Sunday, November 16, 2014
Today I finally get on the ropes with Mike again. It's been a couple of years, and a long road of taking care, being patient and getting stronger. And now, I get to go home.
At the gym, the old ritual welcomes me; shoes and socks off, belt off, to make room for the harness. I leave my stuff upstairs and run downstairs with shoes, chalk bag and harness in hand, to do my warm up. Still barefoot, I start to move. First, the yoga postures I've been doing every climbing day for 17 years. Then, I lace up the shoes, making them snug on every part of my foot. And then, I work some chalk into my hands, and the smell and texture take me all the way back to the first day I ever climbed a rock.
Then I move to the wall and put my hands on the holds, and I'm transported. It feels so good to move, balance and sequence. The thought stream stops and I only have awareness for the movement. Now Mike is here, and we pick up where we left off two years ago, trading climbs, reading routes. Two more climbers join us, and we all connect through doing what we love.
Tomorrow is a rest day, but I think on Tuesday I will climb. There's a route I'm reading at the gym that is calling my name; it's a grade above what I climb, but I'm sure I can get it. That too, is back in my life now, the lines of holds I'm working on. As I fall asleep, I can always see them in my head, like a chess game, all laid out in front of me; "if I match those two holds on the left, I can get my core over more to the side, then I won't have to lunge for that sloper.." and so on, until I drift off to sleep.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Mist Walk
Friday, November 14, 2014
I slipped out of the office today to get a hike in on Spencer's Butte. We've finally had some frost here in Eugene, and it seems to me like the woods take on their true character when there is a good chill in the air. There was a heavy mist on the hill, and as I climbed up from the Martin Sreet trail head, I walked right into it. In places, richly colored fallen leaves formed a solid layer on the path, making it look like a shining trail, leading up into the clouds. The woods are more open now, because so many leaves have come down, so I can see deeper into the woods.
One little box canyon is particularly striking; at the head of the canyon, there's a tiny creek running down an almost vertical hillside. Above, there is a heavy mist, and below, the creek pools with yellow and red maple leaves all around it.
At Fox Hollow Road, I decide to cross to road and climb some more. It's been a busy week, and I just want to feel the burn, it is so cleansing. The mist deepens as I climb, and soon I'm walking in a bubble of white. At about 1200 feet, I pass the feezing level, and I find all the trees are coated in shining ice; firs, maples, oaks, madrone. The low lying vine maple so prevalent here is also gilded: a tiny icicle hangs from each point on every leaf. When the sun lights them from behind, the whole hill sparkles. A continuous shower of shattering ice pours down from above, and the woods echo with the sound of breaking branches. Aside from that, it is silent here.
There's a lot of stuff coming down, making the hike a little bit hazardous, so I decide to turn around. And when I do, the process reverses; from freezing to dripping, and from thick fog to a light mist that throws the colored light of sunset all around.
Tomorrow is a rest day, and Sunday I climb with Mike.
I slipped out of the office today to get a hike in on Spencer's Butte. We've finally had some frost here in Eugene, and it seems to me like the woods take on their true character when there is a good chill in the air. There was a heavy mist on the hill, and as I climbed up from the Martin Sreet trail head, I walked right into it. In places, richly colored fallen leaves formed a solid layer on the path, making it look like a shining trail, leading up into the clouds. The woods are more open now, because so many leaves have come down, so I can see deeper into the woods.
One little box canyon is particularly striking; at the head of the canyon, there's a tiny creek running down an almost vertical hillside. Above, there is a heavy mist, and below, the creek pools with yellow and red maple leaves all around it.
At Fox Hollow Road, I decide to cross to road and climb some more. It's been a busy week, and I just want to feel the burn, it is so cleansing. The mist deepens as I climb, and soon I'm walking in a bubble of white. At about 1200 feet, I pass the feezing level, and I find all the trees are coated in shining ice; firs, maples, oaks, madrone. The low lying vine maple so prevalent here is also gilded: a tiny icicle hangs from each point on every leaf. When the sun lights them from behind, the whole hill sparkles. A continuous shower of shattering ice pours down from above, and the woods echo with the sound of breaking branches. Aside from that, it is silent here.
There's a lot of stuff coming down, making the hike a little bit hazardous, so I decide to turn around. And when I do, the process reverses; from freezing to dripping, and from thick fog to a light mist that throws the colored light of sunset all around.
