Lofty Ideals

What might the outdoor girl's ideal sunday night be made of? Simply combine a glass of Malbec, a crisp apple the size of a softball, the tastiest stinky cheese from De Laurenti, a classic climbing book and an epsom salts bath. After a weekend including the third battle in The War on the Tree I Hate and an eye-opening, awesome first day of skiing - eye opening for the deep, unexpected powder and realization just how much I need to practice beacon work and get these legs ready for the season - I figured I'd indulge in a little recovery.

Yes, I may be loving the relaxation that comes with recovery, but more than that, I'm loving my recharged motivation to get out again stat! The sooner I get after it hard, the sooner I can give myself the earned excuse to have another night like this.

Harness Your Inner Power Bird

Honestly, I cant remember the exact moment when it happened, but it was sometime early in the climbing season. It may have been up at Squamish or out at Vantage, but I know it was with my dear friend and climbing partner, Z. While the exact time and location are fuzzy, what has stayed very clear in my memory was my focus. Keeping my fears feeling as light and inconsequential as possible so as not to let them distract me, I pushed all my energy into breathing steady and deep, trusting my feet and continuing to look up.

There are lots of Power Birds in CoR.

It was while looking up, that I saw it. A wide-winged hawk, soared above me, from thermal to thermal, high above all other features of the land. I imagined myself inside the mind of that hawk; no fear over being so high in up, only love for the view, for the exhilaration from feeling the air moving through its feathers, for the fun of diving and twirling its body to soar fast, slow, high or, (channeling Dr. Suess) low. And calm came over me.

The incredible effort I had been putting forth to suppress fear and lift my confidence seemed like overkill. Climbing higher and higher, visions of my hawk friend filled my brain leaving me smiling, giggling at my own ability to "soar" up the rock, the strength and almost grace of my movements - I felt so peaceful and so powerful! You see, all I had to do was harness my inner Power Bird.

Holy smokes, that was a new feeling on rock!

While I dont remember all the details. I do remember at some point nearly shouting like the dorky goofball that I am, to Z to, "Harness your inner power bird!" Though I hadn't really been looking for it, I'd found my "spirit" animal.

As cheesy as it is, every time I climb now I'm always on the lookout. It might be a hawk again, or a crow or sparrow, or when I'm most lucky, a hummingbird (I superstitiously take these as the greatest of all omens bringing me love and wonderful messages). Whenever that tickle of fear starts in at the back of my brain (always), it never fails that I look up and some power bird is soaring overhead, having come to remind me of my own potential - if I choose to accept it.

Perhaps you have your own power "animal"; maybe its a zippy chipmunk (they're great climbers, esp when chased by Mailes!), a sticky footed beetle, words from a friend who always believes in you, or even a completely inanimate object like, oh, hmmm... like your puffy jacket. Whatever it is, power "animals" have magic to work. Harness your inner power bird, then let her go and watch her fly!

A Case of the Blues

A bit of the blues

Robin's Egg. Glace. Tarn. Cielo. Crystal. Opal. Juniper Berry. Polar. Cloud. Cobalt. Iceberg... 

Last time I was on the Coleman Glacier, almost a year ago to the day, I was confident I'd never come back to do the same activity again. But there I was, having finished a hike that started in the dark of predawn, back at the edge of the glacier to do exactly what I said I wouldn't repeat. Despite my love of the vertical, my primeval self prefers terra firma. I can win most cases with that inner cave-dweller when arguing the safety of climbing rock. Gear, when placed well, will most likely hold if I fall. Climbing ice on the other hand requires an entirely different argument that I dont know how to win yet.

I'm not entirely sure why I thought it would be a better idea the second time around. But there I was. Jason Wheeler had offered to do another Intro to Ice Clinic for us and, before I even had the chance to debate with myself, I'd jumped on board.

Following the Jasons onto the Coleman

Perhaps I jumped because I cant resist any opportunity to get into the mountains. Perhaps because I verge on being a cheap dirtbagger and cant say "no" to free instruction. Perhaps because it gave me another opportunity to learn from one of my favorite instructors and climbing friends (Jason teaches through BC mountaineers and the ACC - I HIGHLY recommend you look him up if you want to learn climbing skills. He is the most patient, fun, thorough, confidence-boosting and tall! instructors; and its obvious he loves to teach). 

