Climbing Friends...

On Super Bowl Sunday I was laying on the floor of my bathroom in the fetal position.  I had just thrown up for the fourth time that day.  To say I was having and introspective moment would be a lie, I was simply praying for a swift death.  I did my mini walk of shame past my functioning friends who were laughing and having a great Sunday afternoon only to crawl back into bed.  A few hours of awful sleep passed and I was woken up by one of my best friends, Stephen and his wonderful girlfriend.  They were heading home and were giving me a hug good-bye.  I mumbled some form of apology, received their hug and flung myself horizontal for fear of the world tilting the wrong way.  "Don't worry we've left him like this before, this is nothing new," said Stephen about my condition.  I drifted back to sleep and they flew back home to Portland.  I woke a few more hours later and let my mind flash back to a few similar moments of extreme hungoverness:

The time I threw up in the van in Maryland following ABS nationals.  The time I threw up blood after the February Fallout in Atlanta (we had used a shopping cart for our liquor needs that night!).  My inability to move from my bed following the Jello Shots bouldering competition in college.  I had a good laugh at all of my misfortunes from drinking and then thought about the uniting factor, they were all with my best friends who are also climbers.  Which led me to the most important math equation of all time: climbing friends = the best friends.

For the last eleven years I have dedicated most weekends to climbing projects, climbing road trips, and climbing competitions.  All of these have been with my climbing friends and all of these weekends have ended in so many memorable moments that I can barely remember half of them.  I have been with climbing friends on Christmas day in the middle of the Texas desert as we battled boulder problems.  I have been with climbing friends in a crowded gym on a beautiful Saturday because we are fierce competitors.  I have been with climbing friends on a Tuesday night salivating over the recent release from Sender or Big Up.  Climbing has ended jobs, relationships, old friendships and the structural intergrity of my shoulders and wrists, but it has given me my best friends.  Why are climbers such good friends?

We understand the obsession.  How many times in our lives have we walked into a party had a co-worker say something to the affect of "I hear you are a rock climber."  Which then translates into you explaining climbing for the next five minutes all while they continually refer to the "dangers of mountain climbing."  Climbers understand, they get it.  They know that it is not about the numbers but are excited when their friends sends a grade higher.  They know that the weekend was designed for projects and that it is okay to spend more money on gear than dinner.  All climbers no matter the age, level or profession would all rather be climbing.

Climbing friends share a unique bond in that we have all tasted a small sliver of deaths cold desert.  Some of us have had very serious injuries from climbing, others are lucky and have taken nasty whips or falls and laughed off the minor scrapes.  Either the serious or the routine, a fall in climbing triggers something in the back of our brain that mentally prepares us for the end.  Most times we are not aware of it and most big falls result in a few choice words directed at a spotter or belayer.  However, our subconscious understands and holds on tight to the joy that is life.  This knowledge separates climbers because we now know that death is a mere nano second of wrong decisions away.  To me, this makes climbers better friends because we understand how precious life is, we fully understand the joy of one life to live.

Because of the ability to know death and embrace an obsession climbing friends have an energy that carries them through all parts of life.  Parties thrown by climbers always seem to be louder and more boisterous.  Plus they usually end up in some form of shirtless feat of strength contest.  My climbing friends carry their energy into other passions as well from painting to woodworking to writing.  They know how to throw themselves into everything they do.  This vitality also leads to a state of mind for most climbers.  Check a climbers lunch box and it is nine times out of ten filled with some form of organic food.  My climber friends sign up for trail clean ups and donate heavily to access fund, world wildlife fund and the nature conservancy.  They contribute in because they know first hand how precious the earth is to all of us.

We as climbers overcome challenges for fun, we celebrate other's accomplishments and we are there when they fail.  We live in a microcosm of the larger world every time we step onto a climb.  We understand that pushing yourself is important while accepting your own abilities is just as necessary.  We strive for more while appreciating what we have.  In life I am friend first and a climber second, but my climbing friends allow me that opportunity to combine the two and be who I truly am.

Then there was One...

