"Once Upon A Time" Was Yesterday

I love my yoga teacher. Or rather, my yoga teacher's assistant (Eiric says you are your own teacher, he just helps that inner teacher figure things out). I have learned more in his class the last 5 weeks than I did in many of my college courses. If I'd taken his yoga classes during college, perhaps I would've done better.

Eiric's class began with him talking of a scenario: "you know that feeling, after you've read a page in a book, but once you turn to the next, you can't remember a single thing you read?"

Ridiculous dog pauses for a campaign photo

I exclaimed to myself, "Yes!"

He continued, "this happens because we're distracted." And that distraction often comes from us inserting preconceived notions into a situation, anticipating before letting it play out, our expectations distracting us from the real moment at hand. (sometimes, honestly, I cant remember a single word because I'm so tired I keep falling asleep and the book keeps smacking me in the forehead, but still...).

Very often in reading or yoga, these thoughts come in the form of dark expectations; "last time I fell in this pose", "putting my feet over my head is scary", "its so strenuous and my legs burn." And you'd better believe this happens for me all the time climbing. Thoughts run rampant like one continuous what-if, "what if I fall...what if my strength/balance fails me...what if my belayer gets distracted by a bee flying around their head/the cute belayer next to them/my ridiculously funny dog/blowing bubbles with their gum?"

But really, so what if any of those situations were true once upon a time. Maybe once upon a yesterday I fell over in a pose, or once upon a year ago I took a mini-fall a few feet. Maybe they were true. Once.

Today is different. Today is all new. We all have previous moments in life that helped shape who we have become. But we certainly are not required to react now the way we once did. Today, we're allowed to let go of expectations shaped by yesterday. Let go of the "shoulds" or "dids". Each experience, even if its a repeat motion, is new today and different from any other time. 

A place I can always find possibility...

I have anxiously been counting down the last days before I break free to climb in Red Rock Canyon. This trip feels a bit like coming full circle; my goal of the Year of Climbing came partly out of my trip there in March. My break tonight from gearing up was to go to yoga and Eiric's message was incredibly well timed. Let go of expectation, let go of old perceptions. Let go of Darkness and Embrace the light. Similar Arno Ilgner's wise words in Rock Warriors Way to "look for the options," Eiric's class was a reminder to open up to possibility. Possibility allows that anything can happen - it is in this space that I can move, grow, learn, and truly feel life happen in the moment. 

Taking my teacher's assistant's words from tonight to heart, I've packed them along with my rock shoes, swim suit, and camera. I've also packed along another of his teachings - and my mantra for the summer - "its not good, its not bad, it just is." Oh, and one last bit of good thought dispensed to me tonight, "dont forget to have a ton of fun." I packed that as well.

Wishing you Possibility for whatever you choose to step into tomorrow, too.

(ps - i love my yoga studio! if you're near beacon hill and are looking for one, i highly recommend yoga on beacon. so much goodness in that little studio.)

Fear is a Four Letter Word

Darrington, my new favorite spot

I admit, I fell off the wagon for a bit. I was doing so well (City of Rocks, Squamish, E32, Darrington) but things slowed in the last few months of my Year of Climbing and I was a bit befuddled as to why until recently. "What happened," you wonder? Well, I was doing quite well and then who do you suppose knocked on my door again? Yep, my dear old foe Fear stopped by to remind me it was still hanging around town.

It happened slowly. But the big kicker came, ironically, on one of my favorite climbing days of the entire summer. Rappelling off of an awesome route in Darrington, I came to the last rap station, and while chitchatting to my partner - you could say I was a bit distracted - I forgot what I was doing. I’m embarrassed to admit the situation completely, but thank God for my partner’s strong arms (hence the distraction), a huge ledge at the anchors, and my own quick reflexes. Considering the location, angle of the slab, etc. I don’t think anything bad would have really happened but the potential of an accident of my own doing was a scary reality check that I’m only now realizing had sunk deep into my psyche.  What I did realize the next time I was out, was that my old foe Fear, who’d taken a break from me for a while, was back.

