It’s Just A Rock...

 

photo from thebmc.co.uk

Climbing is simply the act of climbing rocks... so why on earth can I not think of anything else?! How does something so pointless have such a huge role in my life? 

I’m a performance-oriented climber. I want to pull harder than I ever have, to clip chains, and be better than others. Sure it seems shallow, but it's true. I feel that many climbers feel the same way. Maybe not to the obsessive point I do, but everyone likes to feel good at something. Every self-conscious seventh grader looking for acceptance amidst the social disaster of middle school. Every full grown adult feeling they need to make a mark. We all want something to feel good about. I don’t care how selfless you are, everyone’s ego needs a boost. 

That's why I climb rocks. To do better than I have previously done, or than others. It feels good to be good. 

My motivation is not the purest. But that doesn’t take away the fact that getting up a hard route really means a lot to me. When those expectations aren't met it really hurts. I never was good at any sports growing up. When I found climbing, I felt like I had finally found something I could excel at. I enjoyed it a lot at first. I progressed through the initial grades quickly, like all beginners do. But, as the law of diminishing returns came into play, progress slowed. More work and (more importantly) time was needed to achieve the next step. I had become addicted to the feeling of success, and I didn't want to wait for it. 

I built up goals in my mind. As I fantasized them more, I subconsciously convinced myself that they would be easier than reality. A quick challenge to prepare for something else... I had just come off a spree of sends. Routes fell quickly, ones that had felt inconceivable before. Surely I would tick these next routes without any trouble... But, my new pride wiped my memory as clean as the characters of the 2nd season of The Good Place. I forgot that those climbs had felt impossible. I hadn't learned some magic trick that would prevent me from ever being shutdown. It would just take more for it to feel that way. And I found that level quickly...

I've noticed a cycle of pride and humility that comes with success. An inevitable step off the feel-good throne of a previous achievement brings humility. At some point your streak will end. I knew it would happen. I tried to not let my ego get to my head, to repeat the pattern, but I did.

When I approached the route, one I had deemed to be my next project, my nerves felt like they were being charged by the full concentration of a nuclear power plant. The first easy crack section fell easily, but the moment I transitioned onto the crimpy face, my doubts caught up. I shakily clipped my draw into the first bolt. My hand went to clip the rope, but immediately shot back to latch the draw. 

I literally hovered. Ready to grab. The fall was safe, just a little swing onto a good #1 cam. I should just clip this thing and keep going... it shouldn't be this scary! Quit being a wimp! Fear prevailed. I hung on the rope and assessed the next few moves. I'm just a little shaky... I should be able to do these crux moves. I launched into steep reachy terrain. A glorious pocket, laid just out of my reach. My thoughts were already clouded. I fell. I tried again... and fell. I gave several more attempts with the same result. After resting on the rope and reading the sequence...

I settled my fingers onto the holds. Maybe I can't do these moves... "Slack! I'm climbing." The rope returned my weight to my arms. Ok, just get the crimp out left, you can't leave a bail piece on this thing... HOLY CRAP! It's miles away! I went for it, got into an awkward gaston and... 

"TAKE!"

Stupid... stick to your sequence! Quit being a wimp, commit! NO TAKE! Keep goin' till you're OFF. I strung myself out... desperately stabbing. Just get to the bolt. You can do the moves after that. My power spent... I latched the hold but couldn't move off it. I came off with a yell of frustration. 

Wrecked, and not even close. Then and there, the cycle shifted. My pride assassinated by unmet expectations. Ashamed, tears in my eyes, I left a bail biner and lowered. A blubbering teenager crying on the end of rope, with a poor adult who I'd begged to take me out. 

But, my partner just said to me, "It's a hard climb. It'll be there tomorrow dude..."

"It's just a rock."

It WAS a hard climb. Just like my other projects were before. I let myself forget that. Climbing for success wouldn’t yield fulfillment. For a send to really matter you have to do something hard, something that requires learning from failure. You have to deal with it. I forgot that there is more to climbing. Being outside with friends! Enjoying the feeling of overcoming the small victories, and learning! I felt ready to just stop climbing in that moment... but I knew I could never do that. 

Climbing rocks means too much to me.