If the last blog post was a triumphant roar, this is a never-ending scream of agony. It's all gone horribly wrong.
Since my return from Chile I've had five sessions on Evolution, three in the best conditions I've ever had on the route. When I left it felt like a sure thing. Now, every session on it makes it feel further and further away. The problem is the first crux move - an awkward, painful rockover off a high right foot and a dreadful razors edge for the left hand. Even back in September I could do this move in isolation every go. On my last day before going away I climbed through this move from the ground five times in one day. Since my return I have got through it once. Even pulling straight on at the move I can only do it about one in three goes.
What has gone wrong? I don't feel weaker on the holds. If anything I'm stronger than before. But some block - physical or mental - has developed. The move is the first hard move from the floor, so each attempt goes womble, womble, slump. Womble, womble slump. Redpointing on the route now feels like banging my head against a brick wall. Luckily, I've got a pretty solid head from years of sieging - and I'm pretty sure the wall will break first.
Right now I'm trying everything I can to break down the block. I'm stretching out my hips and shoulders, trying different foot positions, getting myself angry on the move. Something will work eventually and I'll get up on the headwall once more. I can still do the route. But it's not the dead cert it once was and success relies on a triptych of good weather, the right training and a bit of luck. Which will make it all the sweeter when it comes...
Sunday, 11 November 2012
Saturday, 13 October 2012
Generic blog post title
I really, really wanted this to be one of those bragging blog posts. You know the type. I'd have started out with lashings of faux-modesty - talked about how my project is nothing special in absolute terms, but its a personal progression for me, etc. Then I'd have a short description of the moves on the project. I'd make it sound really hard, so you knew just how good I was. And then I'd spin my yarn. Add some tension - the "will he, won't he" stuff. Finally, the blog post would finish with my glorious success, no doubt in the face of massively over-hyped difficulties, like a head cold, or bad conditions.
You'll have to wait for that post, but I promise you now that it's coming, because yesterday I fell off the last move of Evolution at Raven Tor. Evolution! When Jerry was working the route, legend holds he told the thronging crowds "there's only three people who can do that move - me, myself and I". Evolution! Home of the tiniest holds on Raven Tor, the crag of tiny tiny holds. And I fell off the goddam last move. Admittedly, Rupert did this about 80 times, but I'm a lot angrier than Rupert, so I'm sure I'll get it soon.
Unfortunately I have to go away for a while. I'm in Manchester airport, waiting for a flight to Chile, where I'll spend a few nights looking for weather outside our solar system, then I'll fly back and crush the shit out of Evolution*. God I love my life.
*please stay dry, please stay dry, please stay dry
You'll have to wait for that post, but I promise you now that it's coming, because yesterday I fell off the last move of Evolution at Raven Tor. Evolution! When Jerry was working the route, legend holds he told the thronging crowds "there's only three people who can do that move - me, myself and I". Evolution! Home of the tiniest holds on Raven Tor, the crag of tiny tiny holds. And I fell off the goddam last move. Admittedly, Rupert did this about 80 times, but I'm a lot angrier than Rupert, so I'm sure I'll get it soon.
Unfortunately I have to go away for a while. I'm in Manchester airport, waiting for a flight to Chile, where I'll spend a few nights looking for weather outside our solar system, then I'll fly back and crush the shit out of Evolution*. God I love my life.
*please stay dry, please stay dry, please stay dry
Location:Domestic Approach,,United Kingdom
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
For Bennett
I'll bet you've noticed. I've not written anything here. Admit it, you've missed me. The thing is there's only so many tall tales I can spin out of a yarn of "got up, went to work, went training, ate cornflakes". In recent months my life has bored even me, so I figured I'd spare you the same fate. I wasn't even going to write this, but Bennett wanted to see the pictures.
Eventually the training has to be for something - and it was for this.
That's White Zombie in Baltzola there folks. The first 8c to be 'onsighted'. 78 horizontal moves of pure juggy pleasure. Tell me that's not worth a few hours of endurance training a night? Jules and I were both mega-psyched to have a redpointing holiday, so we preselected our routes. I chose the Zombie, naturellement, whilst Jules picked a nice 8a right in the bowels of the cave. And when I say the bowels of the cave, you know I'm serious. Baltzola is a proper cave. If it's cloudy you need a head torch for the routes in the back. It's dark, steep and full of goat shit. Parisella's devotees - book your tickets today.
