Meta-physically out of shape

It is all too easy to get stuck in mediocrity.  The constant, "I'll do that tomorrow," or, "Maybe I'll do that run next week," can take over months and even years.  It is all to easy to get stuck in the instant gratification fueled world that Americans live in.  Why put in the work if I can numb and feel good for a few hours now.  All of a sudden you wake up and you're almost 40.  All of those runs you didn't go on, all of those days you didn't go climbing, it's added up. 

I'm physically out of shape but even more I'm meta-physically out of shape.  The day to day grind has felt like a treadmill, a stationary bike, or a lap pool.  While I've been moving and doing good work, I'm not sure how to get outside of the small confinement both mentally and physically.  

Finding flow can come in many forms, and in fact there is a formula to it.  How do we take knowledge and turn it into action.  How do I get the fuck up and rekindle the addiction to exercise? 

It starts with each day.   I'm going to start by making a daily checklist.  At the beginning and end of each day I will answer the following questions.

What can/did I do today for myself?  

What can/did I do to protect what I know I need? 

How can/did I find flow at work today?

How can/did I find flow outside of work today?

At the end of each week I will review, make tweaks, and try again. It won't be perfect, but it's a start.

Remembering

When the years away from what you love have faded the chaco tan so much you don't even remember what it looks like on your feet.

When you don't even remember the sensation of your hands pulsating after a day of climbing cracks in the desert. 

When your feet don't even remember what it is like to be tired.

Perhaps its time to re-consider what life is.  

What are the choices we make, who are they for, and which paths do we take?

For me it is a yin and yang with purpose in my work and quieting the crazy in my mind when I don't spend enough time outside. It's always been this way.  

I'm currently super fulfilled with work and have purpose, but the outdoors here are a constant fight.  

I logged into this blog and realized I had a half dozen, half written, unpublished posts over the span of 10 years.  When did my creative confidence become so low?

This will be the start to just hitting publish.  It's time to start writing again, and it's time to start adventuring again. 

Cheers to just hitting publish in all aspects. 

Gratittude

The average person’s stride is roughly 2.5 feet long.  For the average person the FDA recommends 10,000 steps a day.  Right now I can’t take one.  For three months I struggled to take one. There are 2,000 steps in a mile.  Last summer I took 40,000 in a day, and felt good.  So this is what I’ll aim for; 40,000.  A step seems insignificant until you can’t take one at all.  There are a lot of things I’ve taken for granted in life, and if there is one primary (there are many more) things I’ve learned from my injury it is to appreciate the small victories; to take life one step at a time. I remember the day I could take a shower without sitting down, the day that I went to PT and could put weight on it, and the day the doctor told me to ditch the air boot and start walking again.   This was just the beginning.  I’ve now hiked the Elden Slabs, been climbing a bunch, started to run and jump again, and in two weeks I will get to crack climb.  Throughout this process I have appreciated all of the small victories, but I’ve also been holding out for the sweetest one of all; crack climbing by Sedona season.

About a month ago after work I just took off and headed south.  I found myself winding down the road to Sedona.  I made the decision on an impulse and headed out into the blanketing rain with a dog and a cluttered mind.  I had no idea where I was headed but stopped at the creek about halfway down, take a swim, and think. 

With clouds on either side of me, the sun shining through a hole in the clouds I sat on a rock and thought.   I began to ponder the usual suspects, balance, happiness, and motivation.  Emotions of climbing in Sedona easily floated to the top, and so I dug deeper. 

There have been two places in my life that seem to pull me in and draw on my heart strings, the mountains and the desert.  Climbing in Sedona requires elements of both. I started to reflect on how my past 4 years in Flagstaff have been completely shaped by this.

When I first moved to Flagstaff I was unsure what to expect. I’d heard about paradise forks and that was it.  My first few months found me venturing to the Forks every chance I could get, and then in November my life changed.  I’d made a few friends, and convinced one of them, a strong sport climber, with little trad experience to join me on the Mace.   

We groveled our way up and had trouble finding the words to explain the climbing we’d just experienced.  Luckily the summit register was a bit more articulate with one ascentionist stating, “Climbing the mace is like wrestling a greased pig with sandpaper.”  During this climb I formed two strong bonds, one that will forever draw me back to the sandy spires in Sedona, and the other with a good friend and amazing climbing partner.

