tuesDAY. Erin. Or: Is this thing still on?
So as I mentioned in my last post, I occasionally rock climb. This is going to be somewhat related to Crossfit in just a minute, I promise. One of the side effects of climbing is being surrounded by other climbers, many of whom are significantly stronger than me. This week, one of those climbers did something pretty remarkable - he climbed 5.15.
Now, if you're not a rock climber, take my word for it: this is pretty remarkable. Fewer than ten Americans have climbed anything this hard. Andrew was only the fourth person to climb this route without falling. Ever. In the history of rocks. I mean, that's a big deal.
And what makes this especially relevant to me (and, by extension, to you), is that I know him. He learned to climb at my gym. We went to competitions together. Hell, we dated. (It was ten years ago, but once he forgave me for being a terrible girlfriend we maintained a perfectly serviceable friendship.) We climbed together. I saw this guy in action. And I saw what sets him apart from everyone else who's ever put finger and foot and soul to rock. I saw what makes him elite. And it's all his head.
Look, he trains. He trains his face (and his fingertips) right off. I'd come in to work a shift at the gym and he'd be running laps on our archway. I'd putter around the building for an hour or two and he'd still be climbing that arch. He'd find the hardest routes in the gym and do laps on those. I'd putter more, he'd lap more. Then he'd do some finger training on our campus board, or he'd do some rounds in our bouldering cave. I'd talk to people and answer phones. Then he'd sip some water, and go home. And the next day he'd do it again. He trains.
"But Erin," you're saying. "I train. I do! I train all the time. And I'm still not better than 99% of the people who have attempted my sport. What gives?"
Well, Constant Reader, the difference is you give up. And I'm not calling you a quitter, so stop looking at me like that. But somewhere along the line, where you would have stopped for the day, or the weekend, or forever, or whenever, Andrew didn't.
I have a vivid and fond memory of a climbing trip we took many summers ago to the New River Gorge in West Virginia. My friend and I wandered off and climbed some easy things and left Andrew to his own devices - we found him, some time later, trying and falling and trying and falling on a route called Quinsana Plus, It's a 5.13a, which at the time was harder than anything he'd climbed without falling. And he was falling on this. And I watched him, with fondness and exasperation, as he kept trying. It wasn't until we announced that we were going to get ice cream that he took off his harness and followed us down the mountain. I have no doubt that if he'd been left to make his own schedule, he would have tried until his fingers bled. And then he would have come back as soon as it no longer hurt to grab the rock. Maybe even before. And he would have kept grabbing the start holds until he could climb to the top without falling. Because he wanted to.
I don't know when he sent Quinsana Plus (I don't think it was too long after), but that focus stuck with me, years later. It's what sets him apart from the rest of us who train with everything we have (and the rest-rest of us who train a lot but like to eat pizza and nap sometimes.) Go back and read that article I linked. Or don't, because I'll summarize here: he spent months working on this route. It's called a "project" for a reason. He spent months thinking about it, training, thinking about it, trying, failing, thinking about it, and finally, finally, finally succeeding. He's conveniently located near Rumney, which helps, but lots of people live there and don't climb 5.15. Lots of people want to send 5.15 and don't. Lots of people fall short a lot of the time, and lots of people give up.
AND THAT'S OKAY. I don't want your takeaway from this to be that you should put in as many hours as it take to be the best of the best of the best. That's impractical for a lot of people. It's impossible logistically and emotionally for a lot of people. The reason I'm so stoked for my friend who did something incredible is that he did something incredible. We have heroes because they aren't like us. They do things we simply can't for whatever reasons. They're the rabbits that we chase, the people who tell us our goals are possible - but to be these people isn't the goal itself. People like Andrew can inspire without forcing emulation, and it doesn't detract from the inspiration one bit.
So to Andrew: congratulations, again. And to the rest of you: go do something awesome. Because you can, and because you want to, and because it makes you happy. And even if you don't end up in the magazines, be stoked, and be proud.