Turns out we chose badly - Jules' route had a massive ledge fall off it, removing a rest and replacing it with two hard moves. This bumped the difficulty up a notch. My route had two flaws. Flaw one was that the local climbers were debating if it was 8b+ - a problem they neatly solved by sika'ing over a natural pocket on the crux! Ergo, my route was also a bit harder. Flaw two was more serious - from a cave full of dark shady roof climbs, I chose the only one with a crux in full sun. Muppet.
Still, we both battled valiantly on and suffered through the hot and sticky conditions until the very last day of the trip. With no ticks to show for our week, we were a bit nervous and got to the crag pre-dawn to maximise the number of goes we had before catching our flight. Good call. Whilst I killed the Zombie in the dawn light, Jules had literally minutes to spare, ticking her route on her 6th go up of the day. Hurray for us!
Anyway - all that dull pre-amble is an excuse to post the pictures below. Suffice it to say that Baltzola is amazing and if you like steep climbing and goats (and don't mind the odd bit of sika) you should go there tomorrow.
More pictures here.
Eventually the training has to be for something - and it was for this.
That's White Zombie in Baltzola there folks. The first 8c to be 'onsighted'. 78 horizontal moves of pure juggy pleasure. Tell me that's not worth a few hours of endurance training a night? Jules and I were both mega-psyched to have a redpointing holiday, so we preselected our routes. I chose the Zombie, naturellement, whilst Jules picked a nice 8a right in the bowels of the cave. And when I say the bowels of the cave, you know I'm serious. Baltzola is a proper cave. If it's cloudy you need a head torch for the routes in the back. It's dark, steep and full of goat shit. Parisella's devotees - book your tickets today.
Turns out we chose badly - Jules' route had a massive ledge fall off it, removing a rest and replacing it with two hard moves. This bumped the difficulty up a notch. My route had two flaws. Flaw one was that the local climbers were debating if it was 8b+ - a problem they neatly solved by sika'ing over a natural pocket on the crux! Ergo, my route was also a bit harder. Flaw two was more serious - from a cave full of dark shady roof climbs, I chose the only one with a crux in full sun. Muppet.
Still, we both battled valiantly on and suffered through the hot and sticky conditions until the very last day of the trip. With no ticks to show for our week, we were a bit nervous and got to the crag pre-dawn to maximise the number of goes we had before catching our flight. Good call. Whilst I killed the Zombie in the dawn light, Jules had literally minutes to spare, ticking her route on her 6th go up of the day. Hurray for us!
Anyway - all that dull pre-amble is an excuse to post the pictures below. Suffice it to say that Baltzola is amazing and if you like steep climbing and goats (and don't mind the odd bit of sika) you should go there tomorrow.
More pictures here.
Monday, 7 May 2012
One funny turn deserves another
Six or seven years ago I returned from a work trip, severely sleep deprived, and crashed out in our Exeter bedsit. A few hours later my wife came into the room to find me awake, and talking nonsense. In hindsight, my unconscious brain was clearly concerned with the inner workings of astronomical cameras, but as I ranted about rows and columns not being properly aligned I became increasingly angry at my wife's refusal to understand me, whilst she became increasingly concerned at my unhinged state of mind. Just before she decided to take me to hospital, something more like conscious thought returned and I slowly began to realise that my mutterings were somewhat deranged.
A few similar attacks occurred over the years, always following heavy work trips in which long series of consecutive night shifts left me floundering when I returned to the UK. Thankfully they are now much less common than they were. The most recent was last year, when on holiday in France I found myself in the bizarre position of completely freaking out at the crag. The sloping ledges beneath Castillon are not a comfortable place to have a picnic, but for experienced rock-cats like myself, they are a pretty tame environment to hang out in. And yet, roping up I felt a growing unease. Alarming thoughts would swim up, unbidden, and I'd shudder as a vision of the knot untying fizzled across my brain. Ten minutes later things came to a head with me hanging on the fifth bolt of my warm-up, sobbing uncontrollably and begging to come down. Thankfully, this has never repeated itself, although this weekend I got a little reminder of this unpleasant occurrence.
