Rollin' and fallin' and failin' and rockin'

I’ve got-ten stuck lately – no climbing, does that mean no writing? I don’t think so. I think a post more than once a week would be good. Sometimes I have to stop myself from posting twice a day, as in it’s too much, but I do have the reminder written on my wall to “Roll with it – Keep the momentum going” and, “If you’re not fallin,’ you’re not tryin,’” Which could also be read, “If you’re not failin,’ you’re not tryin.’” Whatever do you learn from success? It feels good and makes failure oh-so-much scarier.

Hmm, failure at my project is an interesting concept. I wonder if I’ll ever get on this thing, much less send it. It’s all about me and my motivation and getting other people motivated too, to the point of rollin' with it, keeping the momentum going. But it starts with me, what I want, and what I’m willing to do to get it. In the recovery section of the Rock Warrior’s Way, Ilgner talks about taking two weeks off – what I’ve essentially been doing for the last week and a half. Not necessarily by choice, but I might as well pretend I’m getting something out of it. He says first off, to look back on your climbing and revel in it, remember the successes and failures and projects to see how much you’ve done.

I didn’t do that. I haven’t even thought about it, what I’ve been doing since I got to Bend. I’ve been climbing, I came here to climb, I’ve met a lot of climbers. You could say I’ve let myself go – into climbing. In a way that many people never get to experience a sport or passion. I feel fortunate and scared. How far will this go? As far as Steve House and his year-long recovery? I think not. I have a knack for self-preservation. That’s why I boulder-hop slower than most, even without a pack, it’s why I’ve only ever broken my arm when I was six (too inconvenient to do again), it’s why I quit gymnastics while I was still ahead, it’s why I don’t free-solo, even something as easy and fun as The Knob, it’s why I pick and choose when I speed on the highway. I wouldn’t say that climbing the Optimist is a risk, it’s clipping well-spaced bolts for 70 feet (or however long the route may be). But the risk is the obsession that it takes to be able to climb that hard, the paring down of the body lard and life inessentials, and it begs the question: is it worth it?

What will I gain from climbing this really hard sport route?

I’ve got nothing to lose.

Except a well-rounded life. It’s going to take a lot to climb 5.14b. I’ve got an idea from interviewing Emily Harrington of what it takes to climb 5.14a – daily runs, an OCD complex and gym climbing even when I don’t want to. I don’t know that I want to pare my life down that much. I ask myself, ‘what about writing? And climbing with friends (which, no offense to all the great climbing buddies I’ve found over the last eight months, but I don’t push myself so much with you), and working out, and traveling, and going out, and playing with my dog, and making cookies just for the dough, and sitting in the soaking pools at McMenamins? I think I can still do all of that.

I just have to stay focused and know what I want, know it so well I don’t question when there’s a kink in my plans, I just go and do it.

Lately I’ve been questioning what it is I want.

Is climbing the Optimist what I want to do?

Yes, but it’s also a vehicle for me to do a lot of cool things in order to get there. 5.14b is one heck of a rating, especially for a woman to climb. In order to be able to climb that hard, I’m going to need a lot of experience. I’m going to have to do a lot of climbing. I might overdo it, me being the overzealous type. This could even be an overzealous goal. But it’s not the destination, it’s the journey, and I keep looking at all those killer lines in my Smith Guide rated 5.12b, 5.13a, 5.13d, 5.11c (which I think is the most perfect grade along the scale) that I’ll climb up to and beyond to get to the Optimist. Even if I don’t send, who cares, because there will be this great experience behind me that I can draw on for the rest of my life. Plus, it’s great writing material. Like the suicidal uncle said to his depressed nephew in Little Miss Sunshine, Marcel Proust’s best material came from his years of suffering, so learn from it while you can.

Looking back on the eight months I’ve been in Bend, I’ve already surprised myself, not least by announcing to my small world my intentions with the Optimist. Usually I keep those things to myself.

An interesting parallel I’ve stumbled upon, in the category of impossible goals and sharing those intentions with the world, is the book Julie and Julia, a true story of a woman in new York, about to turn 30, who chooses to cook her way through Julia Child’s The Art of French Cooking, Vol. 1, in a year, as a way of doing something important with her life. And she blogs about it every day. It’s neat because it wades through the garbage of her life in an honest and humorous way that’s more like eating slices of a frozen Milky Way (or should I say mousse au chocolat?) than sneaking glances at her dirty laundry. It’s delicious and familiar and the whole time I’m reading, I’m wondering, “how did she do that?” Not the cooking, that’s not the hard part. The way she writes it. It’s searing and honest and funny and explanatory and interesting, because she adds so much of her life, herself into it, because she is so honest. Where did she learn to write like that?

Maybe I’ll write a book too. (Ooh, there’s another one of those intentions I usually keep to myself. Things really must be changing in the Anchen world.)

What if I just wrote a post every day? That would accomplish two things: write every day, and keep the momentum going. I’m on day two already.