The Boulder Problem.

Day 4

I know exactly what I need to do.  I have every detail of every movement mapped out, rehearsed, sequenced, and memorized.  Except… where does my left foot go before I pull for the final handholds? 

Today is day four of working a boulder problem.

Day 1

Emily and I were exploring a bouldering area in Bishop, CA called the Happy Boulders.  As one would expect, it is aptly named.  There must be hundreds of excellent climbs there on pocketed, twisted, and cracked black volcanic rock.  We spent most of our session exploring the area, picking easy routes and sending them.

Near the end of our session, I discovered this problem and I was intrigued.  It was overhung, with mostly positive holds.  It looked like a lot of the others we had been climbing that day. I decided to try it out.  Though the route looked obvious at first, it required quite a bit of balance and tension from the feet. It made me think through all the moves, exactly which finger and toe where, when and why.  I worked the moves until I thought I had them, at least for the bottom half.  I climbed around on it until the wind picked up and started whipping us with sand.  I put it on the list for the next day. 

Day 2

We came back, I found the problem again, I hopped on and it kicked me off.  I worked to fine tune the moves of the previous day.  I was able to consistently climb the route up until the last holds before the top.  The last left foot placement had me stumped.  I would get up to make the final moves, and my left foot dangled below me, pulling me down as I looked for a place to put it, any place.  From down on the ground I could see at least two spots that looked great, but while pulling on the last set of crimps at the top, out of balance and out of strength, those options were far less useful than they looked from below.

I took a break and ate some food.  I stared at/studied it for a while.  I started the problem from the middle saving my strength by bypassing the bottom.  I got to the crux and made a sloppy throw for it, not paying too much attention to my left foot.  I got it!  I topped out. But to be truly successful I was not interested in anything less than the full correct sequence.  I went back to the bottom to try and put it together. 

I was instantly awful.  Now I was falling off the bottom holds and the middle ones too.  I made it to the crux again and it put me promptly on the mat.  I was tired, my fingertips stung from the fourth day of bouldering in a row, my blood sugar was low and I was getting shaky and irritable.  The more I was rejected the more I wanted it.  But I was done, at least for now.

Day 3

This was a rest day.  Emily and I didn’t climb, though I thought about this particular route most of the day.  What if I got my left foot up first before my right…It’s too in cut…There’s a little lip on the other side of the block I’m heel hooking with my right…That might work… I played over the different scenarios in my head constantly plagued by the desperate feeling of my fingers slipping off the holds as I searched the rock for the last subtle left foot hold I needed to be stable.  “This is what makes bouldering so great!”  I remembered another climber saying a few days ago.  “The fact that the smallest feature on the rock can make or break a route.”  I rolled over and over in my mind, where can I put my left foot?  Where is there even a ¼ inch of something to push off of?

I began to think of writing this text.  I thought of bouldering as a metaphor for life.  I cling to the rock with all of my might, climbing through, moving toward the most ideal ending I know of, the top.  I am taken down early by my lack of strength, or technique, or momentary inattention to the smallest, subtle, most crucial detail…

Does one ever succeed at life as in bouldering?  Does one ever reach the top with the thrill of conquering an almost impossible challenge, then turn and smugly and happily swing back around the other side and dismount?  Is that a model for a truly satisfying existence?  Is this why I do what I do?  To practice living an ideal existence over and over again on a sharp, gritty rock representing life and all of its challenges?  Is this why I push my self further and further?  Obsess about little ¼ inch divots of rock? Why I have hands and feet scraped and swollen, body aching from fighting ceaselessly and happily to go up?  Is this why I climb?

I hesitate to assign meaning to the possible outcomes of the next days challenge, unsure of the result it may bring.

Day 4

I know exactly what I need to do.  Almost.

Sitting on the bouldering pad, I am at the bottom of the climb.  I’m a little jittery from the morning’s coffee.  My breathing is not quite as fulfilling as I would like it to be.  I did not perform as well as I could have on the warm up routes I climbed earlier.  I am resolute to give this my all.  Looking back at the previous days performances of giving it my all, I estimate my chances for success at 30-40%.

I take a few deep breaths and lift my weight off the ground.  I glide through the bottom with surprising ease, placing each hand and foot exactly where I had rehearsed in my mind the day before.  I find my self on the high desperate hand holds I remembered and find them feeling much less desperate this time.  I hook my right heel.  I take another deep breath as I look around for the left foothold of yesterday’s preoccupation.  Nothing.  I smear my left foot on a spot where I would like to have a hold and pull with my arms.  The rock on the top is big and smooth and really easy to pull on.  As I top out I smile and quietly celebrate the journey of the last few days.  I smugly climb down the other side and send it again, a big silly smile on my face.

Life is good.