories. In bouldering, little victories are everything. They’re the moments when you reach a hold that you couldn’t before, the times that you manage to stay on the wall for a few seconds longer, or the feeling of figuring out a particularly tricky move. They represent resilience. I was no longer focused on the things I had lost; my hair, my strength, my energy - but instead on these small moments of progress. Every handhold I reached, and each climb that I topped, reminded me that I was still capable, and was a welcome contrast to the helplessness that I had felt during my cancer treatment. This now serves as a regular reminder that in life, progress is progress, regardless of how slow it may feel at the time.
Staying Grounded in the Present
Cancer forces you to confront the uncertainty of life, and it’s easy to spiral into fear and anxiety about the future. For me, a switch was flipped, and the question 'what if this is the last time?' was one I asked myself often. Throughout my treatment, on my good days, I would put a lot of pressure on myself and those around me to make things special and memorable "just in case," which ironically made things far less enjoyable, and so the spiral continued. Bouldering taught me the power of remaining grounded. When you're on the wall, every thought must focus on the present moment - your grip, your balance, and your next move. There’s no headspace to worry about the past, and in those early sessions, it was difficult enough to plan my route ahead, let alone think about the impact of my diagnosis. This intense focus became a way for me to quiet my mind and was an unexpected form of therapy.
Listening to Your Body
When I first decided to try bouldering during my recovery, I simply thought it would help me regain some physical strength. The chemo had left me virtually bed-bound at times, and after 4 months of treatment I was struggling with once-simple physical tasks like walking my children to school or doing the housework. I resented this feeling of weakness and was determined to do something to change that. I soon realised that bouldering would give me much more than this, as I stood there in awe watching people climb in those first sessions. Their movements felt akin to those of ballet dancers, and I understood that there is a significant difference between being able to physically power your way to the top of a climb and being able to do so with complete control over your body. In learning to climb, I needed to be aware of my body in a way that I hadn't been before. I learnt how to keep myself balanced and how to coordinate my movement in order to maintain that level of balance. I focused on how my muscles felt and how my joints moved, as well as how to adapt when things didn’t go as planned. Of course this was also accompanied by an increase in physical strength, but more importantly, I had learned to listen to my body. The physical recovery from cancer often feels slow, and it's easy to become frustrated by this, trying to push limitations until exhaustion sets in and you're back at square one. Bouldering enabled me to gradually challenge my body at my own pace, improving my endurance, control, and flexibility while respecting its limits. It is a sport like no other in this sense. The goals you set are personal ones, and the progression through levels of difficulty is guided only by yourself.
The Community That Surrounds You
One of the most unexpected gifts of bouldering was the sense of community. People often refer to having cancer as like being in the club that no one wants to be in, and that's just how it feels. What I wasn't prepared for is that with the end of treatment comes the end of that club too, and while it might not have been my club of choice, there is a powerful sense of emotional connection between its members. Climbing centres are filled with supportive, like-minded
people who are all on their own individual journeys. They're united by a shared love of the sport, and during my recovery, I found comfort in their encouragement and understanding. When I first started bouldering, it was visible to most that I had been through cancer treatment, but it was never mentioned, and I was never pitied. If I was struggling with progression on a climb, I was encouraged and cheered on from the ground in the same way that I supported others. The climbing community is built on this support, and this new sense of belonging was a safe space during the difficult moments of my recovery. It reminded me that I wasn’t alone in the challenges of life, and it was the first place I was brave enough to publicly uncover my head since losing my hair, which for me says an awful lot.
Bouldering has taught me so much about life that I’ll carry forever:
• Celebrate the little victories. Whether it’s topping a climb or simply getting out of bed on a day when you feel like you can't, every step forward counts.
• Stay grounded in the present. What's happened has already happened, and you'll be better prepared to deal with what's to come if you've taken some time to enjoy the now.
• Listen to your body. Pay attention to how you're physically feeling and respect that. Some days you'll feel like you can climb mountains, and other days you'll feel like you just need sleep. Don't feel frustrated by a need for rest.
• Find your community. Support makes every challenge more bearable, so surround yourself with people who lift you up.
Climbing Forward
Bouldering will now always be an integral part of my life. It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come and a symbol of the resilience I’ve discovered within myself. Cancer may have been the hardest personal climb that I’ve faced, but bouldering has shown me that nothing is beyond my reach. For anyone going through their own struggles, my advice would be to find your version of the climb - a pursuit that challenges, heals, and empowers you. Life is full of walls, but the most important thing is to keep moving upward, one hold at a time.
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