Be Gentle It's My First Time...

We all remember our first time, the awkwardness, the pain, and the confusion.  Thoughts of; am I doing this right, is my partner gonna laugh at me, why has it ended so soon.  My first time was awful, I used all these grunts and power when some delicate finesse would have sufficed.  I'm sure through the looking glass of memory it has only gotten worse, but I am certain I was sweating like a fat guy in a leather recliner while breathing as heavy as a horse.  Obviously, I'm not talking about my "first time" nor am I talking about my first time climbing, but instead this post is about the first time I knew I was a climber.

While trying to start homework tonight, I followed my usual protocol of deadpoint, twitter and facebook.  During my facebook stalking I discovered a climbing video.  Now this is nothing unusual on facebook, with most of my friends being climbers and usually posting video/blogs etc.  What made this different was the video itself.  This video was pre-digital photography, pre-windows movie maker, final cut, and cell phone video cameras.  This video is 9 years old and shot by my friend Chris.  It is a full length bouldering video made using Clemson University's liberal lending policy on media equipment.  It stars my first group of climbing friends, myself and A.J.  Check it out here: Rumbling Bald

After the hilarity and the wonderful memories of friends and good times this video brought back, I began to think about my early days in climbing.  I climbed v3/5.11a for a better part of my first three years and could never seem to overcome that grade.  I switched between ropes and bouldering without regards to a preference.  Basically, this is an old man sitting back in his chair telling his grandkids about the good old days when I used to "climb for fun."  Truthfully, it was the innocence of my climbing youth, I lived just to climb and I didn't care how hard, how tall or how new the climbs were, I just wanted to climb because it gave me that funny feeling in my tummy.  Shortly after sending my first v5 I moved to California to participate in AmeriCorps, while there I stopped climbing for a full year.  The Corps ended and I moved back East.  I settled into my old climbing life, the only thing that changed was my climbing partner had jumped five grades in my absence.  I set it in my mind that I had to catch him, I took the plunge from hanging at the gym, to training at the gym, from climbing for fun to climbing for the numbers.  My former plateau of v3 took a week to over come, then v5 a day, within six months I had gone from not climbing to climbing v8.  That was when my climbing youth died.  To William Blake I entered into the age of Experience.

I have been training for harder and harder sends every fall since then.  August starts and I draw up a training scheme.  Week nights I tear muscles over and over again looking to stretch and tear them again the next night.  I turn away from friends having fun at the gym and I turn down dates to do pull up workouts.  On the weekends I let my frustrations and aggression explode onto boulder problems, because I have gentrified myself into only bouldering during the winter/fall/spring, "ropes are for the summer."  Climbing has evolved from the fun past time of chilling with friends in the woods, to the passionate dysfunctional embrace of loving a thing that can't love me back.

This video has me wondering, when did I become a climber?  Was it during my innocence or my experience?  I look back to that day when I first started adding pull up workouts to my climbing, I try to look back to the one day before, to the day before that and decide, when did I first feel like a climber?  When did I know that no other word would describe me?  I cannot remember that day occurring before the training precipice was crossed.  I was back to climbing after a full year off and knew I was never leaving it again.  The moment came while sitting on top of a boulder at Rumbling Bald, in western North Carolina.  I had just sent a problem called Shao Lin, it was my first v7.  I was looking towards the sun setting behind the purple mountains of the Appalachians, the leaves were all gone, but there were still some red's and orange's on the ground.  I was breathing hard, sweating, my hands were on fire, but I had done it.  I had climbed one grade harder.  For better or worse my climber identity was born from pushing myself to the next level.