Having come home from back-to-back work trips to Hawaii (poor me) and La Palma (I know!) I was feeling pretty drained and jet-lagged. Rather than bang on with the hard limestone we thought a change was in order and this saturday we drove over to N Wales for a day on the slate. To be honest, I thought we'd just pootle about on mid-grade sport routes, and that's what we started out doing, but the great grey bulk of the rainbow slab was like a siren call and we headed down and launched up Pull My Daisy. I had such a great time that it makes me wonder what I've been doing on sport routes all these years! The route is famous for a monster run out in the upper reaches and, to be honest, I only just about held it together. Still, I gave myself a good talking to halfway up and climbed well, even though my head was raging. After that we did another few routes and I drove home feeling really content and relaxed. On Sunday we drive up to Malham - the first time we've been back since the mega-day when Jules ticked Predator and I fluked my way up Bat Route.
Walking into the cove I felt a familiar feeling creeping up on me, along with a growing feeling of unease. It is really upsetting to find yourself in a totally familiar situation having to try really hard to keep your head screwed on. It's a bit like how I imagine the tourists, gingerly stepping their way around the catwalk, must feel. Warming up on the catwalk almost everything would make me flinch - heart-stopping jabs of adrenalin from ropes pulling through the chains, or the sound of laughter. In a bid not to be beaten by this mood we head 'upstairs' and I tie onto the most exposed route at Malham. At 7c, "Free and Easy" takes a slabby line perched in the middle of the cove. Gained by an exposed traverse to the belay of the groove, the route is perched high above the beck, with it's gaggle of neck-craning tourists. Out here I pretty much freaked out totally. Muscles locked taught, only a constant internal litany of swearwords allowed me to bolt-to-bolt the route. Back on the half-height ledge I lay down with my eyes closed and tried and find some equilibrium. It worked enough to allow me to have another go, but I fell off anyway! The unsettling feeling never quite went away, and after Jules had crushed her route (Obsession), we went back down to the Catwalk. By comparison the situation felt quite relaxed, so I was able to climb again, and feel the pressure release with every lap of the familiar routes.
Today I feel back to normal - a long lie in, and a relaxed day of reading, eating and doing chores has let my head settle. Still - a nasty warning of how fragile the mind can be, and a reminder to make sure I rest properly the next time I return from a trip abroad!
A few similar attacks occurred over the years, always following heavy work trips in which long series of consecutive night shifts left me floundering when I returned to the UK. Thankfully they are now much less common than they were. The most recent was last year, when on holiday in France I found myself in the bizarre position of completely freaking out at the crag. The sloping ledges beneath Castillon are not a comfortable place to have a picnic, but for experienced rock-cats like myself, they are a pretty tame environment to hang out in. And yet, roping up I felt a growing unease. Alarming thoughts would swim up, unbidden, and I'd shudder as a vision of the knot untying fizzled across my brain. Ten minutes later things came to a head with me hanging on the fifth bolt of my warm-up, sobbing uncontrollably and begging to come down. Thankfully, this has never repeated itself, although this weekend I got a little reminder of this unpleasant occurrence.
Having come home from back-to-back work trips to Hawaii (poor me) and La Palma (I know!) I was feeling pretty drained and jet-lagged. Rather than bang on with the hard limestone we thought a change was in order and this saturday we drove over to N Wales for a day on the slate. To be honest, I thought we'd just pootle about on mid-grade sport routes, and that's what we started out doing, but the great grey bulk of the rainbow slab was like a siren call and we headed down and launched up Pull My Daisy. I had such a great time that it makes me wonder what I've been doing on sport routes all these years! The route is famous for a monster run out in the upper reaches and, to be honest, I only just about held it together. Still, I gave myself a good talking to halfway up and climbed well, even though my head was raging. After that we did another few routes and I drove home feeling really content and relaxed. On Sunday we drive up to Malham - the first time we've been back since the mega-day when Jules ticked Predator and I fluked my way up Bat Route.
