Thank God I'm Back

Finally I’m back to normal, waking early, feeling great and motivated, ready to take on the day. Two days of tummy trouble certainly don’t do anything for anyone – not my climbing, not my coworkers, not my roommates, who had to listen to my barfing…it was ugly. Mainly everyone had to listen to my bellyaching about my bellyache, two things they weren’t used to. I like to think they’re not used to me complaining all the time, anyway.

I’ve been thinking of so many things over the last couple of days and have been without motivation to perform. It’s been a week since I’ve blogged – yikes! – two days since I’ve run, four days since I committed to make changes starting in small increments. My first change is to become a daily runner, starting with half hour runs every day for a week and increasing from there.

My new commitment: small, simple changes leading to a larger whole. One step at a time; building blocks to my success. Beginning with running a little every day; half an hour, hardly enough to break a sweat (I don’t even have to shower afterwards) for a week, until it feels easy.

Road trip itinerary: Leave Thursday morning, packed up and ready to go in the van with Esther and Buck. Head out to Smith, have a day of Gorge climbing (maybe in the morning?) try out my new TradMasters (said in game-show extravaganza voice) and set up camp at the Grasslands that night. Supposedly it’s to be a VW convention, of which I’m not really a part, more of a hanger’s on, but I feel privileged to be included by proxy and have the opportunity to get to know the Grasslands dirtbags, the real climbing bums all climbers aspire to be like. Three days and nights at the Park, then head back to Bend for the Widgi bash on April 1^st; time to say goodbye to all my COR buds, see many of my climbing partners come together once again for the annual bouldering ‘n beer bash before heading out, hungover and driveworthy, to Indian Creek, crack climbing Mecca. (Especially built for girls, I hear. The irony is this: many of the first ascentionists were men, with fat, man-hands, which equate to easy hand-crack ascents but harder off-hands, fingers and tip routes that scale down to women’s sizes so much better. Thus, Indian Creek is a female climber’s dream, and I cannot wait to kick ass and get my ass kicked, take photos, fall in love, and explore ancient rock art in between climbing days, even in between climbs.)

After that, Zion. Beautiful, wonderful, delicious, sensuous Zion, and I am ready for that change. It’s not that I don’t like, even love Bend, and all my great friends here but I feel too comfortable here, too young, and I’m not quite ready to settle down when there’s still so much exploring to do, so much dirtbagging and scratching at the bottom of the barrel before I can appreciate the amenities I take for granted here in Bend, like good coffee and beer, a solid (if dedade-older-than-me) climbing community, beautiful weather nine months out of the year, world-class climbing 45 minutes away, a community constantly in flux, an economy on the rise and open to new business ideas – the list goes on.

What’s not to like?

Bend is too nice, too cookie-cutter Pilsbury Playland and I’m not ready to conform! Obviously my life hasn’t had enough struggle yet; I need more layers of hard experience before I’m ready for easy living.

So, small changes. I’m off for a quick run, not even enough to break a sweat.

A Life Without Adventure...

Is like pancakes without syrup.
Like visiting the Grand Canyon without leaving your vehicle.
Like climbing just in a gym.

I remembered this while taking a deliciously hot shower after my fantastic day on the rock.

Bree and I were camping in Island in the Sky national park, lounging on a slickrock patio,, watching darkness fall over the islands, pontificating on vacation and sisterhood and life, with the aid of a couple beers apiece, when "a life without adventure..." became the topic and we followed that thread until we remembered we were hiking ten miles the next day and had better get to bed.

Bree, do you remember some of the ones we made up? They were good...


I'm thinking about this living life thing, this adventure thing, the fact that I create my life and if I'm not happy with it I can change it, and I've made up my mind to move. I'm packing up out of Bend and heading South and West to the canyonlands, to majestic sandstone walls rising above me and secret watering holes and temperature extremes and crepuscular living.

I'm free, and I aim to take advantage.

St. Patty's Day Inspiration

Disclaimer: In the interest of posting but without a lot of time, this is an unedited version. The message is still good:) Read on:

On St. Patty’s Day I walked downtown after I got off work (a night not as crazy as I expected and feared) and checked out the scene at McMenamin’s.

It was a mild night, beautiful with stars and blackness, no moon. People milled about, wearing anything from cat-in-the-hat fuzzy green tophats to down jackets to green beer glasses. Drunkenness permeated the atmosphere and I enjoyed my sobriety and ability to laugh quietly at those who were not. I saw a lot of people I knew, talked to a lot or at least said hi, and this brought home to me what a community I have here in Bend.