We have a complicated relationship, Fear and me. Like telling a stubborn teenager to do anything rational, Fear can push me to do the opposite of what it’s trying to convince me to. But, being the kind of person who doesn’t feel its necessary to rock the boat unless it really matters, Fear is most often very good at convincing me to do what it wants.  I was happy that I’d had a break from this dysfunctional relationship, and I was peeved it was back. ?!*&%?!

My inner stubborn, foot stomping, huff-puffing, teenage-angst-inspired self finally decided to put my big-girl boots back on and kick it in the shins.

Looking Fear in the face, 1 granite crystal at a time.

A few weeks back, my kickass roommate, Sara and I went to E32. We’d talked about climbing together since she moved into the little green house and it was finally time we made it happen. It was no surprise to either of us, but climbing together is just about as natural, fun, and comfortable as a gin and tonic sipped in a hammock on a warm summer night. And, being that we were in such a state of climbing partner bliss, we hopped on a10something-or-another at Blackstone Wall we really didnt have any business leading. I’d TR’d the climb before so felt ok on lead and clipped the first 4 bolts, but backed off at the 5th. There was too much reach, too much exposure, and my post-workday head wouldn’t let me reach Fear’s shins to kick it away. So Sara made a go. Solid. Finesse. Stretch.  Lock off. Hold…hold…uh oh. Dropping into the smoothest, most controlled fall she shouted "Falling!!!AAHH!" Down she went letting loose a fantastically huge scream. WOAH! I was ready to catch her fall but certainly wasn’t ready for her powerful lungs to give it quite so loudly.  As she shook out her arms, she calmly let me know to expect anytime she popped, her fall would be accompanied by a scream. She then got back on and rocked it up to the 5th bolt (it was sketchy, folks, but she made it look like ballet). 

I never knew falling could be so graceful. Or so explosively loud. And that both could go together and be a good thing.  Screaming- I can do that.

The two of us decided to back off the climb after I clipped #6, but not before I took a couple practice falls. Its true! Me! Falling! And this time, I let my terrified self express it's feelings. Vocalizing the fall made it just a smidge less scary. And it actually felt kind of good. It didnt take away the fear entirely, but made it a bit more acceptable. 

Lightbulb #1: Scream more often cause it feels good. Piece of cake.

Guides on rock

Fast forward to Labor Day. We went to Leavenworth. The first day was a nice and easy one for me getting to take the follower’s seat. But the afternoon of the second day, somehow I got dubbed the rope gun. What the?! Huh? I took it on with reluctance; I was climbing with a couple of guides after all. Wouldn’t they naturally want to lead? But there I was. The first went fine with a few slow, shaky moments of pause. But then the second...

With encouragement from the guys, I was making progress. Until it just ran out. Where did all the features go?! Hardly an edge to hold onto, not much to smear on, I was stuck. I tried going up a couple times and backed down. Looking down at Austin and Eric, I admitted I didn’t think I could do it. The real reality? I could feel Fear trickling in, wrapping its cold, hard fingers around my brain. And squeezing. Until the battle began with my stubbornness sett in.

Patience is a kind belayer

Barely sticking to the wall by the crappiest of nothing features, I slowly let myself stand taller to reach above me. Slowly, slowly I moved and then POP! I was off the wall and falling. And falling. And still falling with enough time to turn and look at the guys and yell, “Are ya gonna catch me?!?!?!” (But with a few extra choice words thrown in for spice. Sorry, guys.) Scared and completely rattled, it felt like I’d fallen forever and so very far. Far is supposed to be bad, right?! Remembering to breathe I took a moment to shake it out. And in that moment the hard reality sunk in. I was actually fine. No scratches, no bruises even. Just fine. And maybe, just maybe, was I feeling a slight bit of enjoyment out of the shock, adrenaline, and fear of the fall? So doing what any misnamed rope gun would do, I got back on, and finished it. Yes, I was still a little shaky after I made it back to ground, but the new sensation of mild enjoyment and the renewed determination to finish what I’d set out to do was completely exhilarating.