Walking into the cove I felt a familiar feeling creeping up on me, along with a growing feeling of unease. It is really upsetting to find yourself in a totally familiar situation having to try really hard to keep your head screwed on. It's a bit like how I imagine the tourists, gingerly stepping their way around the catwalk, must feel. Warming up on the catwalk almost everything would make me flinch - heart-stopping jabs of adrenalin from ropes pulling through the chains, or the sound of laughter. In a bid not to be beaten by this mood we head 'upstairs' and I tie onto the most exposed route at Malham. At 7c, "Free and Easy" takes a slabby line perched in the middle of the cove. Gained by an exposed traverse to the belay of the groove, the route is perched high above the beck, with it's gaggle of neck-craning tourists. Out here I pretty much freaked out totally. Muscles locked taught, only a constant internal litany of swearwords allowed me to bolt-to-bolt the route. Back on the half-height ledge I lay down with my eyes closed and tried and find some equilibrium. It worked enough to allow me to have another go, but I fell off anyway! The unsettling feeling never quite went away, and after Jules had crushed her route (Obsession), we went back down to the Catwalk. By comparison the situation felt quite relaxed, so I was able to climb again, and feel the pressure release with every lap of the familiar routes.
Today I feel back to normal - a long lie in, and a relaxed day of reading, eating and doing chores has let my head settle. Still - a nasty warning of how fragile the mind can be, and a reminder to make sure I rest properly the next time I return from a trip abroad!
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Life on Hold
Two years in the making, the british bouldering film Life on Hold, from Outcrop Films (Nick Brown and Richard Sharpe) is finally available. Obviously I downloaded it straight away. When I went to the shop I got a pleasant surprise. The 720p download available for only £10, which is a bargain price, cheaper than almost any comparable climbing film I can think of.
The film itself starts with a beautifully shot and edited sequence of Ned Feehally on Careless Torque; the tone of which is judged perfectly, with a quiet background of strings and piano accompanying the action. The film then embarks on a tour of Yorkshire, the Peak and Northumberland. For the most part, Ned, Dan Varian and Mickey Page are the stars, but there are cameo appearances from a whole host of world-class boulderers, and Dave Mason.
The filming is beautifully done. Some shots are breathtaking, and Outcrop's now-hallmark time lapses are interspersed between the climbing sequences. This is actually done to great effect, and really fits well in a movie about UK bouldering, where the changeable weather and frustrating conditions are such a big part of any climber's life.
The structure of the film itself is very much "all thriller, no filler"; there's very few interviews and almost no exposition. Generally, this works well, letting the problems be the stars and allowing the climber's personalities to reveal themselves through the action. It's also a good call since some of the people in the film (no names, Ned) are best described as reluctant interviewees. At times, however, it works to the film's detriment. In particular, the film follows a non-linear narrative, cutting away from attempts on, and returning to ascents of, key problems. Without any narration to put this in context it's a little jarring, and hard to follow. Where the narrative works best is where interview audio is overlaid over climbing action - for example Ned expounding his highball philosophy whilst soloing The Pride in the Churnet.
In fact, it's the highballing that is the real draw of this film. Dan and Ned have gained a reputation for bringing a new approach to grit climbing, with increasing higher and higher routes falling to a ground up, above pads approach. Most of the time this is a natural application of modern technology, whilst at times it seems to descend into madness, with crazily high and committing routes being highballed above tiny pieces of foam. Sometimes the film does a great job of capturing the gripping nature of this style; watching Ryan Pasquill and Dan on the Return of the Jedi the tension mounts slowly until Ryan takes a nasty looking fall onto distant pads stacked over jumbled boulders. Watching Ned on the Promise is another occasion. His pads seem impossibly distant and, for once, Ned actually looks scared. Then he falls off and the lob is almost anti-climactic. In fact, this is the biggest problem with the highballs in the film; sometimes the falls look suprisingly tame!
In summary, I really loved this film. It is gorgeous, well-paced and features some truly inspiring ascents of world-class problems. Recommendation: download ASAP.