I have one distinct advantage in the Dark Horse Bouldering Series, it’s hosted at the gym where I am a member; Metro Rock Everett.  Outside of this, I don’t pull v15, I don’t have sponsorships paying my bills, all I have is the home territory.  Now, I don’t get to see the routes before they are constructed, and the setters do a great job of thwarting my attempts to secretly gain beta.  However, this has given me one unique opportunity, I knew the list of the big names coming before they were released in Josh and Dave’s hilarious video.  Who's Coming?  The list is stacked, so stacked that according to my calculation only one spot is available for us non-pros.

 Seeds of doubt can raise hell on a competitors psyche.  A shoulder can feel tweaked, leaving them wondering if it will withstand the rigors of both a qualifiers and a finals in one day.  A shitty time at work can leave a competitor with bad karma.  Knives become an obstacle to be completely avoided at all times.  I mean who wants to not be able to climb because their finger got dismembered from cutting carrots.  (I distinctly remember the awful feeling of watching the knife slice deep into my thumb instead of the orange I was cutting, this was two days before the final leg of the Triple Crown)  What really weighs heavily on this competitor’s mind is the fact there is so much talent coming to this competition that there is just that one spot.  One spot to make it to finals in open.  One spot where I could hear my name boom from Raff’s mic, to step out in front of a crowd and feel their energy hype me up the wall.  Now that weighs heavy on my mind.

Each pull up of training was followed by the thought, is this enough?  Each campus section was finished with, what is my competition doing?  Now I know Daniel Woods and Carlo Traversi are in a league all their own.  They are the Tom Brady’s, Michael Phelps, and LeBron James of rock climbing.  They make the rest of us mortals seem like kids wandering in off the streets looking for gym shoes and a belay lesson.  Simply put they crush.  Coming back to that one spot, the one spot not filled with a professional bad ass the competition really lies thick with the next big things, has beens, and the guy who can get lucky once in a while.  This Dark Horse will be a competition between the pro’s battling out with futuristic power and a secondary competition of the one mortal who is lucky enough to compete with them.  I can count at least ten people I know who will be in the qualifiers who can beat me, but I can also beat them.  This of course excludes the surprise, the proverbial dark horse who comes in and crushes nasty style! 

At times it weighs heavy like lead filled shoes in a swimming pool.  Other times, I laugh and think how lucky I am to know that I could possibly compete against the pros.  Mainly though the gym is where the thoughts come gushing out.  They sweat through my chalk filled hands during my 4x4’s.  They seep through my shirt as I feel the rush of gravity pull me off a plastic project.  They are spoken about in front of me with slaps on the back saying “don’t worry, you’ve got it.”  But I do worry, what if I don’t got it.  Obviously it is one comp and the world will move on, but will I?  Will this be the final nail in my elite climber coffin or will it be the first step towards a brighter spotlight? 

Only time will tell who will fill the one spot…

I'll DO IT!!!!!

ARRRRGGH! Damn these New England Winters to a fiery hell. I have not taken a normal breath in almost 2 WEEKS and now I am tweaking and freaking out. My New Years resolution has been shot down by this bazooka of a cold and my resolve and patience have worn thin like ice in early Spring.

I started off the new year treating my body better than I have in months. Three weeks filled with healthy breakfasts, long peaceful runs, steamy yoga sessions, ample sleep, water galore, and so much more. Everything an active boy needs. I was feeling amazing and psyched for the year to come. Just three weeks in, as I am finally breaking into my stride and acclimating to my lifestyle changes, I am blindsided by Bronchial lungs, energy stocks depleted, and more congestion than a freeway on the fourth of July. I need to exorcise these demons within before I crack and crumble like poor Mr. Dumpty.

Try though I might, I find myself greeted with failure each time I try to break free of the virus' iron grip . I climb for a bit, or do a session of yoga, feel FANTASTIC, and then a few hours after my body deflates to its original state of weariness. I have slept swaddled in warm blankets for many nights, drank half the tea in China, and ingested enough vitamin C to now be considered a citrus fruit. Despite all this my body has yet to recover. I try to remain hopeful of returning to my New Years regiment but it's hard to stay psyched when your body has become your enemy.