Lightbulb #2: Discovering new sensations can be entirely thrilling. Take the time to do it more often.

Glow of sunrise on Rainier

This past Saturday I was determined to get to Camp Muir (remember my distraction from Darrington? yep.). The weather had been terrible and winter was starting to put out the welcome mat, but it was supposed to lighten up. With good motivation to get there along with the pure enjoyment from having a trail and all its beauty all to myself at 5am, I knew with the melted out trail, I'd be fine at least until Pebble Creek. Getting that far would be easy enough even if it was totally socked in and at that point, I could safely decide to keep going or head back to the car. 

Lucky for me the morning was gorgeous. The lower clouds broke up just as I hit Pan Point and I had the most gorgeous views for my hike up. The morning slowly wore on as I warmed up in the shelter and it became clear that the weather would turn that night to the point that climbs were being called off for safety. While shoveling snow (yes, I like shoveling snow – its therapeutic) the clouds began to roll in. I was told I should keep an eye out and be sure to head down before 3pm.

At 3pm, it didn’t look good. Not quite a white out, but bad visibility. And the snowfield had apparently opened up in a few places since I’d walked up that morning. And I was solo. And I'd given away most of my food. And I didn’t have a compass….

Pre-panic in the early hours of the morning

So many things running through my brain in an attempt to prove that going down was a terrible idea. Dang you FEAR! Back again, fingers on brain, squeeeeeeezing. And I was scared. Being reassured with a smile and a kiss and a confident “you’ll be fine, follow those people going down and stick with them” helped but didn’t make the lump in my throat subside.  As I headed down with a few tears in my eyes, I was reminded how terribly out of my element I felt. Fear, you are cruel.

I moved fast through the rain and the clouds wanting to stay with the party near me but the desire to be down immediately pushed me faster. And then the clouds lifted. Not enough to make the rain stop or reveal the peaks around me, but enough to see the trail below. Before I new it, I was at Pebble Creek, then Pan Point. It was beautiful! Even the marmots were out enjoying the day chomping on drippy, brushy green snacks. And I began to laugh. What was I so afraid of? I had nearly let the Fear take over what had been a wonderful day full of surprises that kept getting better than I’d expected. As I laughed at myself for being so silly with it, I realized, my experience also wouldn’t have been as real without it. The cold wouldn’t have felt so cold, the views once revealed wouldn’t have looked so rugged and beautiful. The time spent with others wouldn’t have seemed so precious and fun.  If I hadn’t had Fear as my company, would I have missed out on all these most important experiences?

No need to fear, even what cant be seen

I realize I’ve had it all wrong all along. Fear hasn’t been my foe, but a friend – there to keep my reality in check, to highlight to the wonderful things I experience.  To push me to try harder, expand my point of view and help me discover newness all around me. Maybe I even like this four letter word.

Lightbulb #3 Don’t pass over the pleasure of fear. Without it, challenging experiences wouldn’t feel so vibrant or real or inspire the hope to come out, unscathed, on the other side. 

My relationship with Fear may be more intimate than it should be – obviously I don’t know it all that well, so perhaps I should take the time to learn and get comfortable with it. And yes, Fear is a four letter word that often elicits the use of other four letter words. But it also is so often related to other so very valuable four letter words that without a little fear wouldn’t be quite so precious; hope, time, love, and cake.

Confessions of a Glutton

"Do you have any extra room in your pack?," my roommate asked in a breathless voice punctuated with a bit of urgency - it was late after all on the night before my departure. "Do you have just a little bit of room?"

Well, sure.  I'm a pretty efficient packer. So, "yes", I replied as I skimmed my packing list for last minute essentials that I may have forgotten at this late stage of prep.