The film itself starts with a beautifully shot and edited sequence of Ned Feehally on Careless Torque; the tone of which is judged perfectly, with a quiet background of strings and piano accompanying the action. The film then embarks on a tour of Yorkshire, the Peak and Northumberland. For the most part, Ned, Dan Varian and Mickey Page are the stars, but there are cameo appearances from a whole host of world-class boulderers, and Dave Mason.
The filming is beautifully done. Some shots are breathtaking, and Outcrop's now-hallmark time lapses are interspersed between the climbing sequences. This is actually done to great effect, and really fits well in a movie about UK bouldering, where the changeable weather and frustrating conditions are such a big part of any climber's life.
The structure of the film itself is very much "all thriller, no filler"; there's very few interviews and almost no exposition. Generally, this works well, letting the problems be the stars and allowing the climber's personalities to reveal themselves through the action. It's also a good call since some of the people in the film (no names, Ned) are best described as reluctant interviewees. At times, however, it works to the film's detriment. In particular, the film follows a non-linear narrative, cutting away from attempts on, and returning to ascents of, key problems. Without any narration to put this in context it's a little jarring, and hard to follow. Where the narrative works best is where interview audio is overlaid over climbing action - for example Ned expounding his highball philosophy whilst soloing The Pride in the Churnet.
In fact, it's the highballing that is the real draw of this film. Dan and Ned have gained a reputation for bringing a new approach to grit climbing, with increasing higher and higher routes falling to a ground up, above pads approach. Most of the time this is a natural application of modern technology, whilst at times it seems to descend into madness, with crazily high and committing routes being highballed above tiny pieces of foam. Sometimes the film does a great job of capturing the gripping nature of this style; watching Ryan Pasquill and Dan on the Return of the Jedi the tension mounts slowly until Ryan takes a nasty looking fall onto distant pads stacked over jumbled boulders. Watching Ned on the Promise is another occasion. His pads seem impossibly distant and, for once, Ned actually looks scared. Then he falls off and the lob is almost anti-climactic. In fact, this is the biggest problem with the highballs in the film; sometimes the falls look suprisingly tame!
In summary, I really loved this film. It is gorgeous, well-paced and features some truly inspiring ascents of world-class problems. Recommendation: download ASAP.
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
The risk business
Those of you who take four hour lunch breaks to surf the web have probably wondered why this blog has had so few posts in recent months? I've heard a few rumours; perhaps I'm working on something big, and have gone dark so it'll be big news when it breaks. More likely; in recent months my life has been boring even to me, so I'm not going to lumber you lot with it. Train, work, sleep. Work, train, sleep. 3! = 6, but even that's an exaggeration; not every way of arranging sleep, train, work is practical.
However, something has cropped up, so I'll share it with the world. Either because I'm a sharing kind of guy, or because I'm an egomaniac whose voice needs to be heard. Your choice - you get the info all the same.
This weekend I've ended up watching two films on a similar theme; the deadly side of motorsport. One was "Madness on Wheels: Rallying's Crazy Years" by none other than climbing's own Rich Heap. You can catch it here for the next few days, at least. It's a great film; by rarely showing the accidents it avoids the uncomfortable rubber-necking feeling it might produce. But there are plenty of accidents here, under the surface. In a few years when several rally drivers, and more spectators were killed, it's hard not to accept that rallying got out of hand. And yet; at the end of the film the drivers involved look back on it like it was some golden age.
All of this pales in comparison with TT: Closer to the Edge, which follows several rider's quests to win the 2010 TT races in the Isle of Man. The TT is quite simply insane. Between 1907 and 2009 there were 237 deaths. Two hundred. And thirty seven. 2.32 deaths per TT. The attrition rate is mind-blowing. We like to think climbing can be a risky business, and yet if there was a similar fatality rate in climbing it would shock and appall us there.