Screw it. Today I have had enough. I go run despite the fact my lungs are filled with mucous, phlegm, and angst. The run feels like complete freedom after my stint with self inflicted captivity. I glide along the Jamaica Pond path with my Ipod shuffle blasting a wide assortment of bumpin' new beats. Music may have been known to tame the savage beast, but these bangers unleash the demons that have been driving me Mad. The music and frustration push me on to run five fast paced miles on this beautiful January evening.

I finish the run and the rusty iron taste of blood saturates my saliva as my chest heaves like the wolf who failed to blow down the brick house. Rising and falling as my lungs rasp away. My run was filled with not only a hellish fervor but also an abundance of coughing fits, snot rockets, and loogies. As I stretch on my stoop I cough up more of the dislodged nastiness that lines my airways. How does my body produce so much thick green goop and when will my body defeat this demon that suckles upon my good health?

Alas, working in the white lung inducing confines of Metrorock certainly will not provide me with the rejuvenating air my body requires. I spend my days in a modern dust bowl of the American 30's. A permanent haze of chalk and skin fragments create a sea of thick static air I helplessly ingest with each passing day. Each exhale rattling through my lungs like the dying breath of dragon.

A busy week lies ahead with the approaching of the Dark Horse finals and being healthy is a prerequisite for productivity. I will spend the rest of my weekend trying to stay motivated and showing this internal invader that I DO NOT QUIT. I will harness my excitement and force the remnants of this viral invasion to hoist their white flag. VIVA LA REVOLUCION.

Blinking Comp...

This past weekend we went to Philadelphia, for the Winter Burn.  This was the sixth annual Winter Burn, hosted by the Philadelphia Rock Gym. The energy was high as people placed their pride on the line, grabbed the starting v and pushed their personal limits.

Competitions are energy.  They are a storing of excitement the day before.  The energy reaches critical mass on Saturday and it explodes into crimps, dynos and lock offs.  Sunday is recovery spent stretching sore muscles, laughing about botched beta and smiling about sends.  Just like electricity through than outlet the energy of a comp moves at the blink of an eye.

Friday night I was sitting and bull shitting with people at Metro Rock, soon I'm in the back seat of a car hauling ass through the never ending tolls of Mass.  I am quiet the nights before competitions.  My brain runs in slow motion, mainly doing a running inventory of how my muscles feel.  All the energy is introverted.  Nate and Kate keep the music flowing and my vision changes from the tolls to the forgotten factories of Hartford. I rub the sleep from my eyes and the worrying energy from my brain as New York's skyline races by the windows.  Jersey slogs by and soon we are at the hotel room.  Closing my eyes and trying to capture my pulse, the night ends.

Blink my eyes open and search for my glasses.  The world comes into focus and my energy changes.  It is comp day.  Breakfast and conversation, my mood has changed.  I am amped for this day.

The competition is in the late afternoon so the morning slowly fades into time killing.  My eyes adjust to a chalked filled gym as future crushers scale problems with grades higher than their age.  Registration is over and the rules are being yelled through a crowded gym.  There is limited space to warm up and soon I find myself on a harder seven for my "confidence booster."  I squint through gritted teeth and the crux is easier than I anticipated.  Judges sign my score card and it's time to crush.

Blink, I'm falling off a problem I need to get for finals.

Blink, I've just flashed a 10 and my finals hopes are alive again.

Blink, I can't stick this dyno, try again and my eyes shut tight as I hurdle towards the ground.

Qualifiers end and then I wait, this energy is awful, doubt mixed with hope, sadness mixed with excitement.  It swings like the blade of a pendulum.  The announcer voice cracks through the microphone and I close my eyes.  My name is called and my goal of reaching finals has been realized.

Blink, I'm in isolation, joking with other competitors.

Blink, I'm being walked out to the chair.

Blink, I am blowing the chalk off my hands and starting the first problem.

Men's number one had a dyno to start, leading into slopey crimps with desperate heel hooks to a giant volume.  My first attempt I screw up the beta and fall half way up.  I squint my eyes and shake my head as each subsequent dyno fails.  With a minute left, I visualize and stick the move.  I'm one move from the finishing jug when my hands slips off the giant volume.