"I have a blessing for you..." My sweet friend had carried a wish back with her from Nepal, a trip she took last fall before I was lucky enough to meet her. My blessing, carried so far, is so simple and beautiful; a few pieces of rice wrapped in paper and carefully closed with bright colorful thread. To be honest, I dont know if there is meaning to the colors of thread or the way its wrapped. I dont know if the paper holds special significance. I'm not even sure, really if there is actually rice in there since I cant quite feel it through all the paper.

I could, however, read the words of the prayer written by Lama Geshe from Pangpoche:

"Give up all intention to harm others from your heart
And do your best to benefit them all
If each and everyone feels the universal responsibility to do so, 
We will all enjoy the feast of peace."


Hmm. I also knew the love that carried the blessing from my friend's hands to mine, and that carefully watched my blessing be placed in a special spot in my pack. From one climber to another were passed the hopes for safe travel, for success, and most of all, for an amazing experience to mark a significant moment in life. Sara's small gesture was a nugget of strength that helped me climb to over 14,400' this past Friday. (little did she know, those 10 months ago in Nepal, that this little package would be so important to an then-unknown girl on a glacier, high in the sky - i love unexpected connections like this.)

Two days later, as I made my way with my team and our amazing guides, from Paradise to Muir, we passed a number of groups enjoying the bluebird day and the views the mountain had to share. One family made a big deal of moving to the side - "look, climbers!!" I almost felt like a celebrity *blush, blush* - a little pride glowing at my hope to summit. As we passed, the father asked, "how far will you go?" "To the top!" one of my teammates replied. "Well, then I'll toast your trip with a glass of wine tonight," the father replied. And just like that, another blessing was passed our way.

To many folks who see the mountain on a daily basis (or whenever it chooses to show itself), it is simply a backdrop, a local icon, something they will only look at but never set foot on. And on the flipside, Mt Rainier, to many climbers is not a colossus. But this volcano that I've lived in site of nearly all my life was a challenge unlike any other I'd previously taken. And one I'd only been offered 4 weeks prior - and I was intimidated. I like my life. I didnt want it cut short by some hungry crevasse or a resident, fire-breathing dragon, who perhaps goes by the name Wade Olsen.

Over the course of the 2 days prior to our summit, I was gifted other pieces of goodness to pack away and carry with me by unknowing givers; the camaraderie of my team, the most perfectly golden pancakes cooked up by our guides with hot cinnamon-y coffee to chase them down, duct tape stuck to sensitive spots on my feet, shared snickers bars (which, folks, let me tell ya, they mean a LOT at 10,000'), and conversations with other climbers at various stages of their own climbs. Little things that could be taken with a grain of salt (or rice) but all added up to little wishes of goodness for the climb that helped ease my nerves.

After we successfully summited on a most beautiful day, we encountered other day-trippers near Paradise who asked how far we went? did we succeed? and then responded to our replies with congratulations, cheers and in one case, applause even.

What generosity. And kindness. From everyone - strangers, old friends, new friends. Like the encouraging words of Sara's blessing, the days of the climb were a few brief moments where we feasted on peace. And they served as a reminder why it is I do this sort of thing. Why I choose to climb steep rock, travel trails through forest, and in this case, summit a tall volcano. It seems, outside the regular, rat-race day-to-day, the best in people shines through. And I just cant help it but I'm a glutton for the goodness I find in the people I'm lucky enough to meet along the way.

Back in the Day...

The day of March 13th, to be exact, I'd just arrived in the sunny city of sin to gamble. I wasnt putting my hard earned green backs on the line but was betting a bit of skill and pride on some beautiful, red sandstone. Anxiousness reigned - would I come out ahead, break even, or find myself in a deficit?

It was my first visit to Red Rock Canyon, and as we drove down Charlestown Blvd towards the park, I felt anticipation amp up as my jaw hit the floor. How was it that I'd traveled to Vegas a number of times before but never knew this incredible place was only a short drive from the strip? (guess i should've laid off the tom collins's...)

