Recovering from the Void

Crappy weather and a deep dark hole of depression have kept me off the rock as of late. On the upside, I’m mostly over it and ready to take what may come, whether it’s a chance to snowboard or if I have to get my kicks at the gym. I’ll think of this as an opportunity to dig into pilates and yoga and weight lifting and writing for myself. I’ve already watched a year’s worth of movies this month, what more could I need to accomplish?

What really surprised me about completing my project (Heinous, not The Project) was the void it left, and my inability to fill it. It’s as if I lowered off the route and never stopped coming down; I didn’t know what to do with myself afterwards, especially since I couldn’t climb. The last couple of weeks have been ones of intense self-reflection and evaluation, adding blocks to my Master Plan; side trips and new possibilities to consider.

Do I really want to be a writer? Of profiles? Writing reviews have really been fun, and I also like climbing a whole lot. A lot a lot. Enough to make it my life? That could be a little extreme. Balance, my little grasshopper.

The void surprised me. And my self-defeating behavior didn’t help either. Essentially I stayed home, camped out on the couch, and ate whatever I could come up with. This is the closest to depression I’ve come, in the classic sense of the word. Classic. I like that concept. I didn’t have a problem getting myself out of bed; like clockwork, up by 7am every morning. But then I wouldn’t have a plan, wouldn’t do anything but watch old movies or read a book or bake a lot of bread I don’t need to eat. I’m not sure I accomplished anything of note last week except for resting – hardcore resting. I’m not even the injured one here.

Enough of the pity-fest. I managed to drag myself out of the house long enough to go to yoga on Friday and then Steve House’ slide show of his ascent of Nanga Parbat – an 8 day epic of mixed climbing and survival and stupid decisions that highlight the boyness of mountaineers, and makes me glad of my decision not to add that addiction to my list. Listening to him talk about his trip, I couldn’t tell how important this was. I didn’t get a sense of the determination or preparation or of the why of it all. I simply accepted that he wanted to do it, that he was already really good at what he did, so this wouldn’t be that much more of a stretch, and that he did it. He showed pictures of him and his partner smiling at the beginning, grimacing in the middle and half-dead at the end, he explained about their 23-hour days, their summit attempt that ignored their 2pm turnaround time, and their harrowing descent. I felt I got a taste of what they went through, but the motivation I didn’t understand. I wanted the gritty details, the motivation, the obstacles, the why of it all. They received the Piolet d’Or from the French Mountain Guides (or whatever they’re called) for this accomplishment, Steve was photographed for Outside Magazine, and other stuff, but the enormity of the accomplishment escapes me because I have nothing to compare it to, no experience of my own. Had he said, “imagine living in a harness for eight days. Now imagine being very cold and hungry all the time. Imagine eating only soup packets and snickers bars. Imagine sharing a pee bottle. Imagine pushing yourself to your limit every day, getting up after six hours sleep and doing it again. Imagine making the last of your food, after a day without anything and mixing it with gravelly snow on accident. That’s a taste of the hardship. Now imagine being obsessed with this line, of monitoring your heart rate and caloric intake and exercise all so you’re in the best shape to climb this thing you can be. Imagine rooting up hundred of photos of this face on the wall, of memorizing the line and understanding the uncertainty that will come at the end of the 3^rd day when you’ll discover if you picked the right line, or if you’ll have to turn back in defeat. Now imagine being so wrecked after the climb that you can only walk 20 yards before collapsing and eating 24 cookies. Imagine losing 20 pounds in 8 days. Imagine recovering from this for a year.”

That’s what I would have liked to hear; being able to relate his story to something familiar in my life, maybe laugh at, sympathize with, and marvel at once I applied it back to him. Now that I’ve done that, taken the bits he fed us and made the comparison to my life, I can sympathize, and I have a better idea of what he did. Except I’ve never been on a face that big, and I’m not familiar with big wall mountaineering, not the tools or techniques or awkward bulkiness of it.

Now, this man was obsessed with this climb. You could say he was on a quest. Therein lies my familiarity and recognition of a common thread. I don’t feel I’m as hardcore as Steve House, but I’ve also got a lot less to lose if I don’t make it. I’ve got a lot more leeway, and, I’m not as attached to the outcome. If there was one thing I learned from Hau, it’s that though we may all be going to the same place, you learn from the journey as well as the destination.