By JANE LOTTER

It's a lovely spring morning and I'm in the best shape of my life. I'm downtown at Recreational Equipment Inc., and today I'm going to climb the 65-foot-high faux rock known as the REI Pinnacle. Actually, one doesn't "climb" the Pinnacle. One attempts, and then, hopefully, summits. Afterward, you get to plant a little flag on top. (Just kidding.)

But before I attempt the Pinnacle, I'm going to have a look around. I wander over to the magazine section on the main floor. Because this is REI, I find lots of publications with rugged, outdoorsy names: "Whitewater," "Freeze," "Rock and Ice."

Rock and ice, I realize upon reflection, are two things I've spent my entire adult life trying to avoid. Just looking at the words "rock and ice" makes me feel like I'm being forced to choose between death by hanging or death by lethal injection. Exactly what sort of thrill seeker reads "Rock and Ice"? "Subscribe to 'Rock and Ice' and we'll rush you, at no extra charge, our bonus publication, 'Fatal Falls and Frostbite'!"

I leave the magazine section (the clerk is beginning to stare) and walk up one flight. I go out on to the second floor observation platform where you can stand and watch people attempting the Pinnacle.

One man - dark hair, thirty-ish, muscular - is at the base of the Pinnacle. He hooks himself up to a safety harness, but we all know this is unnecessary. I mean, he looks like he just stepped out of a "Body By Jake" infomercial. This man couldn't fall if he tried; gravity works on him in the opposite direction, pulling him up instead of down. He summits effortlessly, with the ease of a helium balloon.

Next comes a boy about 14 or 15 years old. He climbs carefully, gingerly, like the itsy-bitsy spider. He gets about 40 feet up to where there's a bump in the Pinnacle. He's supposed to go up and over the bump, but it's not happening. Frankly, it looks kind of scary.

"Uh, I think I'm done," he calls to the REI employee on the ground.

This particular REI guy doesn't accept quitters. "Come on, Jason," he yells back. "You can do it, man!"

I'm still on the second floor observation platform. I'm level with Jason and about 20 feet away from him; I can see Jason's face and I'm pretty sure he CAN'T do it, man. His fingers are clutching the rock and he looks like he's counting the minutes until the arrival of the rescue helicopter.

"No, really, I think I've had it," Jason says tentatively, his voice breaking.

"Just rest there a minute," says the REI guy. "Get your strength back."

Rest there. Say, that's an idea. Take a little nap, Jason. Grab 40 winks and we'll call you when it's time to wake up and fall on your face.

"No," Jason says with sudden and unexpected boldness. "I'm coming down." And he does. Good for you, Jason, I think; it's a wise man who knows he can't always fly. I turn and walk over to the women's department to see what's new for spring.

Several pairs of cargo pants are hanging on a garment rack. As always, I'm mystified by the marketing concept behind cargo pants. Most women feel they carry around enough cargo in their pants as it is. Why in the world would we want to add more? "Oh, you have a 10-pound bag of sugar you want transported? Here, let me stuff it into my pants."

Cargo pants. The very name conjures up images of longshoremen and tramp freighters. Come to think of it, is that why they invented Dockers? Are we all supposed to pull our pants on and then go load the banana boats? "Day-O. Day-ay-ay-O. Daylight come and me wanna go home."

Anyway, I'm sure by now you've figured out I'm afraid of heights, climbing gear and rock outcroppings. Therefore, I'm not really going to attempt the Pinnacle. I will never attempt the Pinnacle. Ha-ha-ha! You couldn't PAY me enough money to attempt the Pinnacle.

But right there, in the fitting room at REI, I do attempt a pair of Size 10 running shorts. They fit perfectly. And as far as I'm concerned, in our own way, today both Jason and I have summitted. (