My good friend, patient climbing partner, and coworker - and the reason I was even there - Herr Folk had prepped me on what to expect from the rock and after an early flight and hearty breakfast, we were pulling into Calico Canyon. Wind that tried to barrel us over and nearly took limbs off by forcefully slamming car doors couldnt stop me! I wanted to get on that rock!  Letting Herr Folk take first lead, I watched as he climbed higher, and higher, and higher...Oye. Couldnt we have started on something a little, ahem... shorter? A few pitches in, including one gentle lead by yours truly and I really felt like the cobwebs might be shaking off.

So wrong, little grasshopper.

A day later, in Mesculito Canyon, nerves nearly got the better of me as I barely pulled a 5.7 trad pitch. It took quite a bit of cursing (i know, i know... i thought i was angelic too. apparently, i'm more like a sailor), a few roughly grunted "watch me's!" and some terrified "taking" at the most gigantic ledge-like rests, I topped out. Honestly, it was brutal. I was hot, tired, sniffly from a cold. And I was really, really scared. I began to wonder if this climbing schiznit was really for me. Maybe I'm not built for this? Maybe, I should stay the ever-enthusiastic follower, happy to belay her leader wherever they want to go - as long as I can safely stick with pulling gear, not placing it? Maybe I'm not ready to play with the big boys and girls who are willing to take risk? Maybe, I never will be. Ugh. There was no "maybe" about hating that feeling.

Oh, March. How long ago you are! (thankfully)

Another day, the opportunity to climb with some SLC friends who let me be middle on a couple of longer climbs in Mesculito gave me a new sense of nervous confidence. And I was mercilessly teased for being a sandbagger, and for not being able to heckle (still working on that.). Sandbagger? Me?!  I had the strength in arms and feet, a bit of balance and finesse to keep up, but the head? No sandbagging here boys, that part of me was still back in primary school of climbing.

My last full day, I was lucky enough to participate in a clinic at the Rendezvous. (I'm incredibly lucky to work a company that not only supports my hobbies personally, but occasionally sends me out on mini-adventures to do them as part of my job.). I'd been sent to the Red Rock Rendezvous to help out Senor Folk and had been granted a precious afternoon with one of our athletes, Sarah Hueniken. She's an incredibly kind and kickass guide from Canmore and was teaching a clinic on anchors and gear placement for women. I got to mock-lead, then rappel down with her as she examined my gear. The verdict? It was all solid, all fall-worthy. A few small recommendations, but overall, her take: gear is good, confidence? well, honey, that's what needs the work.

I left, having had an incredible experience, surrounded by amazing people who also happen to be inspiring climbers. I pushed my limits and was scared out of my gourd! And I realized, though it may have taken a fellow female climber to point it out, that I actually can bring it to the table, if I only have the guts to believe in myself.

So I took that 2cents to heart, and I'm starting to ues it. And I'm seeing just how much more I can throw down. The year of climbing. So far, so good.


PS - still havent figured out the quote biz.... so, 1. Herr Folk nearly getting blown over, 2. Giving me the "what the heck, scared sister?" stare down in Mesculito Canyon, 3. A good game for determining the leader played out by Jesse and Shingo, 4. Sarah sharing her superwoman knowledge with us

De-Seattle-izing the Approach

I'm trying hard to relearn my take on dealing with situations; learning to cut to the chase rather than passive aggressively beating around the bush in classic Seattle style. I'm a born Seattleite after all, so this is a bit of a challenge.  But with that in mind, here's the deal... Most people who climb with me know the routine. We get to the rock. I'm psyched!!! I'm feeling strong. I can do this!! And I'm gonna love it.

And then.

I hit an arete, a windy, airy exposure like the one in that photo, or a run out. And. I. Freeze. Scared shitless to day-ruining degrees. I could give you my classic line - I started climbing to get over a fear of heights...blah blah blah. But lets cut the BS - its been 7 years. Its finally time to quit with the passive aggressiveness (or whatever you want to all it) and step up.