The highlight of my night was something Brett, Nina’s roommate, said. He came up and said hi in his mile-a-minute way of talking that makes you feel important and rushed and funny and said he’d read my blog. (Ooh, I thought, he’s reading it? Cool. I wonder who else is?) He said he’d really been into paddling in college, but all he’d been doing since he came to Bend was working. On Friday he’d gone climbing with Nina (one of my climbing partners) and Jer, and how now he had to use his legs instead of his arms to climb since he didn’t have any arm strength anymore. He said that my passion for climbing inspired him to get back into his passions; instead of spending all his time hanging out with friends, he said he wanted to start doing things with his friends. He’s started taking Friday and Monday afternoons off to go have fun, to pursue his passions.

I inspired somebody!

Yoga Lessons

“Practice being open. Breathe and let your body open itself, stretch farther than you ever have before. Today is the day you take your yoga to the next level,” said Sundari this morning.

Climbing I thought to myself. Climbing to the next level.

Friday was my first time back to the Lower Gorge since the fall, so Dave and I took it easy, starting with Patent Leather Pump. As he cleaned the route, I wandered down around the corner to feel out the first few moves on Cruel Sister, the perfect training route for Indian Creek. The parallel start slots my hands perfectly.

Dave led Last Days, since we were taking it easy, and asked if Cruel Sister was next. I said, I’ll see how I feel. What I was really thinking was that I’d climbed hard the last two days, I hadn’t been I the gorge in months, I was scared of being too tired to make good gear placements and I felt sleepy and sore.

We walked by the route, which I’d already written off as too strenuous for my third day on, but I dropped the rope bag at the base and stood back. Don’t think too much. I looked it over nonchalantly, stepped back, tried to judge where the rests might be, what the crux was, what kind of gear it would take. I asked Dave’s advice about racking up – no nuts? Good choice – and I was grateful for my katanas.

Another piece of advice Dave told me was to put my feet in the crack.

You mean I have to trust them?

I internalized that as I velcroed up, shook chalk into my palm and rubbed it between my hands to staunch the sudden sweating. Don’t think too much.

Just like I’d been trying it out before in my flipflops, I stepped up and jammed my now experienced hands, instinctively equating how far in and how much twist equals security.

I stuck my feet in the crack, but as soon as Dave mentioned it I took them out, to show him, and plugged along, all the way to a ledge about ten feet below the anchors when the crack widens to #4 cam size. It stymied me. Too big for hands, I tried a rattly fist, a stem out right, then left, tried to step my foot into the crack but it felt like it would fall out; I tried wedging my right elbow then reaching with my left hand but then how would I get my elbow out? A heavily chalked crimp sat above my head, out of reach, along with the tightening of the crack. Somehow I had to get there, and I wasn’t moving, wasn’t getting creative because I didn’t trust my gear.

I moved my too-small cam lower in the crack to a more secure placement. I would fall a foot farther, but I had a better chance of the gear holding my fall. It also freed up more of the crack for me to use.

I found a crimp inside the crack to use as a support to my wedged right arm. I stepped my left foot into the crack, that very place that felt so insecure but hadn’t proven to be anything but reliable, and I stepped up into air, slotted my left above my head into a fat hand jam, and I struggled my way over the lip. What did it take to get through this but accepting the consequences of a fall. With this acceptance, I got creative and succeeded.

Openness.

To everything.

It's not...It's just...I'm searching

I’m not abandoning Smith, it’s not that I don’t like it here, not that I’m not committed to climbing the Optimist, but I do have some time in between the send date. I'm jonesing to get out and explore, see what kind of climbing is out there, and if I want to live somewhere else, rather than grating my knuckles on Smith tuff. Bend is where it’s at, if you’re a newlywed looking to have kids. Or if you’re retired and still active. Or if you’re on active vacation.

If you’re single and looking to make a life for yourself? Bend is about the loneliest place to try and meet anyone. Everyone’s super nice, except they’re all super busy too, have already established their cliques, or they’re not willing to disrupt their fitness routine to hang out. Seriously. It’s all about priorities here, and I don’t feel like I’m even close to the top. I feel like I have to push and shove to get the attention I want, and that’s not how I want to conduct friendships. In my mind, it’s an even deal– you call me with an idea, we do it, I call you, etc. We work together, get along, have fun together, have the same ideas of what’s fun, what a good day out is, have similar goals; we can have a conversation or a friendly argument.

Saw Fred at the crag today. He’s ripped and the same. I’m softer and different – more intense.

The weather was beautiful, breezy and perfect for sending. Not the rock, it was a little greasy, but the sun equaled tank top weather. I actually worried about tan lines on my back.