Tomorrow is a rest day, and Sunday I climb with Mike.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Ropes
Today is my first day back on the ropes. Mike is there, with his cool confidence and easy laugh, as if not a day had passed since we last climbed together. So is a climbing buddy of Mike's and we make a nice three-some. They are both highly trained and they climb one route after another, 5.9 and 5.10. I remember those days, and it encourages me to see it.
I begin with a 5.6. I turns out be harder than many 5.7's I've climbed; the sequence is hard, and some of the holds are not that great. I finish it, after some back-tracking to get the right sequence. Then I take a rest while Mike and our third do some more lead climbing. I finish with another 5.6, doing two laps on it, which feels encouraging. My energy is good, all I need to do is work on the foundation strength in my muscles and tendons, and that comes with time.
I've had a great time, getting lost in movement and sequence, and being with climbers. There are people here I know, and they're like a community to me. The manager, who knows me by name, the barrista who serves me coffee in the morning, and many others who are just familiar but friendly faces.
I'm climbing again on Sunday, so I will probably go for a hike tomorrow. That way I can take a day off before I climb again, with Mike, at the gym.
I begin with a 5.6. I turns out be harder than many 5.7's I've climbed; the sequence is hard, and some of the holds are not that great. I finish it, after some back-tracking to get the right sequence. Then I take a rest while Mike and our third do some more lead climbing. I finish with another 5.6, doing two laps on it, which feels encouraging. My energy is good, all I need to do is work on the foundation strength in my muscles and tendons, and that comes with time.
I've had a great time, getting lost in movement and sequence, and being with climbers. There are people here I know, and they're like a community to me. The manager, who knows me by name, the barrista who serves me coffee in the morning, and many others who are just familiar but friendly faces.
I'm climbing again on Sunday, so I will probably go for a hike tomorrow. That way I can take a day off before I climb again, with Mike, at the gym.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Super Steep
November 11, 2014
Tonight right after work, I hiked the super steep trail from Martin Street.
I haven't been on this trail for a few years. Last time I was up it was winter and there had just been a storm. A few hundred yards in, there was a big tree down across the trail, and people had been going around it. An informal trail had worn in where they were going around. Now the tree has been cleared from the trail of course, but what's left is partly rotted away, and the informal trail is now well worn in, to the side of the main trail.
The leaves are still in their colors. It was so quiet up there, I heard a single maple leaf rattling against a limb in the wind and it sounded like distant footsteps.
Tomorrow is a rest day, and Thursday I'm going take a long lunch and climb with Mike.
Tonight right after work, I hiked the super steep trail from Martin Street.
I haven't been on this trail for a few years. Last time I was up it was winter and there had just been a storm. A few hundred yards in, there was a big tree down across the trail, and people had been going around it. An informal trail had worn in where they were going around. Now the tree has been cleared from the trail of course, but what's left is partly rotted away, and the informal trail is now well worn in, to the side of the main trail.
The leaves are still in their colors. It was so quiet up there, I heard a single maple leaf rattling against a limb in the wind and it sounded like distant footsteps.
Tomorrow is a rest day, and Thursday I'm going take a long lunch and climb with Mike.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Old Friends
November 10, 2014
Today I climbed without climbing. I had resolved to make this a rest day because I had worked out pretty hard the last few days. At lunch time, I walked over to REI to look for a winter hat. And of course, the climbing gym is just across the street.. I thought "I'll just go in and study some routes I'm working on."
I did go over, and I ran into two old climbing buddies. We talked routes and training plans, and plans for climbing at Flagstone next season. They invited me to join, and temptation was intense, but I held fast. And still I walked out of the gym with that old familiar feeling; of connection, and of joy of climbing, because just being in the context now gives me that feeling. It is a very good feeling, and one I hope to celebrate for the rest of my life.
Tonight I'm going to hike the steepest trail up from Martin Street, on the Ridgeline trail. It gains 500 feet in about half a mile, then circles around and back down on a more gradual trail. I can't wait..
Today I climbed without climbing. I had resolved to make this a rest day because I had worked out pretty hard the last few days. At lunch time, I walked over to REI to look for a winter hat. And of course, the climbing gym is just across the street.. I thought "I'll just go in and study some routes I'm working on."
I did go over, and I ran into two old climbing buddies. We talked routes and training plans, and plans for climbing at Flagstone next season. They invited me to join, and temptation was intense, but I held fast. And still I walked out of the gym with that old familiar feeling; of connection, and of joy of climbing, because just being in the context now gives me that feeling. It is a very good feeling, and one I hope to celebrate for the rest of my life.