Whatever the reason was for saying "yes", it was Saturday morning, I was at the edge of the glacier, fighting a mean head cold after a 4am wake up and a 2.5hr drive in the darkness with only my marginally brewed coffee and a gas station doughnut to get me going. The thought "Why again do I do this"? teased my brain.

Why am I doing an activity I swore off 352 days ago? Why did I wake before the sun, on purpose! while most, including my dog, were still tucked cozy and warm into bed? Why, with a stuffy nose and sore throat, did I knowingly hike through the cold drizzle while carrying a heavy pack? Why was I putting myself in a position where I could fall with serious consequences potentially including stuck crampons and legs that shouldnt bend certain ways or chunks of ice the size of the warm pillow I left behind taken to the face? (I'm so good at the "why's?" - I must've asked a LOT of questions as a kid; sorry Mom and Dad) My cave dweller was winning.

Hiiiiiyah!

But then at the edge of the glacier, the drizzle stopped and the clouds let hints of sky peek through. Sipping hot tea from my thermos, more shared jokes from the Jason's left me smiling while we took a quick break (the "Jason's" being instructor Jason and coworker/friend/instructee Jason). Then with the comforting feel of my harness securely cinched around my waist, crampons were strapped on, we tied in, and moved away from the edge onto the glacier. That's when I remembered why and when the blues started filling my head.

How many words can describe the different shades of white and blue that color a glacier? Changing light yields different hues, unveiling a multitude of features and textures to this living, moving beast of snow and ice.  Horizon. Mist. Snow cone! Mediterranean. Seagull. Azure....

I could tell you all the details of the day...Relearning how to use crampons in vertical ice (challenging). The strain in my arms until I figured those feet out (burning). Feeling incredible strength and power of my body when moving up vertical, slightly overhanging ice (wonder woman, hiiiiyah!). The excitement of seeing a friend try a completely new sport. The lingo and tricks I learned; "ooeys", "dinner plates", the necessity of nutter-butters...These little nuggets of goodness are, well, good.

Our fearless teacher helping us off down the seracs

But what I remember most is finding that thing I sought at the edge of the glacier; that thing that keeps me coming back. Its the camaraderie and fun shared between me and my companions. The satisfaction of knowing I can meet a challenge head on and the feeling of success in my body, mind, and heart at the end of the day (whatever "success" is; the top, the attempt, the new knowledge). The incredible beauty that my eyes beg to absorb from every direction, that no camera will ever do justice to, that only my mind can remember as it should be.

We all have our own reasons for getting out there. Next time I will remember mine and wont hesitate to debate the cave dweller who says "no." The arguments of potential pain, failure, discomfort, fear lose completely, and every time, to the arguments that say "yes."

Oh, and the number of words to describe the blue and white? Endless....

A Lovely Love Affair

I know, I know; I said love. Its a mushy, squishy, sometimes lovely, and sometimes uncomfortable, cringe-inducing word. 

Dont worry. I wont make you blush. I'm simply in the deepest love with my climbing shoes.

Admittedly, I'm a gear junky. For example, most folks may have one, maybe two puffys for the spectrum of their adventures. But when you work in this industry and for a great company that features new colors of your favorite puffy every fall (this year in berry!!) and a new girlie version of the best uber-cozy, ideal-on-rainier puffy well, its hard not to suddenly up the count in your closet to (please dont judge) six. I often cave to the "shiny-and-new" but gear comes and goes so quickly in this highly competitive industry that its hard to get attached to any one thing before its lost its luster.

Until now.

At the start, I was unsure of this relationship. I had my eye on an entirely different shoe but the great folks at Second Ascent didn't have it in my size. The helpful sales guy didn't give up playing matchmaker and steered me towards Scarpa's Thunder. They fit well, but I was a bit turned off by the cumbersome laces vs. speedy velcro that I sought and the dull grey, last-season color.

Love, In The Color Gray

Edging, friction, solid precision, and a snug fit that didnt allow the shoe to slide around my foot in crack and on tiny features of technical routes but with enough comfort for long days.... all qualities of a perfect shoe that I didn't think existed. Though I wasn't sure if they were aggressive enough, the Thunders seemed to have quite a bit of what I wanted. And, its hard to find a shoe that even fits my foot; wide toe-box, narrow heel, short achilles, and sensitive big-toe joint. These fit and they were on sale. Hesitant but hoping for the best, I took them home with me.

