Beat Down

      Peeps in Spain, a couple in the Red, everyone seems to be on climbing trips or planning them.  I have nothing in the works and it feels quite depressing.  It’s also depressing to feel the sting of age on the second day of climbing in the form of pumped forearms and achy joints.  My mind was into it, my body was not.  Climbing up to the same underclings, facing the same boulder problem, and feeling the SAME pump was so discouraging.  It’s gotten to the point where I’m just sick of doing the same moves, sick of the same kind of prolonged failure, and sick of projects taking so long to get done.  I’m just sick of it all. 

      But, and this is a big but, I’m also encouraged by the fact that I’ve been here before and I realize this type of heavy discomfort-of feeling like climbing is sitting on my chest and weighing me down instead of freeing me-is normal and that it doesn’t last.  I had a pretty stellar weekend of failing.  Of course it’s hard to see the small successes amongst the huge amount of unmet expectation, but it doesn’t mean the successes aren’t there.  I tried my latest project three times this weekend over the course of two days.  Day one was some kind of gift from the perfect weather climbing gods.  It was breezey, sunny, cold (but not too cold), and dry (we’re talking not a hint of moisture or humidity ANYwhere).  I had had a good week in the gym accomplishing some short term goals and felt rested and ready to climb and it showed.  Halfway through my warm up I felt as if I wasn’t even having to try in order to hold on at all.  It was pure magic.  Floating.  It’s the kind of strength that facilitates awareness of your surroundings, you can start to pay attention to the way the rock feels or how blinding the sun’s reflection on the white stone is, or just how beautiful everything can be when the breeze kicks through and the draws start to sway and the sound of the wind in the trees makes you close your eyes and listen, really listen to the noises of the outside world.  In short, I felt very good and somewhat hopeful that today I could get some projects done. 

I lowered down from Softliner and rested for a good half hour.  I was ready.  The first 2/3’s of the route felt down right enjoyable.  I started to clench up a bit near the undercling rest but shooed away any feeling of apprehension.  I think I was a little too relaxed.  I engaged in the crux and I was able to even shake a little on one of the intermediates.  This is it for sure I thought, but that last bump move to a small crimp had my number and I fell at the same spot yet again.  That fragile meditative state shattered, it was hard to believe I could get back to that spot with that kind of strength and relaxed stature.  But I rested again for nearly 40 minutes and felt ready, again. 

     This time I would force myself to try hard, I lurched upwards at that small crimp and latched it, I growled to stay on and tried to turn my open hand to a crimp but my fingers refused to hold it.  I fell again.  I pulled back up to that spot and finished the route, another one hang.  I’m getting so good at one hanging this route that I just know it’s a matter of time, but I’m tired of it taking so long.  I’ve put in exactly 9 attempts on this route just this year, with an added 15+ from last year.  I’ve definitely put in more attempts on other projects but not on something that has felt so obtainable.  It’s a total mind fuck to feel strong enough to do something but not able to prove it.  I’m committed to this route.  Failure won’t sway me, jealousy won’t either, and in the end I’ll have it so dialed it will be like a secondary warm up.  It has been a while since I really buckled down and started trying something with intention and focus.  It feels good to know that this is my mission, it feels good to know that I’m pouring myself into a challenge and am motivated to complete it.

     The second day on I felt tired but my mind refused to let me  spend the day indoors watching the rain clouds pass, so I geared up again and made it out to the wall.  The weather was perfect again.  It was brutal to be out in such good conditions and know that my body was just not able to match my minds enthusiasm.  I was tired and I felt it while I climbed.  A little less sure of my feet, a little more tense on those good crimps, way more pumped at the top.  It was going to be a difficult day indeed.  I switched priorities and tried to do a 42m long pitch that I had had in my back pocket for a while.  I spent a good 30mins on the wall and fell two moves shy of the chains.  I haven’t been that scared and pumped in a while.  It was a weird feeling.  I felt the slab rush up at me and disappointment and anger started to flood in.  What was going wrong?  Where was that calm confidence, empowering me and filling me with that swagger that propels you to the chains?

I wanted to be in Spain, surrounded by sun and friends and new rock, new sights, new smells, new food, new nights of laughter and freedom.  Building my life brick by unbridled brick.  I wanted to be in the Red hugged by overhanging sandstone, watching climbers disappear into the abyss, psyched to climb forever upwards on massive jugs and free fall into pumped oblivion. 

I wanted to be anywhere but here. 

It’s not fair I kept telling myself.  But it’s not about fair.  It’s about choices. 

I don’t want to lament about my situation.  It’s not really a ‘situation’ anyway.  I’m just frustrated.  And I’m also not celebrating the good things in my life and in climbing.  I spent all weekend outside in perfect conditions climbing and falling on 5.13+ routes!  I even clipped chains with a couple hangs on a 5.13d with the obligatory one hang of my current 5.13c project.  I can’t really be unhappy about that, a year ago that kind of progress on these routes would have been unimaginable.  I guess the frustration stems from how much time I spend training to how little I feel it has impacted my actual progress, to feeling chained to my job, to just down right wanting to travel and explore more.  The monotony of routine has downsized my motivation but has not yet killed it.
I definitely feel stronger this season; I just haven’t had that breakthrough send to validate all the indoor effort yet.  I’m also very eager to get out and really immerse myself in new places. 

I’ve been looking into going back to Spokane for a couple of weekends, I also want to head to Newhalem, my first time there 6 years ago was ultimately my last so I have a ton of climbs to try there.  I recently purchased the Squamish Selects guide book as well and holy shit there is a ton of sport climbing I never even knew about in and around Squamish.  It’s all very exciting.  Climbing has a way of opening up if you want it to.  There is so much rock here in the PACNW that it’s kind of foolish to think that you have to buy a plane ticket in order to get on new routes and great rock.  My fingers are feeling strong and are injury free, my shoulder is even starting to feel better.  There is just so much right now to be happy about and thankful for that it does seem quite childish to waste time perseverating on the shame I feel when I can’t climb like someone else. 

In other news, Sean Bailey won SCS nationals!  Like a true boss Sean just 'floated' up the routes.  Truly magnificent to watch, he looked calm and strong the entire comp.  Props to both Sean and Drew Ruana for representing the PACNW proudly and placing 1st and 5th respectively.  Those two are silently (maybe not so silently) leading the way for the future of American sport climbing.