And that got me thinking about how different cultures shape our approach to risk. Two things struck me about the TT. One was that really serious accidents (and I'm talking about the bike exploding at 180mph kind of serious) didn't put racers off. From their hospital beds they vowed to be fit enough to race next year. Since the accidents didn't affect their attitude, I can only assume they've made their peace with death before they race. TT riders have accepted there's a good chance they'll die, and decided to do that anyway. Climbers don't do that. I think it's because climbing is just safe enough that we can avoid it. We can pretend instead that accidents won't happen to us, and the deception works because accidents are (thankfully) rare.
The other thing I noticed was how old some of the TT riders are. Joey Dunlop won 26 TT races, including his last in 2000. He was 48. Shortly afterwards he was killed in a race in Estonia. This didn't seem to be a rare example either; plenty of the top riders were in their 30s or 40s. As climbers, it's rare to see anyone pushing it outside their twenties. There are old climbers, and bold climbers, but there are no old, bold climbers. I used to think this had two causes; that people mellowed with age and found risk unjustifiable, and that the boldest climbers kicked the bucket before they got old. Thinking about the TT, maybe it's because our climbing culture actually discourages risk; sooner or later the young tigers get the message, chill out and start warning the next generation to be careful.
Either way; I also just watched the excellent life on hold, and was impressed by the boldness of the under 30s on their campaign to highball everything they can put a mat under. I just hope they're being careful...
However, something has cropped up, so I'll share it with the world. Either because I'm a sharing kind of guy, or because I'm an egomaniac whose voice needs to be heard. Your choice - you get the info all the same.
This weekend I've ended up watching two films on a similar theme; the deadly side of motorsport. One was "Madness on Wheels: Rallying's Crazy Years" by none other than climbing's own Rich Heap. You can catch it here for the next few days, at least. It's a great film; by rarely showing the accidents it avoids the uncomfortable rubber-necking feeling it might produce. But there are plenty of accidents here, under the surface. In a few years when several rally drivers, and more spectators were killed, it's hard not to accept that rallying got out of hand. And yet; at the end of the film the drivers involved look back on it like it was some golden age.
All of this pales in comparison with TT: Closer to the Edge, which follows several rider's quests to win the 2010 TT races in the Isle of Man. The TT is quite simply insane. Between 1907 and 2009 there were 237 deaths. Two hundred. And thirty seven. 2.32 deaths per TT. The attrition rate is mind-blowing. We like to think climbing can be a risky business, and yet if there was a similar fatality rate in climbing it would shock and appall us there.
And that got me thinking about how different cultures shape our approach to risk. Two things struck me about the TT. One was that really serious accidents (and I'm talking about the bike exploding at 180mph kind of serious) didn't put racers off. From their hospital beds they vowed to be fit enough to race next year. Since the accidents didn't affect their attitude, I can only assume they've made their peace with death before they race. TT riders have accepted there's a good chance they'll die, and decided to do that anyway. Climbers don't do that. I think it's because climbing is just safe enough that we can avoid it. We can pretend instead that accidents won't happen to us, and the deception works because accidents are (thankfully) rare.
The other thing I noticed was how old some of the TT riders are. Joey Dunlop won 26 TT races, including his last in 2000. He was 48. Shortly afterwards he was killed in a race in Estonia. This didn't seem to be a rare example either; plenty of the top riders were in their 30s or 40s. As climbers, it's rare to see anyone pushing it outside their twenties. There are old climbers, and bold climbers, but there are no old, bold climbers. I used to think this had two causes; that people mellowed with age and found risk unjustifiable, and that the boldest climbers kicked the bucket before they got old. Thinking about the TT, maybe it's because our climbing culture actually discourages risk; sooner or later the young tigers get the message, chill out and start warning the next generation to be careful.
Either way; I also just watched the excellent life on hold, and was impressed by the boldness of the under 30s on their campaign to highball everything they can put a mat under. I just hope they're being careful...
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Lessons from the CWIF
I was really excited about taking part in the CWIF this weekend. And I man really excited, like can't sleep, Disneyland excited. It would be my first international comp for nearly 10 years, And I was feeling quite strong, so hoped I might do OK. This is what I leant...
1) It's OK to tank
And I really tanked. To say I wasn't close to qualifying is a minor understatement. Qualifying and I weren't even on speaking terms. Still, I had a brilliant time, questing round with a great team, and today I got to go to the plantation and climb in the sun with a great group of people (and Will).
