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reno
Oct 30, 2003, 4:55 AM
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I cry in pain...
My teeth grind together, as I stifle a scream. Tears... the tears trickle
one by one from my eyes, and I blink rapidly, wishing the pain would go
away. I know I have nobody to blame but myself, but I look for a scapegoat anyway.
I'm sitting in my apartment, a cold bottle of beer beside me, and a
cigarette burning down to the filter in the ashtray. I clench my teeth
together, in expectation of a new surge of pain as I pour alcohol and
peroxide on my hands, trying to clean the wounds inflicted today. And I
remember how it all came to be.
Heath called. He was looking for a partner. I had the day off, and I had
managed to accomplished all my "domestic" duties the night before...
Laundry, dishes, grocery shopping... I had a free day, and a partner who
wanted to go climbing.
I woke early... about half past five in the morning. Groggily, I rose from
my bed, reluctant to leave the comfort of a warm blanket and a purring cat, and started the coffee. Sipping a full mug, I check the weather. Clear, partly sunny, and a projected high of 68. Perfect. I finish my second mug of coffee, my third cigarette, and I grab my pack. Heath does not live far, and I pull into his driveway shortly. He greets me with a smile and a bagel... blueberry with extra cream cheese. Heath is a good partner.
A short thirty minute drive gets us to the parking area. One of the
beautiful things about Colorado climbing is the possibilty of "car bumper"
belays. Here, again, this holds true. A short 10 minute hike brings us to
the base of our projected route.
Heath is looking to improve his leading ability, so I let him take the first
pitch, a 120 foot 5.7 line along a beautiful hand/arm crack. His gear is
solid, despite his frequent episodes of back-clipping. I reach the belay,
talk a little about the gear he placed, and get set to lead the second
pitch.
At this point, it becomes epic.
I'm stuck. I force myself to relax, but it does not seem to help. I've got
three fingers of my left hand crammed into a nasty crack. My last piece of
gear... a number 6 stopper... is easily 30 below me. Below that, I've got a
0.5 WC Friend. Below that is the belay... a manky collection of questionable stoppers, Tri-Cams, and slings. I don't trust any of the gear
to hold me if I fall from here. I'm sketched. And I'm not too proud to
admit it.
I'm scared. My mind screams at me... My legs are trembling... My arms
cramp. I wonder, once again, why do I do this to myself? Is there a
purpose to this endeavour? Is there a reason I suffer so? Here and now, I can't seem to find a solution. All I know is the suffering and pain of a
lousy position.
Breathing. It is truly the essence of life. Women in the labor of
childbirth are taught that controlled breathing will mitigate the pain. I
hope... I pray... I wish this holds true for men in a lousy stance during a
climbing session. I focus on my breathing. Slow breaths... in. Then out.
Then in. Again. And again. I focus.
Unbid, a thought creeps into my consciousness... I am, despite my fears (or, perhaps, BECAUSE of my fears,) alive. The typical worries... Rent, car payments, bills, relationship issues, and work stressors all seem minor
right now. I can not focus on these "problems" at the moment. All I can
focus upon is my left hand, my right foot, and the hold I can see but can
not seem to reach.
Life... Time to live it.
A hard push with my right foot gives me purchase, and I jam my hand into a crack. I feel the skin ripping from my hand. I sense the warm trickle of blood running down my arm. I feel the tearing of the skin from the rock. Then I move again, and find a hold. It is, what I've been taught, a hold commonly referred to as a "Thank God" hold. I'm solid... again.
I secure my feet. I can rest. I can breathe.
Five minutes and three pieces of gear later, I am secure.
I look down the route. That stopper has slid out of place and now dangles
in the air.
Reaching the belay tree, I happily call off belay. My second follows, and r
emoves the gear. Upon reaching me, he tells me the 0.5 Friend had walked, and would probably not have held a fall.
We breathe. We smoke. We drink water. We look at the guidebook.
5.6 X?
Not in a million years. 5.12d X, perhaps. But 5.6? No way.
Tonight, in the comfort of my home, I examine the back of my hands. There are large gaps where the skin has been ripped away. I have large divots missing from my fingers. Most of these are covered with dirt and chalk. They will quickly become infected if I don't attend to them promptly. They really need to be cleaned and disinfected.
I reach for the bottles of peroxide and alcohol. I know this will hurt, but
I also know it is necessary.
Gritting my teeth in anticipation, I pour the contents of the bottle on my
hands.
And I cry in pain...
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dynoguy
Oct 30, 2003, 5:06 AM
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i hate sandbaggers
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dingus
Oct 30, 2003, 5:07 AM
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right on...
DMT
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mike_ok
Oct 30, 2003, 5:07 AM
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I keep coming back to RC.com in hopes that I will get to read these. The "is this a pinkpoint", "which shoe", and "why don't minorities climb" threads are interesting diversions, but what I cherish while sitting on my couch in suburbia are the posts that bring me to that place where i relive those tiny moments in the climbing life.
Thanks for your reflection.