Thinking about time spent in Sedona is not only a connection to place, but a connection to people.  I have vivid memories of making new friends, unsure sometimes scary situations with old ones, and the joy I get from taking someone who’s never been.  I’ve enjoyed shoving my body in cracks and wriggling up until the point of dry heaving, sharing hot coffee at the base, a cold beer afterwards, and talking about each aspect of the experience on the drive back to Flagstaff.

In times that I feel ungrateful for what I have I need not look farther than the fact that I am just simply able to go climb in Sedona and share those experience with good people.

A broken perspective and new begining...

“If I’d only stuck the hold,” the thought finds its way into my consciousness more often than I’d like.  The events replay themselves inside my head like low budget short film.  I move my feet up, eye the hold, and lunge towards it.  I grab the edge, but then I start to fall.  Time slows down and I feel like I am floating through the air.   I know this is bad.  I land off of the pads but my leg doesn’t stop the fall it just crumples.  After I roll down a small hillside I look at my leg and realize the foot is turned about 30 degrees to the right and that my fibula is protruding.  My deep breaths aren’t nearly powerful enough to fight away the blanket of nausea creeping in.  Somehow I come back to.  My skin is pale, my heart rate pounding, and I’m suddenly faced with the reality that will soon change everything in my life.  These words are desperately hard to write as they bring me back into the moment which fuels the dark fire of depression I have been fighting.

I’d secretly felt like my luck had been running out for quite some time so when I looked at my leg I was alarmingly unsurprised.  After a brief and adrenaline filled inspection I found no further damage.  I sat and looked up at the sky through the tree’s shaking in the wind trying to breathe. I checked my capillary refill, how much blood goes into my feet, and saw that the dislocation was cutting off the bloodstream to my foot.  With this horrifying realization I realized I had to get out, and quick.

 It all started last spring break with one foot slip.  I was feeling strong and decided to get on an end of the day finger crack to warm down.  After cruising through 40 feet of perfect fingers and feeling quite solid my foot popped off of a smear, my cam pulled, my belayer tripped, and I ended up back on the ground with the loud thump.   I walked away from this, and after a few months of pain and chiropractic appointments it was back to climbing.  Looking back now I did not properly reflect on this situation. I just kept going.  I narrowly escaped a large refrigerator sized death block ready to fall in Sedona, in desperation rapped off of a bad piton in the middle of nowhere Utah, and took numerous bouldering falls that should have left me in much worse shape. 

My confidence never fully came back after this string of incidents, nor did my judgment.  Most climbers know the feeling of being completely solid and fluid in their movement and losing track of time. I did not have it anymore. This is the mental state that has always drawn me to climbing, and in the past year it has been increasingly hard to drift into.  This should have been my first big red flag. I should have listened.

The bouldering accident happened about two miles in and 500 feet up a scree field in the Kachina wilderness.  After a few quick phone calls to friends more medically inclined we realize there would be no reduction of the ankle, and getting to the ER as fast as possible was the only answer.  I start scooting down the scree on my butt.  I occasionally catch my foot on a tree branch or plant, and an excruciating scream follows.  Even with the adrenaline the pain still rules.  Eventually we make it to the trail.  Jason quickly says he will carry me.  The going is quick this way, but with every step the leg bounces and the pain is too much.  We alternate between him carrying me and crawling.  This exchange seems to go on forever until eventually we see the road.  Jason makes a great decision, tells me to crawl to it, and runs to go get the car at the parking area. 

There have been many moments where I have searched for that feeling of mental freedom and exhilaration that come from climbing where instead my mind drifted into worse case scenarios.  In retrospect I think that I didn’t ever fully recover from my ground fall and that instead of re-building my confidence slowly I just jumped back in full speed.  At the time it seemed like a great idea, but I think I’ve been half present for quite some time. 

In fact the only time I can remember being truly present was on the 2,500 foot N. Ridge of Mt. Stuart.  It seemed as if everything but alpine failed to draw me into the addictive state I was so desperately yearning. The curse of an addict is seeking what destroys him/her the most and that is exactly what I was stuck in.   

I ended up breaking my ankle in three places and the fibula in one.  I fight everyday with depression and the temptation to sink into alcohol for comfort. I'm proud to be winning this battle and to be staying as positive as possible. I know it could be worse, but alas everything is relative.  The experience has been hard, and has forced me to think real hard about the question we often take so simply: Why do I climb?  Right after the accident I thought about selling my climbing gear, I wanted nothing to do with the activity that threw me into the darkness.  Luckily I’m slowly creeping closer to a far off light, and my motivation is coming back.  It has made me think about why I do any of this.  I ended up with the following unorganized ramble. 