Tonight I'm going to hike the steepest trail up from Martin Street, on the Ridgeline trail. It gains 500 feet in about half a mile, then circles around and back down on a more gradual trail. I can't wait..
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Breakthrough
I didn't feel like climbing today. I had to use the "Eli Standard." When I was climbing with my youngest boy, Eli, there were days when I didn't want to climb, but I made myself go, for him. Now, years later, when I start to think of reasons why I won't hike or climb today, I ask myself: if I were climbing with Eli, would I go? Mostly, when I ask myself that question, I find don't have a good reason not to go.
Today I used the Eli standard, and it turned out to be a great day. The not feeling good evaporated the minute I got on the wall, and I saw true progress. Several routes I couldn't get before fell into place, and I had that sweetest of all feelings, that feeling of ultimate freedom, of flying.
Today I focused on taking a deep, relaxing breath after every move. This seems it would make for a lot of hang time on the wall, but it turns out it doesn't take that long, and ultimately it conserves energy, because it relaxes my whole body. It reminds me not to over-grip.
Climbing is back in my life, like an old friend returned. All the old feelings are there; the anticipation as I lace up my climbing shoes, the exhilaration and freedom of climbing, and the calm sense of "rightness" that comes over me when the climb is over.
Tomorrow is rest day.
I've made a new page, just for stats. If you want to view them, you can open that page. Or if you just want to enjoy the entries, I invite you!
Today I used the Eli standard, and it turned out to be a great day. The not feeling good evaporated the minute I got on the wall, and I saw true progress. Several routes I couldn't get before fell into place, and I had that sweetest of all feelings, that feeling of ultimate freedom, of flying.
Today I focused on taking a deep, relaxing breath after every move. This seems it would make for a lot of hang time on the wall, but it turns out it doesn't take that long, and ultimately it conserves energy, because it relaxes my whole body. It reminds me not to over-grip.
Climbing is back in my life, like an old friend returned. All the old feelings are there; the anticipation as I lace up my climbing shoes, the exhilaration and freedom of climbing, and the calm sense of "rightness" that comes over me when the climb is over.
Tomorrow is rest day.
I've made a new page, just for stats. If you want to view them, you can open that page. Or if you just want to enjoy the entries, I invite you!
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Darkness
Elevation gain: 500 feet
Distance: 2.2 miles
Time: 40 minutes
Pretty often, I leave work early on Friday afternoon, so I can get a walk in before I go home. Yesterday about 4, I realized that if I left right away, I could probably get to the Martin Street trail head just in time to climb the first 500 feet, up to Fox Hollow Road, before it got dark. My timing was only off by a little bit..
As I started up the trail, that special awareness kicked in. It happens in a moment nowadays, as if repetition makes it easier; the cares of the day went to the background, and the event stream of the woods came to the front of my attention. The light was fading fast as I started up, and I realized I would be in darkness on the way down. And that became the magic of the day.
I never get tired of feeling "the burn." There's a zone where the breath comes hard, but not too hard, and a kind of trance is reached. For me, it's very pleasant, and the most rejuvenating thing I've ever known. As I climbed, the colored leaves reflected the last of the sunlight around the valley, and the birds made day's end sounds. The air was cold enough for a hat, and mist was just beginning to gather down by the creek.
By the time I started down, the sun was well down, and I could hear owls hooting across the little valley. In the dark, the forest became deep and embracing. The mist gathered and crept up the valley, onto the trail. Finally, I could not see the trail anymore, and I stopped to turn on my little light. Now I walked in a pool of dim white, just enough light to see where to put my foot next. The dark was just beside and behind me, adding depth to the quiet. As I came to the edge of the forest, the darkness gave way to a dim ambient light. I turned off my little headlight and walked the last few steps to the car by the light of downtown Eugene, reflected off the low clouds.
Today, I'm resting. Tomorrow I'm going climbing.
Distance: 2.2 miles
Time: 40 minutes
Pretty often, I leave work early on Friday afternoon, so I can get a walk in before I go home. Yesterday about 4, I realized that if I left right away, I could probably get to the Martin Street trail head just in time to climb the first 500 feet, up to Fox Hollow Road, before it got dark. My timing was only off by a little bit..
As I started up the trail, that special awareness kicked in. It happens in a moment nowadays, as if repetition makes it easier; the cares of the day went to the background, and the event stream of the woods came to the front of my attention. The light was fading fast as I started up, and I realized I would be in darkness on the way down. And that became the magic of the day.