Turns out, I climb quite well. Having been a swimmer for a long time, I have "those" shoulders and arms and I'm happy on rock when I can use them. I love the feeling of getting a sequence, of dancing on rock. I especially love climbing when I have a top rope coming down to me. The love of leading has been harder to nurture. Its really more of a love-hate relationship. I love to climb, hate the thought of falling. Just ask my dear climbing partner Zanetka who recently laughed after I shot her the "are you effing kidding me?" look when I was asked to just Fall. And it was during falling practice, so I knew I was going to have to let go at some point. See, the problem is I dont trust myself or, maybe better confessed, dont have the confidence to trust myself.

So, in similar fashion to a day 7 years ago when I decided a fear of heights was dumb and I'd better get over it by getting high up, I've decided this silly lack of confidence is gonna have to go, too. The time has come to get over it. So here I am in the middle of my self appointed Year of Climbing. Time to step it up, cut out the passive aggressive bullshit and make it happen. I'll keep you posted. So far so good - I've got some catching up to do on this end, but already, as of July 1 when I hit the post button, I'm on my way. And I must admit, the love is growing. Happy climbing.

Early Feb Hiking

Cable Line Trail. Did a mini hike this weekend to Tiger. Maile ran the ENTIRE way, multiple times. I, on the other hand went up only once and down only once. But today, I feel like I did it about as many times as she did.

Should a Soaker be Soaked and the Biga get Bigger?

Pre-dough

Things have been a little tight lately - a cinch many have felt in the last year - and, like many of those people, its caused me to reexamine how I shell out my hard earned dough.


Which led me straight to dough. Of the flour-kind. 

I took a hard, creative look at my pantry as part of my reexamination exercise, to see what I could cook with what I already had that was just collecting dust. What I had plenty of was ingredients for baking bread. And lucky for me, my dear friend and former roommate left her kitchenaid on my counter in my care for a short bit. I took the coincidence of ingredients + tools as a *sign*.


Growing up, I loved the smell of freshly baked bread in the house. The way the puffed up tops curled over the edges of the bread pan and how good a slice of mom's latest baking goodness tasted. I also remember the time I attempted to make a loaf for my family only to have it turn out as hard as a rock encased in cement due to excessive kneading - it may have come close to breaking the knife.


Leaving that traumatic experience in my past, I've jumped full force into relearning baking skills. Little did I know I'd also get some lessons in science!

Soaker

Currently, i'm using a recipe from Apple Pie, Patis, and Pate for a flaxseed and oat bran loaf that includes making a biga and a soaker. The biga, currently resting in my fridge, has not gotten bigger. And the soaker.... isnt really soaking. Its more like play-do really.... Am i doing this right?


Beginning with my first attempt a few weeks back with sourdough, I've quickly learned baking is not a speed hobby. My sourdough starter, like all starters, had to sit for 36hrs before it was ready for mixing in with the other ingredients - the usual bread baking steps, which take 2+ hours for mixing, rising, resting, and baking. 

No one ever told me baking bread would take so long. 

This photo has nothing to do with bread. It was just such a pretty day last week.

Or what a starter was. And that that starter didn't really start much but the waiting game. For ex., I am still waiting for my sourdough to taste "sour" - its more like a light soda bread. But its tasty. I'm not the best at following these recipes to the fractional measurement - i''m better cooking things that i can just throw together. Maybe that's why its not so sour?

But, this newest recipe, is indicating precision is more important. Measuring 1 1/3 cups flour plus 2 tbsp.... really? Will those 2 tablespoons really make a difference in the end? And 3/4 cup + 2 tbsp water? Why not take out the 2 tbsp of flour and water and make it a more "round" measurement?


Mysteries of baking. To be continued... esp since i just read the recipe that my just-stirred, not-soaked soaker has to sit for 12 hrs....