Delicate Moves

Stretching and stretching; squeezing and squeezing; round and round we go.  It is February 2018 and I am almost ready to start climbing again.  *Almost*.

January 2018 has been a hard month indeed. 

It seems to be turning into a trend for me.  This will become the second year in a row that I’ve been forced to take a break from climbing and training for climbing due to an injury.  This one seemed to be relatively innocuous, but it’s potency was released in one certain position.  That certain position just happened to be the lynch pin in any climbing specific movement (insert frownie face). 

Once I waded through the swamp of my malaise, on the other side lay strength, discipline, longevity and a willingness to take time off to properly heal.  The longest I’ve spent resting and rehabbing an injury has been 6 weeks.  That’s nothing!  I’ve known people who have taken months and months off and come back just as strong or stronger than they were when they stopped (these are the sentiments I relay to my depressed self between heaping spoonful’s of B&J’s Americone Dream).  I’m excited and even a bit relieved to take time off from climbing (that’s a lie); that’s what I tell myself when I’m emboldened by a solid mind state and a positive outlook.  There are certainly times when I don’t have either and the tone is bleak. 

As of right now it’s been approximately three weeks since I’ve done any serious climbing.  I have been hang-boarding 3-4 times a week, so at least my fingers will retain some memory of how to crimp.  Nothing crazy, no one-arm weighted max dead hang sessions; just small, yet consistent 3-6 set sessions of repeaters.  It’s all I can muster to keep my sanity and feel somewhat connected to climbing.  Social media has been absolute suicide on my psyche because of the rampant exposure to people leading lives that seemingly are far superior to my own (not to mention lives that are less injured), so I try to stay off IG as much as humanly possible. 

Being injured has its upsides too (said no one…ever).  I have plenty of time to focus on other aspects of my training that have been long left neglected and dormant for one reason or another (you should take that to mean: 3lb weights and thera bands are my new best fiends) .  I completely revamped my approach to nutrition and weight loss (I’m hungry all the time and I now understand the power of guilt, kudos Catholics), my approaches to core work outs and cardio training have shifted completely from a quantity based approach to a quality based approach (now my ass bone is injured, thanks stationary bike, and my sanity is teetering, thanks broken wireless headphones).  I’m stretching more and I’m utilizing several thera-band exercises everyday as part of my warm up routine.  I’ve looked back on my training log to try and unravel the mystery behind this injury and pin point what exactly triggered it and I haven’t been able to find anything.  There was no one single incident that lead to this inflammation and/or tear; which at first glance is maddening but on the other hand can be a good sign as well.  Its inflammation, it’s tendonitis, whatever the case is it will go away and on top of that there is a chance to become stronger - in many different ways. 

I go on walks now and kick myself for wasting so much energy last season worrying about what other people were climbing, sending, on-sighting; it drives me nuts now that I think of it.  I was so obsessed with trying to gain acceptance from others that I completely lost sight of my own goals, my own strengths, and the fact that I was healthy and strong! 

On these same walks, I now day dream of the trip we took to Smith over Thanksgiving; I get lost in the memory of how much fun that trip was.  I invested so much time and energy into one project during our time at Smith but I was not able to put it together; yet the reason I draw upon this memory as a resource for happiness is the fact that its mired in so much relaxed impetus.  I was able to share this energy with so many motivated and psyched individuals.  I was healthy, the weather was perfect, I was having one of the best times ever with my beautiful partner, friends were abundant, there was good food and laughter, and rock climbing, and those lazy lost days that all blend together in one cohesive dream where time becomes irrelevant and being outside is all that matters.

I can feel the unfiltered sun on my face and that creeping comfortable warmth that spreads across my skin and tickles my soul, the smell of juniper, the metallic taste of worn aluminum, the ardent gasping dust that infiltrates all crevices, the heaving sigh of relief from a slumped back pack now resting against a tired fence post, the illuminating smiles and playful jeers from sun kissed wind slapped faces, and the endless craggy landscape hugged effortlessly by a slithering nascent green body of moving water.  It’s the definition of happiness to me, it’s easy now to exist off the memory of that dream, that feeling, that near reality. 

 My head slumping forward and my shoes slapping soggily through rain filled puddles, the reality of the moment becomes focused through some form of dim clarity.  The cold neither cuts nor uplifts my spirit, the lack of sun is neither depressing nor welcomed.  I move forward, delicately, thinking about the future fondly but existing warmly in the past while the present digs its hands into my pockets.  The sky hangs low, like my spirit, but what you cannot see is the lapis lazuli sky underneath.  The rays of sun so willingly ready to spill forth, the memories of sun and life and love all rolled up into one single pitch of climbing.