I never get tired of feeling "the burn." There's a zone where the breath comes hard, but not too hard, and a kind of trance is reached. For me, it's very pleasant, and the most rejuvenating thing I've ever known. As I climbed, the colored leaves reflected the last of the sunlight around the valley, and the birds made day's end sounds. The air was cold enough for a hat, and mist was just beginning to gather down by the creek.
By the time I started down, the sun was well down, and I could hear owls hooting across the little valley. In the dark, the forest became deep and embracing. The mist gathered and crept up the valley, onto the trail. Finally, I could not see the trail anymore, and I stopped to turn on my little light. Now I walked in a pool of dim white, just enough light to see where to put my foot next. The dark was just beside and behind me, adding depth to the quiet. As I came to the edge of the forest, the darkness gave way to a dim ambient light. I turned off my little headlight and walked the last few steps to the car by the light of downtown Eugene, reflected off the low clouds.
Today, I'm resting. Tomorrow I'm going climbing.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Running up Stairs
I have been running up the stairs to the office today. What a contrast from yesterday when I was so exhausted I could barely walk up the stairs. Sometimes, after a workout, if I get sore or really tired, I start to listen to that voice that says maybe I should do something else. But I've found that the feeling is temporary, and I always come back feeling stronger and healthier than I was the day before.
I also find that the voice is temporary.
Stats for the day: this is a rest day, except for running up the stairs...
I also find that the voice is temporary.
Stats for the day: this is a rest day, except for running up the stairs...
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Hooky
I sneaked out of the office today to go climb. In truth, my boss knows I do this and she lets me go, because she knows I come back relaxed and focused.
I climbed some V0, and projected on some V1's. And I got the opening moves of a 5.9 with some very complex foot work. I also stayed away from over-hanging routes completely; they pump me out too fast right now. Our gym has a long traverse, and I usually end my climbing day by sending as much of this 200 foot route as I can. Today, I couldn't stay on more than about 20 feet.
Still, I see progress from a few days ago. The routes are more solid, and my sequencing is coming back.
Stats for the day:
Work out lasted 35 minutes
Redpoint: V0
I climbed some V0, and projected on some V1's. And I got the opening moves of a 5.9 with some very complex foot work. I also stayed away from over-hanging routes completely; they pump me out too fast right now. Our gym has a long traverse, and I usually end my climbing day by sending as much of this 200 foot route as I can. Today, I couldn't stay on more than about 20 feet.
Still, I see progress from a few days ago. The routes are more solid, and my sequencing is coming back.
Stats for the day:
Work out lasted 35 minutes
Redpoint: V0
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
R and R
November 4, 2014
Sometimes a little rest works wonders. My body is still aching a bit from the busy weekend of climbing hiking, but I can feel everything getting back to normal. I cal also feel my body changing. There is more mass in my shoulders and my grip is stronger. This morning when I went out for coffee, I ran up the stairs to the office. I love the little indicators that tell me I'm getting stronger. I found myself craving a hike today, but I will be patient!
I'm going to climb tomorrow.
Sometimes a little rest works wonders. My body is still aching a bit from the busy weekend of climbing hiking, but I can feel everything getting back to normal. I cal also feel my body changing. There is more mass in my shoulders and my grip is stronger. This morning when I went out for coffee, I ran up the stairs to the office. I love the little indicators that tell me I'm getting stronger. I found myself craving a hike today, but I will be patient!
I'm going to climb tomorrow.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Listening
Listen to your body, they say. Yesterday, I didn't listen very well, and today I'm paying the price. I drove myself pretty hard to get up Spencer's Butte, after climbing the day before. Today my feet are killin me. Everything else seems okay.
I think I will take two rest days, let my bones and ligaments recover, then climb on Wednesday.
I think I will take two rest days, let my bones and ligaments recover, then climb on Wednesday.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Spencer's Butte
I climbed the Butte today. This hill on the edge of my little hometown is favorite. I climb it at least twice a month. People ask me if I get bored going up there all the time, and my answer is always the same; how could I get bored when it's different every time?
Today the vine maple has turned golden. It's about seven feet high here and it arches over the trail, making a tunnel of colorful leaves. There is an oak tree down across the trail about a mile in. There's another one down off the trail a ways, one that has been leaning for a long time. The forest here is mixed, Douglas Fir, Oak, Maple and Madrone. In the shallow valley where the hike begins, the creek is running, after being dry all summer.