The usual suspects showed up at Morning Glory, late like always, and drove us away, but not before we hopped on Nine Gallon Buckets, Overboard and then I decided to send Cool Ranch Flavor and the .12a extension that I flailed on last week. I hung on out of pure determination and dislike for the route, so I think that ups my total of 5.12s to three.

Esther faithfully followed, flailed through the cruxes and took my shouted advice with good cheer and a smile. She’ll make a great road trip partner.

We trekked over to Pack Animal Direct to feel out a little trad and I fell in love all over again – with the little cam triggers and the moving parts and the way each lobe fits so precisely into a crack – amazing! – and Esther gave me pointers on how placements are different in Indian Creek. I’m getting gear nailed down for this trip (Thanks, UtahDave and Brett), along with…other plans too secret to mention. Even I don’t know about them yet. The crack felt great. I swear it’s not .10b except for the way my fingers slot so perfectly into the seams - I’ll bet whoever did the FA had sausage fingers...And then Esther nonchalantly suggested Wartley’s next and the light clicked on for me and I said, “yeah!” and we sat and had lunch in the sun, overlooking the river and surrounded by sunset-colored walls.

IDEAS and just plain ZION

New ideas and possibilities pepper my reality and I’m confused, uplifted and happy as hell, thrilled to have these possibilities lined out in front of me, before me, at my feet.

something has CLICKED.

Just like that.

It probably took months of work behind the scenes, but I’m experiencing the benefits now of feeling like myself, despite not being in great shape, despite all the things I still want to fix about myself. I’ve clicked into the now, the Anchen of possibility. It’s exciting as hell.

Plus, who wouldn't be excited at the prospect of living in Zion for a summer, or another national park?

Thank you

One of the things I was really afraid of, when I decided that I no longer wanted a dog, was that my friends and family would disown me, would see through my guise of selflessness at finding her a better home to the real reason; my freedom. Getting her off my back. Putting myself into a place where I can be completely selfish, act only for me, where I don’t feel guilty for coming home late in a bad mood or not at all.

But my friends and family have all been really supportive. It started about two weeks ago - I should say it came to a head - when we had a quasi-dinner party and we all talked about really heavy stuff. Stealth was my subject, and being able to talk about it helped me think about her objectively; what is best for us? Still, it was too hard to contemplate and I avoided the subject, until I talked to Kaylie about it, and explored a little more, and I went home for the weekend and ran it by my mom, probably the most understanding person in the world aside from Shannon, but I was still scared she would hear me out, look at me and ask what I thought I was doing, getting a dog in the first place if I couldn’t handle the responsibility, and who was I to unload this problem dog on someone else? No one asked me that, though I did of myself several times. And I was scared that everyone I told about my decision would look at me and lower their opinion of me.

Thankfully, my family and friends are more forgiving and understanding than I give them credit for. Sarah told me she was proud of me for making such a selfless decision, Shannon listened and made sympathetic noises that meant maybe she didn’t agree but she could see the logic behind my actions, Jon told me to look for someone who needed a dog (much in the way I needed Stealth when I first got her, to focus my attention and energy on something other than myself), Esther hugged me and said she understood and looked at Buck and said he’s too old to find a new home, Bree listened, and my roommates were sorry, but I don’t think she will be too badly missed. I felt bad, sad when she was gone. Guilty for feeling relieved, for thinking of all the possibilities now that I’m free.

Thank you, friends and family, for being there.

On a side note: Two days after the family got Stealth (now Nikita, after La Femme Nikita) she ran away without a trace. The family called me, there was nothing I could do, I suggested they check a few places, and it ruined the rest of my day. I should’ve known - who am I to be giving away a runaway-prone dog to a trusting family? But she came back to them the next day. I think she’ll be fine.

Choices...

I’ve been giving the address away to my blog pretty regularly, and I’m beginning to wonder who reads this, what are they gleaning from this about me, and now does everyone have the upper hand on me, and I’m still a mushroom? I suppose this was my choice, so I’ve got as much information as anyone else now, and that is to my benefit. I gain more than anyone else from this blog, thus it continues.