Finals Problem #1 (The Moment...)

My eyes close in the fear of the fall.  I feel a thud on my head and then a violent crunch in my neck as my head-first fall is stopped by a would be spotters knee.

Blink, I can't blink the pain away.

Blink, it's still there, but now there are stars in my vision. I stand up.

Blink, I'm on my back and somebody is asking me questions.

I feel like I'm going to puke, I can't really see and I am dizzy.  Somebody walks me to a chair and I try to make my body and brain play nice together.  Deep breaths, close my eyes and head shake and I'm on to men's number two.  There are some hard crimp moves through the bottom, but my body can't figure out what to do.  I want my hand to close harder and my leg to press, but my brain says this in greek, while my body is deaf.  The energy is too high, I can't quit, I need to climb.  The energy pushes me back on again and I reach a big move, as I get set to throw, the stars in my vision are back.  The hold is probably three feet long, but I can't see it all...all I see are stars.  I blink, then throw.  I hit the ground and stumble my way to the trash can.  A small amount of vomit and a couple of dry heaves and I know I have a concussion.  

Blink, I'm sitting in the lobby while the comps goes on.

Blink, don't fall asleep Nique.

Blink, Nique don't fall asleep.

The night's energy fades and I find myself sitting in random places, watching the world move past me as if I am under water.  People's voices are muffled and I keep searching my brain for motor functions when I need to do a simple task. I grab a ride from Boof and Raff and with a blink of an eye I am at home in bed, where I am finally allowed to sleep.

Blink, I wake up.

Blink, my neck is killing me.

Blink, I can feel the energy building for the dark horse...

SLTS takes Phillay!

The perfect storm of awesomeness is emerging on the SLTS crew! This weekend the crew is taking on the Philadelphia Rock Gym for their Winter Burn Competition. Raff and Boof will be shooting photos and video like madmen capturing this local cult comp favorite! SLTS newest member, Nique Hall is looking to throw down and hopefully make us all look good! This comp has a reputation for being a big draw for big name climbers. They offer a very decent purse along with a swagger that only Philadelphia can provide.

Along with the crew, there's a caravan of New England Climbers travelling like packs of hungry wolves ready to throw down! Either way this comp will be sick and we're super excited about this event and the opportunity to take some sick photos for the PRG! Look for updates over the next couple of weeks for the final shots.

SLTS are coming...

Click here for more comp info...

Dirty Boltholes and Other Fly Tricks

A voice breaks into my consciousness as I ponder a very important question. Is it dirty to put my finger in the bolt hole? It’s there, awaiting my strong grip . My thumb slides into it ever so easily. Doing so will make it easier to bring this wild ride to an end. If I choose not to I may flail about for hours only to end up walking away limp and unsatisfied. Why would I not take advantage of the holds willingness to let me ease my finger on in and send away?

This question crossed my mind the other day when I saw people flailing on a climb that had a bolt hole just begging to be pinched. Begging like a puppy after its first taste of Beggin Strips. I walked up to the climb and got to the section that people were struggling on. The top of the hold was extremely slopey (yum yum) and the bolt hole sat right below the base of the slope. It was perfect placement for a left thumb pinch. I jammed my thumb deep in there and squeezed like lemonade. As I did this I was greeted by a few boos from those that were climbing. When i dropped off the finish hold to the floor I was promptly labeled a “cheater.” FOUL BALL! Sorry yall, but I am going to have to go ahead and say...BULLSNAP. Here is an SAT question I made up for those haters.

Cheating is to climbing as

A. NWA is to Strait Outta Malibu

B. Sex is to The Champagne Room

C. Adam Sandler is to Making Great Films

D. Fraggle Rock is to Why did they eat those poor little construction workers buildings?

If you chose B, then you get a 10 on your Boof Exam. Well done. If you chose D, then seriously man? What's up with that? Those stupid green marshmallow men worked all day and then a fraggle walks by and..nom....nom...nom...hard days work is gone. What kind of lesson is a small little Boof supposed to take away from that? OK, back on track. Point being, there is NO cheating in climbing.