A few days later I found myself at the climbing gym for break-in session #1 with the Thunders. At first a little nervous, worry melted away after the first climb and a lightning bolt of love shot through my heart. 

A month of fairly consistent climbing and they've ever-so-slightly molded to my feet for longer-wearing comfort without losing the snug fit for feeling small features. On Straight Shooter, it was easy to toe into the small crack with good purchase. Secure, solid smearing of rough sandstone a few days later, I felt confident on my feet despite my road-trip hangover. And much to the annoyance of my climbing party, I could not quit shouting "I love my shoes!" How can a girl do otherwise when her heart is soaring?

Though they're a moderate shoe - probably not aggressive enough for 5.11+ climbing - I have a better ability to feel with my feet and more confidence in my footwork than I've had in quite a while. They've ticked off every one of the "requirements" from my list. 

We're a match made in heaven, my Thunders and me. And even now, after enough use that they're starting to violate the 3-foot rule, I'm still in love.

A Case for Dreaming

Y2K. RR, NV

The breeze catches my shirt, the chalk bag clipped to the back of my harness, the wisps of curl set free from beneath my helmet, gently urging me up...up...upwards. The sun is warm; not so hot to bake out my energy, but that perfect temperature that keeps the chill away. Calm, steady, smooth, I step higher, reach higher into the perfect splitter to a solid stance and bomber gear. I place, I clip, and I continue upwards on rock that feels as much a part of my being as do my lungs pumping a steady breath in and out and my heart that hums with the rhythm of my movements. Wings spread wide, a hawk soars above watching my moves, acknowledging with approval, my existence in this place. Without rushing, I make my way to the ledge, pausing to rest and take in my surroundings. Then I anchor in and bring my partner up.

Smooth, calm, and full of the same exuberance for this experience as me, my partner climbs to meet me. We high-five, share a chuckle at some inside joke that came from this experience, exclaim our happiness at this most incredible day and our burly achievement, swap gear. Then my faceless climbing partner continues on.

My partner is "faceless" because this is a dream. This partner embody qualities from many of the people I've climbed with over the years - the arms of one, feet of a second, ears, hair, helmet, harness of others, but with the inspired joy for this activity that all have shared. They cannot have a face, since one is not enough. In this dream, I scale the vertical and overhanging, small-featured faces and sustained cracks and I have no hesitation, I do not waver, I do not need to "take." I am confident and I am crushing it! 

My new friend, Mr. Burro

I love this dream. I dream it when I sleep and I dream it when I'm awake, while I stare over my desk and out the window towards the Olympics, out the windshield of my car, out the window by my kitchen sink into the dark as I do my dinner's dishes. This is the dream I'm chasing, hoping to turn into reality.

This dream was a big part of why I so eagerly anticipated my road trip to Red Rock Canyon. This was going to be a marker as to how far I'd come in my "year of climbing". I was going to get on BIG! things. And finally, as in my dream, feel like a real climber.

But, my trip was not what I expected. And this last week it dawned on me that I don't even know what being a real climber means. Can someone be a "fake" climber vs. a "real"one? Is there such a thing? And if not, what is this goal I'm trying to achieve anyways?

The current reality: I forget to breathe, my legs shake, my confidence falters. "Crushing it" means finishing a 2-pitch, 5.7 trad climb or clipping 5.9 sport bolts, maybe when pushed a 5.10, without panic. This reality is not my dream. I am not there. Yet.

Pre-lightning

In Red Rock, torrential rain, thunder, and terrifyingly close lightning were a surprise. I got only 4 days on rock instead of 7. Climbing Pauligk Pillar, that 2-pitch 5.7, took my breath away, required all my focus, and, were it not for my partners singing ridiculous songs for distraction, I might not have been able to smile away the heart- and climb-stopping fear (light-years away from even a hint of 5.12). The one "longer" route I climbed kicked me off at halfway when another downpour hit. I had enough down time re-repack my dirty clothes, wander a bookstore for half a day, and drink too much coffee. None of this was planned.

But also not planned was the time to make new friendships, renew ones I'd let lax, and redefine others, including the one with myself, this climber girl. (And the time to hang out with wild burro!) Despite all that was unexpected, I still had fun. So, what is it that this climber really wants? Is it to someday redpoint 5.12? Climb big walls? Find some hidden, unknown line to FA?

New day, new landscape. 

