I’ve never been a guy who shows up to the crag with any kind of intensity — that dark-side, chip-on-shoulder, must-send, laser-focused attitude that you run into just a bit too often. The way I figure it, I can try hard while smiling, or I can try hard with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. Either way, the result is about the same. And since climbing is a sport that rewards longevity and consistency, I’m more likely to climb more days, and for more years, if I don’t blow too many gaskets.
I climb because it makes me happy. So anything you might describe as success in my climbing has come because I genuinely love the sport. I love climbing outside, and I love climbing inside. I love projecting, and I love onsighting. I love bouldering, and I love climbing on ropes. I love long, majestic slab as much as I love short, chossy overhangs.
Mostly, I love trying really hard. Because, while there are hundreds of factors that are tough to wrangle — temperature, humidity, crowds, sun angle, rest, sleep, stress, wet holds, hydration, diet, phase of the moon, etc — how hard we try is something that is fully within our control. And if we try as hard as we can, then there is nothing to feel bad about if we don’t send, get a high point, or otherwise meet our goals.
Honestly though, I’ve been struggling with the last few paragraphs. I think they’d be more accurate in the past tense. Maybe I should replace “love” with “loved” when I discuss my relationship with climbing, because I can’t say I’ve loved the sport since my accident 11 months ago. And things have gotten much more complicated recently.
Of course, my recovery has never been easy. I have done hours of PT each day to get to where I am. But when symptoms of PTSD and Post Concussion Syndrome (nightmares, panic attacks, irritability, insomnia, depression, anxiety) started to kick in a few months ago, the recovery took on a different feeling. Gone are the days of being proud that I could straighten my arm just a bit more, or walk just a bit further. Now, improvements are emotional and difficult to detect. If I do see gains, I’m never sure if it’s just the antidepressants (which I’m not comfortable with as a long-term solution, and come with side-effects of their own) doing the bulk of the work. And while walking into a gym to do PT is a neutral endeavor, anticipating seeing my therapist or doing EMDR therapy creates anxiety of its own, as it’s much harder for me to feel emotional stress than physical stress.
In short, it’s a drag. And I often struggle to find the drive to do my nervous system training and relaxation exercises in preparation for my next therapy session.
Maybe with climbing, I did train — averaging nearly 200 climbing days a year over the last 5 years is not something that happens without pain and the need for serious maintenance — but I just loved the process so much that it didn’t feel difficult. Or maybe I was attracted to the sport in the first place because of the difficulty. I’m not sure if I could ever get much satisfaction from doing something that is easy.
With mental therapy, maybe I’ll never capture the same love that drove my climbing. But I can recognize that this, too, is hard. So all I can do is try as hard as I can. And if I get to the other side of the difficulties, I think it will be as satisfying as any climb I’ve ever completed.
And maybe if I can beat, or manage all of these new struggles, I can begin to bring my feelings about climbing back to the present. That would be nice.
Because I really loved climbing.