Pickle in Romania, a rock climbing post.
Pod and I went climbing alone together for the very first time last night; after years of occasional indoor climbing, he's taken a formal intro class and last night certified for belaying others at a series of rock gyms in the Baltimore/DC area, so I tagged along even though we'd only have an hour or so on the wall. Given the short time limit for the day, we tried routes considerably harder than we do when we're afraid of tiring ourselves out early. This turned out to be an excellent idea. In so doing, we both succeeded at routes harder than each of us have ever done before.
As the loudspeaker informed us the gym was about to close and we should pick our last routes for the night, I discovered one called "Pickle in Romania." Despite looking somewhat straightforward from the ground, it was rated 5.10a. I sent it. I wouldn't call it on-sight and I wouldn't even call it clean, but with trust in my life's premier adventure partner through one fall and with minutes counting down on the clock and with my own the stubborn determination to not fail when the route got significantly harder 80% of the way up a wall I wouldn't have the strength or time to try again, I hauled myself up through the last several moves I know I could not do under normal working conditions, and I sent it.
I am inordinately excited about this. 5.10a, particularly a short indoor 5.10a, is not a big deal for long-term serious climbers, but it has been a very big deal athletic goal of mine for years, and I spent much of that time not being able to climb for injuries to my shoulder, to my pool of colleagues to climb with at work, and to my schedule. The grade of 5.10 is generally considered a tipping point in difficulty where neither strength or skill alone will grant success. On some level, I didn't think I'd ever be able to do this. But as every movie training montage will tell you, sometimes it just takes a perfect alignment of support and pressure to push a body through feats that seem impossible. Next time I climb I'll know it isn't impossible. Then eventually I'll start falling off of routes marked 5.10b, and hopefully so on, and so forth, for a couple more notches up the difficulty level. Because the biggest reason I got into climbing in the first place is that I always want to learn, and expand, and learn again, just what I can get this wiry, overly flexible little body of mine to do. And another is that falling is actually kind of fun when there's someone to catch you.
As the loudspeaker informed us the gym was about to close and we should pick our last routes for the night, I discovered one called "Pickle in Romania." Despite looking somewhat straightforward from the ground, it was rated 5.10a. I sent it. I wouldn't call it on-sight and I wouldn't even call it clean, but with trust in my life's premier adventure partner through one fall and with minutes counting down on the clock and with my own the stubborn determination to not fail when the route got significantly harder 80% of the way up a wall I wouldn't have the strength or time to try again, I hauled myself up through the last several moves I know I could not do under normal working conditions, and I sent it.
I am inordinately excited about this. 5.10a, particularly a short indoor 5.10a, is not a big deal for long-term serious climbers, but it has been a very big deal athletic goal of mine for years, and I spent much of that time not being able to climb for injuries to my shoulder, to my pool of colleagues to climb with at work, and to my schedule. The grade of 5.10 is generally considered a tipping point in difficulty where neither strength or skill alone will grant success. On some level, I didn't think I'd ever be able to do this. But as every movie training montage will tell you, sometimes it just takes a perfect alignment of support and pressure to push a body through feats that seem impossible. Next time I climb I'll know it isn't impossible. Then eventually I'll start falling off of routes marked 5.10b, and hopefully so on, and so forth, for a couple more notches up the difficulty level. Because the biggest reason I got into climbing in the first place is that I always want to learn, and expand, and learn again, just what I can get this wiry, overly flexible little body of mine to do. And another is that falling is actually kind of fun when there's someone to catch you.