Creek Lessons, Part Deux

This trip to Indian Creek helped me define a lot of my expectations. I have high expectations of myself, and equally high expectations of others, and that’s not fair. As I keep reminding myself (thank you Dan, for this lesson on the impossibility of equality between anyone, much less you and me) I am like no one else, therefore, I cannot compare myself to anyone else. My abilities are mine alone and while I may be able to climb the same routes as say, Beth Rodden, I climb them in my own way. When Jeff showed me the picture of Joi (pronounced Joey) on Soul Fire in the Patagonia catalogue, there was no rationale for my jealousy except I was comparing myself. The cool thing about Jeff is the way he is inspired by other people’s success – the day we went to the Cat Wall, Jeff had his heart set on sending Johnny Cat(5.11+). He’d even set aside a bottle of wine to celebrate. He was super quiet on the approach and on the warm-up route (which, by the way, I never would have hopped on if he hadn’t been there. Thanks for the confidence and inspiration, Jeff), and even though I tried to get him to crack a smile, he wasn’t listening to me. His mind was on the route already.

Jeff insisted I use a grigri; he didn’t want to take a grounder. I’m always hyper-conscious when I belay big people, but I can understand – this route takes smaller gear and it’s hard. It’s a perfect splitter that goes for about 70 feet, ending just below a roof. The thing is, it starts simply, ring-locks with footholds, and then the feet disappear and you’re left with ring locks for eight painful, power-sapping feet, until you get the killer hand jam that saves your life and you clip the anchors.

I didn’t know any of this when I belayed Jeff. He just quietly racked up, pulled the blocky face moves to the beginning of the crack (15 feet of unprotected slopey jugs) and started up. He moved slow and fell early, fell again, finally ending up aiding the top where it gets so dang hard. Not an auspicious start for this route he was saving a bottle of wine for.

At the base we met a Dave and Jeff (I’ll call him J2 to keep him separate from Jeff) from Colorado, who’d made the 8-hour drive specifically so Dave could send Johnny Cat. They waited for us, chatted with Jeff, cheered him on through his falls. Then Dave hopped on and sent, just like that.

Jeff hopped around the base, cheering, grinned and said, “Nice job, man. I’m living vicariously through you right now.”

It struck me that were it me, I’d feel the sting of competition with this other person and a little jealousy. Were it me, I’d congratulate, then get the hell out and hope never to see these people again. That’s just me and my irrational, emotional jealousy. Jeff proceeded to make friends - invited them to share his campsite that night, asked what they were up to for the rest of the trip…later we headed around the corner and found them on Puma (5.11+ finger crack), and cadged a ride on that stellar line.

I think I’ve got something to learn from Jeff. I keep reminding myself, but there’s nothing like an example to set me straight. Where Soul Fire is probably a warm-up for Joi, it’s a stretch for me. My logical side says it’s cool as hell to see a strong woman firing such a beautiful line in a Patagucci catalogue, but I feel jealous of her ability compared to mine.

What does it take to stop the comparisons?

One, seeing Jeff experience failure and revel in Dave’s success helped me to see my own senseless (read: emotional) response to Joi’s success.

Two, seeing my own success affect how other people feel. I wonder if E compares herself to me when we climb together. I was more motivated to climb this trip whereas she was in vacation mode. We climbed the same routes and our successes were different. I’ll admit, I wanted to be better than her. I also reassured her when she didn’t do as well as me. If she’d sent harder than me, how would I be reacting? Would I be jealous, would it be another bone of contention between us? I don’t know. It’s not often I get to climb with strong female climbers. The thought of climbing with Joi stresses me out. What if she thought I was stronger than I am? What if I couldn’t live up to her expectations of me as a strong climber? The fear of disappointing my climbing partner pushes me harder than anything else. It’s one of those things I’m working on.

**

When I came back from France, (after gaining 15 pounds of cheese weight) I went to the Crux a couple of times to play around. Kimball saw me, said hi, then said he expected me to be pulling a lot harder than I was, since I’d just been in France.

I didn’t go back to the gym after that.

**

I climb because I love it, and I climb hard because pushing myself is what I get a kick out of. I love coming home so tired I can only speak in monosyllables, waking up feeling every aching muscle and wondering how I’m going to move, and discovering those muscles I never knew existed. I love stretching myself on a route, trusting every part of my body to do its job so I can make a move and keep moving until I clip the anchors.

When I hopped on Soul Fire for the second time, I didn’t feel particularly strong. At the base I told myself to focus on the present, not to think too much, and to move quickly. Halfway up the route, I still wasn’t feeling strong, and I felt scared. But I kept going, kept moving, and while my body complained about being tired, I focused on conserving energy, making large moves and finding locker handjams I couldn’t fall out of to place gear from. Fifteen feet from the anchors, I was sure I couldn’t hang on any longer. I made a deal with myself to keep moving and to take the whip if that’s what happened. The next time I looked up, I was two moves from the anchors. It surprised me, but I kept moving and somehow clipped from the thin-hand jam and I was done. I’d sent Soul Fire on an off day.

After I sent the route, I though a lot about Joi on Soul Fire and about the other strong women climbers I’d met at the Creek . Everything is hard, and you have to be tough to send, which demands a higher skill level, an extreme fitness level. I came to the Creek with high expectations that only got higher the longer I stayed, the more in love I fell with the place. I realize that for my first time there, I adapted very well and my trip should be regarded as a success. In comparison to Creek veterans, I was a baby and I wanted to shoot past that stage. That’s me, I want it all.

Fortunately, the Creek had a lesson for me. What I expect and what I get are two different things, in climbing and in life. If I want to be open to growth, I need to recognize my expectations and modify or ignore them, so that I can take whatever lessons are out there.