(Originally written: 4/2/11)
I have finally made my first climbing trip of the year and to a new location no less: The New River Gorge in West Virginia. Although it has already been a few weeks, that trip really got me thinking about being in Ohio, climbing and life in general.
The beginning of 2011 was not really a productive time for me. I was fresh from a winter vacation back home in California, where even the rainy days feel warm compared to the Midwest winter, and sapped of any real motivation. I knew that I had nothing to look forward to for at least another few months. Honestly, the dim prospects of the following cold months really took the wind out of my sails and climbing, or training at least, got put on the back burner. As if I was being punished for this lack luster attitude, the ice storms in February left me with a significantly weakened and sore shoulder; an unfortunate result of taking the quick way down the front stairs one morning. As a testament to my Christmas bounty: some quickdraws, a camp pot and sleeping pad, I had the desire to focus on climbing but no motivation. Add that to a brand new tent, stove, down jacket and weekend bag, I really had no excuse to not look forward to a new season, and reason enough to get in the gym and get back in shape for the endless possibly of new routes waiting in Kentucky. Instead, I let the winter doldrums take effect and spent most of my time reading. From “The 47 Ronin Story”, told by John Allyn, rereading “The Lord of the Rings” and “The Hobbit” by Tolkien, to flying through “Walking Home”, by Lynn Schooler and “We, The Drowned” by Carsten Jensen, the list goes on. Even the books I am currently reading like, “Beyond the Mountain”, by Steve House, and “A History of Western Philosophy”, according to Bertrand Russell, have had a significant impact on turning me back into the introverted and endlessly reflective person of 10 years ago. And the more I reflect on my ideas about the world, the more I feel like I have changed over the past decade; I am not even sure if it was desirable change or not, but most likely it was an unavoidable response to continuous exposure to the world around me.
It would never have occurred to me how significant changes in location, employment and friendship can change the way one looks at and deals with the world. During college, the first time, I was enrapt with the world of new ideas presented in my philosophy courses; I have said it before and I will say it again, those were the best couple years of school for me; the best as far as forming my own ideas and easily the most enjoyable time in my college education. The assignments, reading and course work forced me to think in a purely new and unhindered way. When I think about things now, as an engineer, there is a tendency to focus mostly on finding a solution to a problem; there isn’t much exploration, it is more about taking what you know, or someone else knows, and deriving a solution to a problem in a very structured fashion. My personal deviation from this course is linked, as far as I can tell, to philosophy and open thought. I have learned that the nature of philosophy is at the heart of taking a step back even further and breaking down what it is you think you know, the nature of problems and solutions and even the very structure you are using to arrive at your conclusions; in short, why are you taking this approach, why are you trying to change this and why do you think this information will work? I feel like this has been one of my major disappointments as an engineer, few people in my field seem to be concerned with the “why”, they are concerned with only the “how”: how does it work, or not work, and how do we make it work better. Obviously I am disposed to take the same reasoning in the face of a challenge; the whole nature of climbing can be summarized in, “how do I get from the bottom to the top”. Hell, I wouldn’t be an engineer if I didn’t ask “how”, but lately I have been inclined to go back to the nature of my inquisitive early twenties and ask, why?
The urge to ponder “why” culminated with a busy stint of long days at work and preparation for my first climbing trip of the year. I was trying to understand where my motivation fled when I got home every day and no longer had any urge to climb. During the day I looked forward to a few hours at the gym after getting off work, but when 5:30 or 6:00 rolled around my energy was gone. Work was ‘business’, ‘structure’, ‘how’, and home was a short reprieve. The gym just became more ‘structure’ and more ‘how’. The ‘why’ had evaporated and along with it went my motivation. My character, or personality, of externally subdued while internally restless became unbalanced. A feeling of emotional sobriety took over while almost subconsciously something irresolute and frustrated gnawed at me. But, preparation the week leading up to my trip excited my intrinsic desire for change.
Getting out of the city has always been an easy way to satisfy any nomadic inclinations that creep up from a long stint of inactivity. Unfortunately, our irregular trips to visit friends north of Dayton weren’t doing the trick this season. What did seem to work was re-acquaintance with nature and challenge, although “nature” may only be applicable to the minute degree of staying in a rundown house in the middle of West Virginia and climbing artificial bolted lines up a rock face. Getting outside may have been key, but I would never make that connection during the winter – every impulse says “outside it is cold, outside it is miserable.” Additionally, hanging out with people of similar interest never hurts either, but I am not a very social person by nature so camaraderie has never been on my list of requirements. The challenge, both deeply mental and physical, was the magic ingredient.
What really hit home was the actual feeling of change. It happened the moment I was shut down on Narcissus, a 5.12a down in Summersville and a route I sincerely considered within my abilities. The feeling was real, it was quick and it was distinct. In the course of one extended climb I realized my “why”. I can’t say that I was aware of the meaning of the feeling at the time, but I had a keen sense of its significance. The real clarity didn’t come for at least another week. But, I couldn’t help but think, “I don’t remember the last time I felt this way”. What I felt was utter depression, sadness, loss and defeat. As was lowered down from the anchors, it was literally an emotional ride. And it was so powerful I felt completely immobilized. It was only when Matt asked if I wanted to get back on the route that I fully felt the significance of the moment. With an easy reply, “no way”, which was just as easily me with the question, “really?”; I knew what I was feeling was irregular. It was in this moment that I asked, “Why do I do this to myself?” But the answer was already there, “because this is living: the highs and lows, the ups and downs, the risk and the safety; the feeling and the experience: the challenge.” It sounds ridiculously polarized to say, “You can’t feel the thrill of gain without the risk of loss”, but knowing and feeling both is really what life is all about for me. This isn’t to say that you can’t experience one without the other, but my idea is that both should be on the line. If there is no challenge, then what are you striving for? I see it every day, people living their lives driven towards some goal, with some reason to move forward – but what is that reason and where does it come from. For me the reason is challenge, constantly testing my limits and needing to know that I can still grow and learn – I’ll never be satisfied in routine.
The lessons in life that show me my limit are the most cherished and valuable experiences; and the value is not even in the experience alone, but the discoveries made. In the book I am currently reading, “Beyond the Mountain”, Steve’s first trip results in severe altitude sickness and he ends up spending his first 10 hours at 17,000ft puking up everything he’s eaten for the past few days. The experience taught him he isn’t as strong or infallible as he thought, and maybe not capable of climbing these uncharted summits. But, that feeling of defeat and hitting his limit (that initially turned him away from extreme summit attempts) didn’t send him away with his tail between his legs, never to try again, it catalyzed a drive to keep going – to take every failure as something to chalk up as a lesson learned. This story really resonated with me. Strongly emotional memories, often tied to failures and sometimes success, have significant space in our memories and there must be some reason; what significance can I take from these experiences?
Every attempt I take at climbing harder routes is a lesson learned in life. There are a million decisions and deliberate actions taken in the course of a few minutes. The times I climb without a million thoughts running through my head are the times I count as failure; what have I gained, and what have I learned? The challenge comes from every hand hold, every foot placement and every decision.
This winter I forgot what it felt like to learn, not from research or study, but from success and failure. I can’t wait for another opportunity.
