YOU can only marvel at the scale of Kendal’s Climbing Wall. The 25m wall – the tallest in England – is towering. I got neck ache from staring at the top.

Fearless enthusiasts traversed it like monkeys. I told myself I would have a go, but my ambition stalled through minor fear.

It wasn’t terror – I was fairly confident I would not die. I just...didn’t fancy facing it right now. I told myself I would go tomorrow.

Eventually, put off by a low-grade background concern, my ‘tomorrow’ became two years later.

Tiny fears are epidemic and usually don’t matter. However, a lot of these get in the way of things that, secretly, you would love to do.

They might stop you trying new foods (what if I don’t like it?). They could prevent you visiting new places (what if I get lost?). They could put you off taking on new challenges (what if I’m not good enough?).

And they do all this without being obvious to anyone except you. It wouldn’t matter if I never went climbing – except I would have lived a little bit less.

I read a novel, quiet recently, called Eat Pray Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert. It’s a bit hippie, and Julia Roberts ensured that I hated the film, but parts of the book were inspiring.

The autobiography focused on Elizabeth, her adventures abroad and her struggle to make herself a stronger person.

In Italy, she picked up the phrase ‘Devo farmi le ossa’, which means ‘I need to make my bones’ – or ‘I need to do it for my strength’.

Sometimes, I think you need to do frightening things to cultivate this strength. Instead of correcting dodgy posture in life, or a pot belly, this tones up a wimpy mind.

So I went climbing. And almost from the second I started up the wall I knew that I loved it.

Apparently, I’m a natural. Probably not quite as adept as a monkey, but I reckon I’d make a pretty good squirrel.

I went home two inches taller, with a big smile and, although you can’t see it, bones that were ever so slightly stronger.