I climb because...

The clarity… of the air, the mind, and the focus

The view from the top of a desert tower, an alpine ridge, into a canyon, or a over a meadow

The smile of my partner after a hard lead or a great pitch

The high fives and hugs

The feeling of being absolutely wrecked while drinking a victory beer at the trail head

Only hearing my heartbeat as I slowly move upwards

The calculation of placing gear and moving towards the next piece
The overwhelming sense of accomplishment and purpose

The beautiful places that climbing takes me

The humility of getting shut down

The morning espresso, so strong you can feel it creep into your veins

The sunsets and sunrises that so many don’t ever bother to see

The adventure

Being runout, but knowing I have the experience to be okay

The friendships

Drinking water from a glacier

The smell of the desert at night.

The perspective

Bailing off in a storm than eating pizza and drinking beer

The sharp contrast to the rest of life in society

The psyche

Hands that have so many scabs from crack climbing they stick to my sleeping bag at night

Days so long my brain is that of a 5 year old by the end and my muscles filled with lactic acid

The teaching and the learning

The campfires and stories

There are simply too many reasons to write…

These are the things I keep close to my heart, the things that keep me fighting and motivated, and the things that bring balance to my normal life.  These are things that once one has had; they could never go without.  

I don't know how yet, but I feel as if this experience has entirely shifted my perspective, renewed my psyche, made more thankful, and will ultimately change the way I climb into something much more sustainable than it's ever been before.

I can only hope that is is anew begining for me.  A re-birth of my climb aspirations, and the start to just simply being more happy in day to day life.  

Back to training

My eyes struggle to focus as my head becomes increasingly light.  I'm literally crawling up a 45 degree slab of volcanic dacite, searching for the summit, and prepping my body for summer.  Yesterday marked the second journey up the elden slabs, and means that I have started training a full month and half earlier this year for summer alpine climbing.  Hopefully this will mean faster safer ascents. I'm going to try to keep a better blog of training stuff as well as nutrition.  I realize that I am getting older and this means better nutrition, recovery, and training are necessary to reach my ever growing goals.  That is all for now, but more to come....

Winter Bouldering!

We live our lives in sharp contrast.  As I sit outside this morning watching the rain it is evoking all kinds of unexpected emotion.  I close my eyes and imagine that I am sipping this coffee watching the rain under the shelter of my tent looking out at a mountain range.  I dream that yesterday I have climbed a peak and today is a rest day.  A day to patch torn gear, to eat lots of food, to read, write, and refresh.  I come back to and realize that I am indeed in the city and that we live with too many damn comforts.  My life is too fucking complicated.

 We live in a noncommittal world with risks taken away and replaced with corporate induced fear.
Think about the beautiful state of mind we are delicately thrown into when we climb just a bit to far above our last piece, enter the no fall zone on a highball boulder problem, or get to the point on an alpine climb or big wall where retreat would be just as complicated as the summit.

Could we ever enter the same state of mind in everyday life?  Would we want to?  These are questions that I wrestle with daily; both held in tension with the yearning to just simply live and in the present.  I often ponder how I can live my life in a way that fulfills both sides of my own coin.  On one side sits the intense desire to give back to the world.  On the other the call to nature, to be outside, and to live simply.  The two sides can absolutely be present at the same time, something I've been working on for a long time, but have not found the answer to.  I invite anyone reading this who has it figured out to please shoot me some tips.

The rain for some reason makes me think, "what were some of the best memories of my life?"  I then think about the complexity of the human brain and the relativity of feelings to who I was at  a certain point in time vs. who I am now.  Why was I so present at certain periods in my life, and how can I untangle myself from the complexities of now to fall back into that clarity?

To be honest and vulnerable I haven't been writing as much due to insecurities in my own writing, but it is a new year and I'm going to start writing more, because as with any craft one must practice.  I hope everyone is off to a great start in 2013! 

Daily Checklist

Daily checklist:

Smile at someone I don’t know

Be the first to say to someone that I recognize but don’t know

Ask someone how their day is going and truly listen

Make really good coffee

Listen to good music

Never be afraid to ask someone if everything is going alright

Give someone a compliment

Tell someone thank you

When I get mentally overwhelmed go to the gym

Train hard and rest when needed

Eat good quality food and prepare it myself

Sit down and enjoy eating it

Create and allow spaces for open dialogue

Create free spaces for my students and build leadership