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climbsomething
Oct 30, 2003, 5:21 AM
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In reply to: I keep coming back to RC.com in hopes that I will get to read these. The "is this a pinkpoint", "which shoe", and "why don't minorities climb" threads are interesting diversions, but what I cherish while sitting on my couch in suburbia are the posts that bring me to that place where i relive those tiny moments in the climbing life. Thanks for your reflection.
Nice piece of prose there, Jeff.
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whitefingers
Oct 30, 2003, 5:24 AM
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Hey Reno- Great post! Did ya notice its your two year with RC.com??
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psych
Oct 30, 2003, 5:24 AM
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Ooo, good read, I empathize with your pain brother...rock on!
Mike...
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nikegirl
Oct 30, 2003, 5:26 AM
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In reply to: Tonight, in the comfort of my home, I examine the back of my hands. There are large gaps where the skin has been ripped away. I have large divots missing from my fingers. Most of these are covered with dirt and chalk. They will quickly become infected if I don't attend to them promptly. They really need to be cleaned and disinfected.
trophy baby!!
it's your trophy.
pain.
gash
divots.
mmmmmmmmm
good schtuuff!! :)
trophy.
enjoy!
~T
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reno
Oct 30, 2003, 5:34 AM
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Thanks y'all for the kind words.
Trophy, nikegirl? OK, perhaps, but I'd rather have the Coor's Light twins as a trophy, all other things being equal.
You should have seen the looks I got the next day when I brought a patient to the ER. The nurses and doctors were looking at my hands, asking "What the ... ?"
My reply was a simple "Went climbing and had fun." Little do they know!
Thanks again, everyone. Glad you enjoyed the TR.
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rck_climber
Oct 30, 2003, 5:58 AM
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In reply to: ... I am, despite my fears (or, perhaps, BECAUSE of my fears,) alive. ...
In one sentence you have captured the essence of climbing.
I found myself instantly transported back to a similar situation when I was morbidly afraid - feeling like I was pounding on Heaven's door..... and somehow reveling in it, living completely in the moment. Thanks for bringing that back to me through your story.
Mick
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moabbeth
Oct 30, 2003, 6:02 AM
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Nice recollection reno....that's one of the more interesting reads I've had on this site in awhile.
Did you have any idea it was an X when you went up it?
Just keep drinking the beer and get the warm blanket and the purring cat nearby...those soothing things will offset the ridiculous burning from the hydrogen peroxide :wink: !
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ronamick
Oct 30, 2003, 6:51 AM
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You need more practice placing gear that you can trust. The torn hands are the crack climber's badge of merit. That's why I quit climbing cracks that are at the upper limit of my feeble ability.
Pain, however.... cleanses the soul. A true sportsman is one who knows how to suffer. As we all know, suffering builds character! Pain is best when voluntarilly incurred as a consequence of the sporting endeavor. Remember that pain and injury are not necessarily the same thing though.
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rogueclimber
Oct 30, 2003, 7:55 AM
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And as your hands throbbed in pain, you sat down and typed all that?? :lol: OK, it was poetic.
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climbinganne
Oct 30, 2003, 5:44 PM
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loved the read...and glad you didnt freak when i was out there ;)
happy anniversary baby!!!
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buckyllama
Oct 30, 2003, 5:57 PM
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Tip of the hat to ya mate.
Great TR, and sounds like a good job on a tough lead.
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crag
Oct 30, 2003, 6:16 PM
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Reno,
I'm sending you a bottle of some of my best whiskey, should do better than the Coors Lite, the twins can stay. Nice TR
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mother_sheep
Oct 30, 2003, 6:18 PM
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Iccarus? Good TR Jeff. Glad you're okay!
T
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climbs4fun
Moderator
Oct 30, 2003, 6:41 PM
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Fantastic TR! Great read!
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crazywacky
Oct 30, 2003, 9:36 PM
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Outstanding Trip Report.
The night after I get home after a trip like that, if I'm not in too much pain and can actually get some sleep, I usually wake up hyper-ventilating from re-living the climb in my sleep.
Gotta love routes like that!
Keep up the good work.
Scott
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beaner_says_hi
Oct 30, 2003, 9:45 PM
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Wow! Great post. Thanks.
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mother_sheep
Oct 30, 2003, 9:47 PM
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What route was it? After re-reading your post, I noticed the short 10 minute hike thing, which all together rules out Iccarus.
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findingit
Oct 30, 2003, 9:54 PM
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excellent read....palms are sweaty whilst typing this. One of the few circumstances where we welcome pain... when jammed extremeties are our lifelines.
nice.
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miker
Oct 30, 2003, 10:12 PM
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Sweet 8)
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jabtocrag
Oct 30, 2003, 10:14 PM
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Superb writing :!:
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reno
Oct 30, 2003, 11:41 PM
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In reply to: What route was it? After re-reading your post, I noticed the short 10 minute hike thing, which all together rules out Iccarus.
If I told ya, then y'all would go run up the route with ease, post that it wasn't so hard, and all the mystique of the route would evaporate like so much smoke. :)
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