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.