This brings up another funny story. I was climbing one day and was having trouble with one move in particular. I realized that if I rested my knee completely on a hold that I could make the move with ease. I did so and immediately heard a sneer emit from somewhere behind me. A fellow climber saw me do this and scoffed.

“Boof, you can’t use your knees.”

I dropped down, and looked over at him with pity.

“According to who?” I retorted with an acid tongue.

"You just can't, it's cheating"

Well, well, well, he sure put me in my place.

Oh, and this on really tickles my silly spot. CLimbers get labeled cheaters when not using both starting holds on a climb. Climbing is all about the discovery of sequence. In discovering this sequence it is your job as a thinker to eliminate the excess that makes the climb more difficult. Being a setter, I have seen many a mastermind break my beta and use but a single hold when I intended the use of two. I say, Bravo to them. Thats my error as a setter (shame on you Boofalicious). It is my job to force the necessity of using both holds. If it’s easier to omit one than go Nike on that piece and Just Do It. Just like if someone skips a hold in a climb they are not cheating. They are thinking outside of the box and that is an essentiality to anyones development as a climber.

The beauty of climbing, both inside and outside, is that there are virtually no rules (and hence no CHEATING). Rule #1 - start the climb, Rule #2 - don’t fall or touch the ground, and Rule #3 - finish the climb. Other than that it’s a race between you and gravity and you better fight dirty if you want to win. If there is a small crimp feature on the wall have at it. If there is a small divot in the wall that will accept the pressure of your rubbered toes than press away. With the holds themselves, as with outside, use any available surface or feature to get to the finish.

In a sport where you compete against yourself there are very few rules. There are no hand balls, false starts, or cross checks. The only person you can cheat is yourself. I press my head up into roofs in order to earn back minuscule particles of lactic depletion. I grab my legs by my pants in order to put them on holds that my limited flexibility was preventing. Climbing is beautiful because of this grimy purity. It’s you, the wall, and whatever you can pull out of that bag of tricks. You do what you gotta do, its fine with me, but I sure as hell am going to jam my finger into that bolthole lickity split, and trust me, it feels gooooood.

With a Bang

My hangover status has finally dropped from brain scrambling to moderately manageable. I sit in a coffee shop ingesting my first bites of the day. My body greets the sandwich like a wolf greets a deer’s throat. It’s only moments until the sandwich becomes all but a memory. I sip my icecoffee, dehydrating myself to a shriveled resemblance of what once was a man. Definitely brought this past year to a close with a bang. Thankfully, with the culmination of 2011 comes an end to the mutilation I put my body through. It is now time to press the pedal to the floor. VRROOOOM.

I am currently writing a piece discussing the perpetual failure I encounter with the implementation of regimented training routines. What better way to lead into it then by discussing my newest plan to beast up a little bit. My current training routine involves climbing when i feel like it. Yes, a fool proof plan, but there certainly must be a better way to improve my climbing skills. I will never commit to any fitness plans without having it in writing. Here’s what I have concocted for myself.

If you are having trouble deciphering my beautiful plan of action here is a synopsis. First and foremost, four days a week climbing (one day bouldering hard, one working on power endurance and finger strength, one working on endurance, and one working on hard lead climbs). There will also be 2 days a week of Yoga, 3 days a week of running, and two days a week of lifting and conditioning. A major focus of this plan will be combating two of my greatest weaknesses; inflexibility and weight.

On top of this plan I am also creating some rules for the new year that will complement the training routine. The list is ever growing but here it is thus far

1. No alcohol on weekdays and only once on weekends
2. No sleeping past nine on weekdays
3. Breakfast and protein shake every morning
4. one coffee a day
5. three nalgenes of water per day
6. Big salad or healthy wrap for lunch every day
7. NO NANAS PIZZA!
8. No cheese
9. no food after 10 pm on weeknights
10. Downsize dinner

So there we are. Hopefully I stay healthy and I can send 5.13 by 2013 and get some V8’s under my belt. SHABANG!

BooF