2) Never give up.
Part of the reason for the aforementioned tanking is that I threw in the towel far too early. Almost straight away I had a shocker on two reachy problems which totally shut me down. Two fat zeros, lurking on my scoresheet like toads. After that, I thought I had no chance, and lost my focus and aggression. I started having lots of fun, but making tons of mistakes and not trying nearly as hard as I should have. In fact, looking back, if I'd kept my shit together I'd still not have qualified. But, if I'd kept my shit together and been less short, inflexible and technically inept I probably would have.
3) We are so lucky in the UK...
...to have some of the best routesetters in the world. The qualifiers consisted of thirty problems which had to provide enough fun for those who came down for a laugh, and challenge some of the best in the world. They are set on the main circuit section of the Works, so the potential for disgusting "dirt vert" is high. All 30 problems were great, requiring a potent mix of brains and brawn for success. I don't think I've ever competed on problems of such consistently high quality. Chapeau, route setting team!
4) Legs.
Strong legs are useful, as are butt-cheeks, shoulders and (a distant fourth) fingers. As I write this my legs are in agony, and don't even ask about my backside.
5) What good climbers look like...
The display of bendiness, determination and strength I saw from Ned and Barrans today was awe-inspiring. Watching those guys contort their way up the groove of despair in the finals, all I could think was how good they must be in the sack...
6) The Brits are "quite good"
Finally - the Brits won the CWIF! An inspiring effort from Shauna, who dominated the women's field, and brute strength on a stick from Dave Barrans, who squeeked it in the men's. It all came down to the final problem; Dave had climbed three problems, and Guilliane Glarion-Mondet, the French Sideshow Bob lookalike, had to top out on the final problem to win it. It was one of those situations where you're screaming support, but at the same time praying he won't make it. Guillane fought his way to the last move of the last problem, but could only wave at the finishing hold as he flew past it. Barrans Wins!!!
1) It's OK to tank
And I really tanked. To say I wasn't close to qualifying is a minor understatement. Qualifying and I weren't even on speaking terms. Still, I had a brilliant time, questing round with a great team, and today I got to go to the plantation and climb in the sun with a great group of people (and Will).
2) Never give up.
Part of the reason for the aforementioned tanking is that I threw in the towel far too early. Almost straight away I had a shocker on two reachy problems which totally shut me down. Two fat zeros, lurking on my scoresheet like toads. After that, I thought I had no chance, and lost my focus and aggression. I started having lots of fun, but making tons of mistakes and not trying nearly as hard as I should have. In fact, looking back, if I'd kept my shit together I'd still not have qualified. But, if I'd kept my shit together and been less short, inflexible and technically inept I probably would have.
3) We are so lucky in the UK...
...to have some of the best routesetters in the world. The qualifiers consisted of thirty problems which had to provide enough fun for those who came down for a laugh, and challenge some of the best in the world. They are set on the main circuit section of the Works, so the potential for disgusting "dirt vert" is high. All 30 problems were great, requiring a potent mix of brains and brawn for success. I don't think I've ever competed on problems of such consistently high quality. Chapeau, route setting team!
4) Legs.
Strong legs are useful, as are butt-cheeks, shoulders and (a distant fourth) fingers. As I write this my legs are in agony, and don't even ask about my backside.
5) What good climbers look like...
The display of bendiness, determination and strength I saw from Ned and Barrans today was awe-inspiring. Watching those guys contort their way up the groove of despair in the finals, all I could think was how good they must be in the sack...
6) The Brits are "quite good"
Finally - the Brits won the CWIF! An inspiring effort from Shauna, who dominated the women's field, and brute strength on a stick from Dave Barrans, who squeeked it in the men's. It all came down to the final problem; Dave had climbed three problems, and Guilliane Glarion-Mondet, the French Sideshow Bob lookalike, had to top out on the final problem to win it. It was one of those situations where you're screaming support, but at the same time praying he won't make it. Guillane fought his way to the last move of the last problem, but could only wave at the finishing hold as he flew past it. Barrans Wins!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)