Last night I delved into Dave Ramsey’s Total Money Makeover, the finances book Nate and Shan have adopted and recommended. It’s (thankfully) a quick read, since he repeats himself every chapter and you really have to skim to find the information, the solid what-to-do instructions to get out of debt. I noticed he addresses credit card debt and car loans, not so much student loans. His focus is on (and I don’t mean to sound uppity or a snob) America’s poor and the poor myths, mainly addressing those of us who didn’t attend college, although now that I think of it, the personal success stories that pepper the pages are about 70/30 no school/school loans. That’s pretty good, and proves that college does nothing for your finances. People should all work and save for a couple years before embarking on a college career is they’re not sure of what they’re going to study. Case in point being myself…

The real reason I brought up DM and the TMM is because he talks about ‘gazelle intensity,’ a phrase I think is a terrible way to motivate anyone, but once he explained it, I relate to in my climbing and can see how it transfers everywhere. Gazelle intensity is the ability of the gazelle to escape a cheetah’s attack nineteen out of twenty times by eluding the cheetah not with speed but unpredictable movements that tire the cheetah before he can use his speed. I guess I’m just talking about the intensity, the focus on one thing until the goal is accomplished.

The other day as I stepped away on the not-treadmill at the gym, I realized I am an athlete. For me to have a goal like the Optimist, I have to train like an athlete. And the first thing that popped into my mind was that athletes don’t drink. Beer… They take care of their bodies, they follow strict workout regimes, they hang out with other athletes, they don’t have belly overhang (I’ve never been so aware of my body and its less-than-perfect nature than in Bend), they run daily in packs and spend hours lifting weights. Am I one of these people? Do I have that intensity? I don’t feel happy enough right now to be an athlete, to have that discipline. It helps when there are a lot of other people around doing the same thing as you, when you all have the same goal and you feed off each other to achieve that. Me, I’m too self-conscious to talk about my goal. One, because it’s so far-fetched, two, because I don’t like a lot of the people whose level I want to emulate and I don’t want them to scoff at me or talk about me disparagingly behind my back, and three, I’ve got a great chance of never making it, especially with the way things are going right now. Going as in, they’re not. I climb once or twice a week, and never for long enough. I never push myself hard enough. I also compare myself to people like E.H., who, when you read the article, you will realize is not fair to compare anyone to.

I talked to Allison of SheSends yesterday, had an hour and a half long meeting with her about my piece on Emily Harrington, (geez, writing takes a long time!) and my place at SheSends. Currently I’m the profiles editor, meaning I get to contact climbing celebrities and interview them, and also screen queries. We worked over an hour, editing Emily, making it sparkle instead of plod, and I learned some useful editorial and journalistic guidelines that my self-directed education seem to have missed (interviewees are always referred to by last name, frame the piece) and I feel a lot better about volunteering for SheSends because it’s going to go live momentarily, it’s going to grow, and I’ve got some great feature ideas. If you’ve got people you think should be profiled, let me know, I’m fired up and ready for something new.

Portable Hugs

Did you know that hugs are portable?

A hat in the mail is proof. The very greenness and design make it foreign and familiar. The touch of Shannon.

It's almost like having your best friend in the room next to you, especially when the sun hits. That's why I'm smiling. I also talked to Stealth's new owners. She's going to be all right.

I decided to give Stealth to a better home. Specifically, a family with kids and a fenced yard, a 12-year old boy who would love her, train her, walk her, and a stay-at-home mom to be with her all the time. Let’s face it, I lucked out. I posted an ad on Craig’s List and got a reply from an extremely excited family that night. It felt fated. I wasn’t expecting action to happen that quickly and I’m still shocked. I don’t want to talk about it.

I went climbing the next day with Esther, and dreaded having to tell her about Stealth. It felt like I failed Stealth, like I couldn’t be good enough for her, do enough for her. I also came to the conclusion that I didn’t want a dog, I didn’t love having a devoted furry black thing follow me around bodily or with her eyes, and I didn’t give her enough love. Esther was sad too, but understood. It felt good to be comforted.

The whole time we climbed, Esther and I were commenting on what it’s like not to have Stealth around. Lonely and weird and…

I’m me again. My attention is no longer divided, half on Stealth and what she might do, and the rest on my task. I am whole and strong.

Stealth is gone but irreplaceable in my heart and in the part of my life she’s affected. She was a key to my survival and search for happiness, and now she’s going to be that for someone else.

News Flash

All the books I’ve been reading have the same message: Trust the Process.

One is called Art and Fear, Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, one is The Rock Warrior’s Way,(good old Arno Ilgner), and one is Bird By Bird, Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott. They all have the same message in radically different mediums. How is this possible?

I first noticed the similarity when I began Art and Fear, and it said that making art and viewing art are different. To viewers what matters is the product. (To climbing magazines and sponsors what matters is the grade). To me what matters is the process. My job is to learn to work on my work and I do that by doing a lot of it. To get better at climbing I try to do a lot of it, to get better at writing I churn out sheets and sheets of what Anne Lamott refers to as shitty first drafts. No matter that they never go farther than that.