The maple leaves rattle in a gentle wind, and the air smells earthy and moist. It will rain in a couple of hours. As I top out, the views expand. At the top, the 360 degree view is ringed entirely by clouds and the wind is brisk.
I shouldn't have gone up today. I climbed yesterday and I'm so tired I have to drive myself to keep climbing. On the way down, I have to engage the now-familiar skill of accepting the fact that it's not going to feel very good until I'm down. But I do get down, and I get to have the feeling of expansiveness that always comes from being on top of something.
Today's hike:
3 miles up, 3 down, 6 total.
climb: 1500 feet
Time to summit: 1:27
Today the vine maple has turned golden. It's about seven feet high here and it arches over the trail, making a tunnel of colorful leaves. There is an oak tree down across the trail about a mile in. There's another one down off the trail a ways, one that has been leaning for a long time. The forest here is mixed, Douglas Fir, Oak, Maple and Madrone. In the shallow valley where the hike begins, the creek is running, after being dry all summer.
The maple leaves rattle in a gentle wind, and the air smells earthy and moist. It will rain in a couple of hours. As I top out, the views expand. At the top, the 360 degree view is ringed entirely by clouds and the wind is brisk.
I shouldn't have gone up today. I climbed yesterday and I'm so tired I have to drive myself to keep climbing. On the way down, I have to engage the now-familiar skill of accepting the fact that it's not going to feel very good until I'm down. But I do get down, and I get to have the feeling of expansiveness that always comes from being on top of something.
Today's hike:
3 miles up, 3 down, 6 total.
climb: 1500 feet
Time to summit: 1:27
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Crux, Redux
Today is my first day back to climbing after a couple of years. There've been some health problems to deal with, and I almost gave up.. I almost listened to the voice in my head that says things like "you are too old now," and "you should do something else." Dumb.
The fellow at our local gym who sells me a new 3 month pass is tall, lean and young. He is also casually friendly, in the way that climbers everywhere are, always. Just the ritual of getting ready to climb feels like home; dress down to loose jeans, t-shirt, and bare feet. Stretch out, chalk up, lace the climbing shoes, and start to read routes. It's like coming home after being away.
I get on a V0 and climb it up then back down. And another. And then one more. My heart is pounding, and the whole world has gone away now. There is only the world of balance and sequence, and the feel of the holds in my hands and under my feet. I climb until I can't even close my hands on the holds any more.
Outside, walking to the car, my body is singing out loud. Shoulders, arms, even my fingers feel grateful and happy, and at home. I get in the car wondering about the schedule; can I take one rest day, then climb again? What if I climb Spencer's Butte tomorrow, would that be too much? Maybe I will climb one day, have a day off, then hike the next?
I don't know the particulars yet, but I do know the old passion. And the flow. The feeling of being one-pointed in my head and in my body, of having the thought stream go away for a time, is ecstatic, and I can only think of having that feeling again the next time. But that feeling is not just a break from the every day. Every time I climb or hike, I spend time in that magical, empty state. And every time I go there, when I return to the "real" world, I am changed, and the way I experience the world is renewed.
I think I will climb Spencer's Butte tomorrow.
The fellow at our local gym who sells me a new 3 month pass is tall, lean and young. He is also casually friendly, in the way that climbers everywhere are, always. Just the ritual of getting ready to climb feels like home; dress down to loose jeans, t-shirt, and bare feet. Stretch out, chalk up, lace the climbing shoes, and start to read routes. It's like coming home after being away.
I get on a V0 and climb it up then back down. And another. And then one more. My heart is pounding, and the whole world has gone away now. There is only the world of balance and sequence, and the feel of the holds in my hands and under my feet. I climb until I can't even close my hands on the holds any more.
Outside, walking to the car, my body is singing out loud. Shoulders, arms, even my fingers feel grateful and happy, and at home. I get in the car wondering about the schedule; can I take one rest day, then climb again? What if I climb Spencer's Butte tomorrow, would that be too much? Maybe I will climb one day, have a day off, then hike the next?
I don't know the particulars yet, but I do know the old passion. And the flow. The feeling of being one-pointed in my head and in my body, of having the thought stream go away for a time, is ecstatic, and I can only think of having that feeling again the next time. But that feeling is not just a break from the every day. Every time I climb or hike, I spend time in that magical, empty state. And every time I go there, when I return to the "real" world, I am changed, and the way I experience the world is renewed.
I think I will climb Spencer's Butte tomorrow.
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