LIFE, I’ve found, is nothing short of an obstacle course. Like the Krypton Factor, but with heartache in place of the rope swing. Some people, it seems, are born ready for the onslaught; their helmets pre-tightened, shin-guards in situ. For the rest of us, a little bit more groundwork is often required.

As an adult human, I’m not sure I was ever really fit for purpose. Or maybe I’ve just never found the purpose for which I’m fit. I’m the gold standard in making things look difficult, although it took me longer than most to achieve and the medal weighs heavily on my mind. It’s fair to say even Sunday morning is hard for this commodore. We all know those folk who make life seem effortless; who the world seems to bend around, when for others it would surely break. I’ve never been one of life’s gliders. Like most, my days are oiled with treacle, my night-times lined with crawl nets. But I’ve never really grudged the world that extra effort because obstacles, I reckon, don’t always have to be a hindrance. In fact, the view from the top of that pesky barrier can often be the most enlightening of all.

Don’t get me wrong, there are moments, fine, months, when motivation seriously fails me and even the slightest of molehills can blunt my crampons. But on a good day, I truly believe there’s nothing better than a stumbling block to bring new perspective: usually from the ground up. Maybe it would be less hassle if the world just opened its doors for me once in a while, but the effort of kicking those bad boys off their pesky hinges is just so much more satisfying in the long run. So imagine my delight – delightful, isn’t it? – when I was given the opportunity both to test my verve against real life obstacles and to visit a venue whose cool even fire can’t thaw.

If you prefer your rock with less roll, more structural integrity, Ice Factor in Kinlochleven is the bang your buck has been waiting for. Set up as the brain-baby of Jamie Smith in 2003, Ice Factor sprung up on the horizon between Glencoe and Ben Nevis, so is quite literally caught between a rock and a hard place. You know what they say though, if you can’t go to the mountain, bring the mountain to you – and that’s exactly the type of lateral thinking that Ice Factor provides for its patrons. Basically, they’re a big old climbing box for you to think your way outside of. Originally built on the site of the aluminium works that spawned Kinlochleven as an industrial village, the multi-million pound arena merges the indoors and outdoors in a way that even the talkies would envy. With the UK’s highest articulated overhanging rock climbing face and the biggest indoor ice climbing wall in the world, it’s no surprise that Ice Factor consistently ranks among the top 10 climbing centres internationally. What is a surprise though is that even extensive smoke damage can’t cloud its potential.

For the past eight months, Ice Factor’s freezer doors have been closed to its 100,000 yearly visitors, after a fire ravaged the 120-year-old building last July. But, never one to bow to the will of the elements, Jamie has turned the blaze into a glory, using the opportunity to improve the centre, which opened again yesterday with upgrades that will no doubt leave its regular patrons – notably the Glencoe Mountain Rescue Team and GB climbing squad – rappelling for joy. You don’t have to be Tenzing Norgay to find your way into the facility’s fan club though. Beginners can cling to the walls or storm the aerial assault course under full instruction, and even outdoor courses on nearby peaks are offered to budding Bear Grylls, if only al fresco will do. And, if you’d rather leave climbing to the shrubbery, there’s always the bar to be conquered – on the rocks doesn’t need to be quite so literal, you know.

On seeing the ice wall for the first time, I’ll admit, not just my extremities went cold. Parts of my anatomy, long shielded from the world’s cruel temperatures by the proceeds of cake and lethargy, chilled in sympathy at the sight of 400 tonnes of snow and ice.

All dressed up with nowhere to hide, I approached the wall in my helmet and ice boots. But there’s nothing quite like a complimentary bacon roll and three cups of tea to set a girl up for scaling Everest – or at least its indoor equivalent – and after a quick bathroom break, that’s exactly what I did. Well, not exactly, but I’m counting it as a conquest. And that, in no small part is down to the skill and patience of my lovely instructor, Serena.

My Ice Climb taster session – which normally costs £30 for a fully instructed 90 minutes – started off on the training wall with a lesson in body position and trust. Yes, trust. Kicking those brutal toe spikes into the frozen precipice was all well and wonderful, but trusting my weight to their grip was just a little more difficult. Once we added in the axes though, my technique started to come together; at the very least, it was in the same room. Serena explained the benefit of maintaining a triangular stance, legs hip-width apart, arms tighter to the body, and I spent the rest of my afternoon trying to channel my inner Dairylea. But at times my elbows were wayward, raising shouts of ‘chicken wings’ from my teacher.

Once safely hooked up to a serious-looking rope, attached at the other end to poor Serena, known in the climbing world as belaying but in my world as sacrificing a lamb, I was cleared for take off and began a somewhat laborious but incredibly satisfying ascent. I can’t imagine it looked particularly impressive from below, but when you’re basically hugging a giant ice cube and shimmying your way up its surface, even an ugly climb is a good climb, in my book. In what felt like seconds but was probably a glacial period, I had reached the summit, but before I could celebrate my triumph I once again had to trust – this time to the line and my wonderful anchor, as I quickly walked my way back down to ground.

Of course, before I made my way back outside to the glorious Highland sunshine, I had to test my mettle on the big girl climb. Almost double the height of my initial victory, and with the surface texture of a city centre thoroughfare, the main wall is an ice climber’s dream – and a novice’s nightmare. But with Serena calling up constant guidance and my confidence building to a shallow peak, I made it further than expected with only a slip or two along the way. Not exactly aced but, for this adventurer, success is measured only in survivals.

Whether physical or metaphorical then, barriers aren’t always the roadblocks they often at first appear. If, like Ice Factor, you use them as a stepping stone for self-improvement, a leg up to fresh horizons, you’ll find that no obstacle can keep you down. And the view from atop that realisation is truly spectacular.

For more information on booking your Ice Factor adventure, visit ice-factor.co.uk. Have a suggestion for Paula? Get in touch with your crazy ideas at bigadventures@thenational.scot