Arno Ilgner says to focus on the journey, meaning keep your attention in the present He also says what messes us up is destination thinking, so if, for example, I am very motivated to have done the climb, all my expectations are on the product and not the process. Art and Fear says that it’s often the art we have not done that seems more real in our minds than the pieces we have completed. Anne Lamott talks about new writers wanting to be published before they write a word. We want the end result without the work, without the process. *Sigh* Symptom of society.

Theoretical questions aside, this brings me to my point: living is work, work is art, life is art, climbing is art. It’s a process that you pay attention to, it takes you to an end result that may or may not be viewed favorably by everyone else. But you keep on anyway because you are compelled and it is the process that motivates and moves you and damn everything else.

For climbers, it’s working out that crux sequence.

For artists, it’s forming the vision in their head to the piece of paper or block of clay or wall space that’s their medium.

For climbers, it’s simply the line, unlocking the sequence that brings you to the top.

Climbing is a dance up the wall incorporating mind and body and control and trust and fear and risk – a most satisfying combination. You don’t get that anywhere else, a phenomenon that makes John Long refer to climbing as “the king of sports.” I got that quote from Vertical Frontier.

I realize that as I devote myself to climbing, I feel and act more certain in other areas of my life as well. Yesterday dawned crisp and sunny and I couldn’t find a climbing partner. I packed up and headed to Smith anyway, bolstering my less than outgoing nature with noncommittal phrases like, “How’s it going today?” and, “Anyone looking for a partner?”

Oh, it was painful and awkward, but I reminded myself that we share a common bond; the love of climbing, even if it manifests in different ways, even if they all climb circles around me. But I got out there, got in three routes, hobnobbed with the locals you could say. And I’ll do it again if I have to. I might even start to like it, like them. Who cares, as long as I’m climbing.

Hedwig ‘n Me or, Don't Think Too Much

You wouldn’t think that a drag queen and a rock climber have much in common. I didn’t either last night, and I was simply hoping to get through the performance without falling asleep. Even the crowd shouts and Hedwig’s body gyrations reminiscent of eighties punk rock shows didn’t move me. I hardly understood her songs under her gravelly voice, and the storyline was hard to follow at times – the accent along with my myopic stare (I always feel that way when I’m wearing my glasses) made me feel half blind and deaf. Urgh

But, Hedwig ends up practically naked onstage at the end (sorry to ruin the surprise), a seething heap of boy skin over bones, clad in black boy shorts, spiky boots and elbow gloves. And he (she?) rises up and sings her heart out one more time, a towering mass of sweat and sparkly eye shadow and ends triumphantly glorious, chest heaving, the painted smile larger and as permanent as the Cheshire cat’s. In spite of myself, I smiled in approval and recognition of what I’ve been lacking.

I’ve been scared.

I had some success (Heinous), and I thought about it. Too hard and long, and I decided all I could do was fail. So I let the little things get in the way, and an emptiness flooded my life where my dedication had been. I ate to fill the hole, and set myself back about five pounds and two weeks (oh, this honesty is killing me here) on my project.

It’s all a learning experience, right?

Last night I saw this guy, cross-dressing outrageously, singing and putting on accents and jumping up and down in spiky high heeled boots for ninety minutes and tearing off clothes until he wore less than most Europeans at the beach, and I admire that kind of dedication. That’s what I was afraid of, of looking like him. He looked so happy, I though, “it couldn’t possibly be that bad.”

So I’m back. The hole is filled once again with climbing, a dedication to myself, a gift to myself. I CAN do it, I CAN face my fear, and I will. Over and over again.

PS – what’s funny is that last night we watched Vertical Frontier, a documentary about Yosemite climbing that didn’t do a thing for me. Watching Hedwig was a head trip. Just what I needed.

Ahead of the Curve

The farther I get from climbing, the less I feel like doing it. Packing up my shit and heading out to get cold and scare myself doesn’t sound like much fun.

I realize I can apply my climbing lessons to life. I focus much more energy on climbing well, on keeping my head in shape than I do with my real life. My logic is, climbing comes first and everything will fall into place after. And it seems to work. Arno Ilgner (of The Rock Warrior’s Way) says climbing is a journey, that every route is an opportunity to live in the moment, but I realize that life is like that too, that it doesn’t just ‘start’ once you’re thru certain obstacles, like college. It’s all a part of your life, no matter if it’s wading thru taxes or the Colorado River. You can’t pretend that this is just the practice run, that real life will start once you’re ready. In case you weren’t aware, life is life, there are no do-overs, so you might as well get on the ball and get to it.

Meaning I’d better get to climbing, if that’s what I want to do. Despite not wanting to.