At one point, these goals were that beautiful dream. Maybe, they're still parts of it; I'd like to hope so. But they are no longer the definition of what that dream climb is all about. My purpose for being in Nevada's desert, on PNW granite at home, or on that nameless climb in my head has changed. While the dream may still look similar, I'm reminded that its actually about the feel of the breeze, the joy for a moment shared with a good partner, the journey to find peace through letting go of fear, the fun in achieving even 5.7, and in the unexpected goodness of "off" days with friends.

One thing I am very confident of; I still love this dream, its what real climbing is to me. And this is reality.

Nineteen Hours

First 19hr leg: Seattle to Vegas by way of Twin Falls with a five-hour sleep at the KOA and a drive-fueling breakfast at IHOP. 

Last 19hr leg: Newport Beach overnighting outside of Los Banos, CA in the back of my car with a brief stop at Mt Shasta enroute back home. 

The long and straight of it

Between these was the ~9 hour drive from Vegas to Newport Beach - in which I did have great company and a relief driver. And also was the 5hr RT drive back to Jtree in a last desperate attempt for one more day of climbing. Over the course of 11 days, I tallied 3,356.9 miles, most of which I racked up alone. 

There is a bit of pride that comes from the willingness to go for what I want, when I want, with or without anyone else. No partner for a memorial day weekend backpack? I'll sleep in the snow myself. Travel-mate-less catching a chicken bus in a country who's language I cant speak to a location I cant pronounce? No worries, I've got a smile, watched a lot of MacGuyver, and can get myself out of most situations. 

Many friends have taken on bigger projects, farther-off lands, longer journeys; alone. In my circle of adventurous friends this attitude is common, almost of a requirement of "being." Its typical among those who seek out adventure, and I feel, an especially noted point of pride in women. Just look at the number of books on Amazon with titles such as Wanderlust and Lipstick, A Journey of One's Own, or Gutsy Women. Its as if going through life solo is the most worthwhile, strong, honorable, and only way to go; by any other means is a life with less value. To be solo is to be independent. To be independent is to be strong in mind, and heart. To be strong in mind, and heart, well shoot, you're practically Yoda. Though my goings alone aren't all that exceptional, I've still how I've gone about life.

Somewhere in northern Nevada...

Living without needing others there has been my MO. There's no one else who's opinion must be weighed into plans. No one else's bank account balance to be considered when determining if I can or cannot extend my own dollars. No one else's needs that need meeting. No one else's thoughts to invade my own. The solo experience has meant independence of not having to deal with someone else. 

Solo time can be recharging, a good check in with myself, to quiet outside influences, and just breathe. I sometimes worry too much solo time might make me go crazy. But usually what seems like "crazy" is the road to my own sanity and I come out feeling refreshed and recharged to keep pushing for good things in my life. Solo can be good. 

Which is exactly the reason I found myself alone on a 19 hour drive to Vegas just over a week ago and a 19 hour drive home Sunday night. 

But a 19 hour stint in a car. Twice in just over a week...well, it provides a girl a lot of time to think. Alone.

And I realized, I've had it wrong. 

The experience of life is so much richer, fuller, more memorable when I have someone, or several someones, I care about along for the journey. The sun is brighter on my face when there is another face turning up to feel its warmth next to mine. Lightening storms are more intense, scary, and thrilling when friends sit on either side of me oohing and aaahing at the bolts that flash all around us. The weird road signs and interesting passerby are more laughable, more interesting when someone else's eyes see them too. What is challenging, beautiful, giggle-inducing, sorrowful, inspiring, mundane; it takes on an extra level of meaning when its witnessed not just by me, but also by the ones I'm with - even if we experience things on a wholly personal, unique level. 

Copilots are key in safe navigation...

So maybe its not the popular way of traveling through life, maybe its not my OWN old, preferred way of living mine. I might be considered weak, unable to truly face my inner self, or heaven-forbid, needy, by others (or myself) who tout the solo journey as the only way to find meaning in this experience of life. If that is the case, then I accept being weak, I accept that I'm needy, and I will never be as cool as Yoda. But who effing cares? My life will be so much richer for the sharing of it. And I am grateful to my friends and family who have shared parts and pieces of this life I have lived. And also to the ones who will share more with me down the road. 

Is there any point to all this blathering about of words? I suppose not really, or only really to me. That I'm newly challenged to redefine the value I find in this life I have been given. Now, time to go live it. Care to join me?

"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.)