Our instructors started off a recent fire fighting class by telling us to scale a ladder up the outside of a seven story building. This is supposed to get our blood pumping, and it was so successful that my heart was pounding healthfully even as I stood on the concrete outside the building looking up while I waited my turn.These tests are also useful in weeding out early anyone whose fears or limitations are incompatible with the demands of the job.

We lined up and watched as, one by one, each fellow trainee slowly ascended. Despite the bulk of their gear, they seemed impossibly exposed and precarious as they went up the thin metal ladder fixed to the side of the burn building. Three slats of metal ran parallel with the ladder, providing a margin of safety, but it seemed likely that anyone who lost their grip or freaked out could still fall. By virtue of how we had lined up at the beginning of the day, I would be the last to go up, and I watched the others with slight trepidation. Although I've never experienced an undue fear of heights, I had never done anything remotely like this before, much less with a lot of gear on. The thick boots and gloves dulled my sense of confidence that I could get an appropriate death grip on the ladder.

It wouldn't have surprised me at all if someone had made it up about five floors, begun to tire, had a stab of panic that they might fall off, and become incapacitated. But each one of my fellow trainees dutifully clambered up to the roof of the building. Some powered through it rapidly, determined to get it over with, while others adopted a more careful pace that emphasized keeping at least three limbs in contact with the ladder at all times. Some stopped for a moment part way up to catch their breath, but everyone made it.

So it was my turn. I felt a certain amount of selfish relief that everyone had made the roof without much difficulty -- had someone really gotten into trouble it might have shaken me up a bit. I pulled myself up on to the bottom rung and started climbing. I had decided I would not complicate things by scaring myself and looking down. Plenty of time for that on other ladders yet to come. So I just looked at the ladder in front of me and headed skyward.

Even at a decent pace, climbing seven floors takes a while. After about floor #4 found myself breathing heavily. Fortunately, I was able to concentrate on using a powerful and crucial technique, namely not falling off. The higher you go on the ladder, the more important it is to use this approach, but I recommend it for all ladders.

At that point, I believed that Hell might possibly consist of climbing an endless ladder. (Later fire fighting classes would suggest that Hell is more likely to consist of shouldering 60-pound packs of hose and hauling them up endless flights of stairs.) But suddenly the end of the ladder appeared in front of me, and I inelegantly hauled my bulk over a low wall and on to the roof. A quick look back was enough to remind me that seven floors is about twice as scary when you're looking down at it than when you're looking up. That fear too will need to be extinguished, but for the moment I felt like I was pretty tough.