Once upon a time, there was a road race.  The organizers, however, wanted to make things interesting, so they added a bit of a twist to the race: the competitors wouldn’t know how long the race would last, nor where the finish line was.  It was the craziest, most bad-ass race ever conceived.  Some even questioned the organizers’ sanity.

The first competitor was named Fatty McFatstein.  He started at a good pace, but soon came upon a pizza bush.  He ate a slice. Then another.  After that, he got tired, and took a nap.  Before long, he had eaten about 46 slices of pizza in-between about 10 naps.  He never really left that pizza bush… after some time, he was attacked and eaten by some ferocious forest animals.

The next competitor was named Mick.  Mick was equally intrigued and confused by the race.  He kept thinking about how much he wanted to see the finish line, what glorious prizes awaited there, and how many boobies he’d see if he won.  Mick made the decision that he would make it to the end no matter what it took.  He ran and ran, so long and fast that soon he had worn his shoes right off.  Still, he continued, without rest or food.  His body gradually lost its ability to properly heal itself, but he just focused on the pain, the road ahead, what lies beyond, and kept going.  Mick even saw a couple women on the sidelines flash their boobies, but he knew the finish line would pay off, so he smiled politely, waved, and pressed on.  Eventually, he was running naked, on bloody stumps of bone and mashed flesh that used to be his feet.  Starving and infected with gangrene, he collapsed.  Soon, he had rotted away into dust.

The last competitor, named Schpat, decided that he didn’t really care about the race all that much.  Shpat trotted along the road, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, stopping as he pleased.  A few times, he even explored some other trails that ventured off the road, and found they were shortcuts.  Along a few of the shortcuts, he met people, ate good food, and felt some boobies.  After a few years of journeying, Schpat had completely forgotten about the race he had begun.  He just kept trodding along, eating food, drinking drinks, and feeling boobies.  He crossed the finish line without ever realizing it.

Saturday morning rolled around, and I got a call from Pat.  I quote Pat: “Ok, are you ready for this?  You may need to grow some balls for this next part.  Not big ones, maybe just little, mediocre balls.  I got out of rehearsal early, dude!  I say we go to [IP] for a night session!”

The preceding week was spent editing video, and learning a new editing program – I had told people I was going to shut myself in all day Saturday to get a certain video complete, which I still wasn’t entirely confident was possible.  I was so committed to this video all week long that everything else, save my climbing training, had fallen to the wayside.  My room was in shambles, and it was literally impossible to get from the door to my bed without stepping into a laundry basket.  Also, my house was out of food.  I couldn’t imagine going to IP for bouldering… especially since I had just woken up and it was 1pm, and it took 2-2.5 hours to get there.  What would this mean for the video?!

I quickly went through possible reasons why I couldn’t go:

• I trained very hard yesterday, and I’m going to Rumney on Sunday.  Won’t work – he trains just as hard as me, and we distinctly agreed to never forgo ACTUAL climbing due to cushy recovery times.
• I have to finish the video.  Might work – use business interests and other hard work to divert attention from the fact that I’m pussing out.

I went with no. 2, to which Pat quickly replied, “Dude!  What the fuck are you talking about?!  Are you a little office jockey computer nerd, or are you a climber?  What is all this lifestyle bullshit you’ve been preaching, then?”

I then tried Plan C, which is only to be used in the most dire circumstances:  ”Dude, I need to do laundry like you wouldn’t believe.”

You can imagine how well that went over with my best friend who wanted to go bouldering with me, due to the fact that he may not get another chance to do so for a few months.  I ended up in my car, in a state comparable to that of Cameron in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

The evening comprised of sussing out the moves of an amazing arête V8, and working on Diesel, probably my new favorite boulder problem, in cool nighttime temps.  It was probably my most fun bouldering experience to date.

Nighttime bouldering, Pat looks at Diesel

It was getting late, and we heard a wolf howl.  We decided it was time to pack up, and Taylor was acting weird.  I decided she was just tired and hungry.

On the home stretch of the hike out, both Pat and I were probably thinking about how vulnerable our position was: trodding along a narrow path in the woods, surrounded on both sides by a nice cover of tall brush.  In the pitch dark.  Almost in unison, we saw to our right, not 25 yards away, two beady yellow eyes.  A fucking wolf was following us the entire way.  We immediately started barking and yelling at it, and kept our pace toward the cars, 100 yards up the path.  Our noisy retreat was met with a cold, deadly stare.

This is probably what Harold looks like in the daylight. I named him Harold because it's an ironic Anglo-Saxon name.

Taylor, my dog, ran out ahead to the road, happy as can be, and only then was there an adjustment in the wolf’s position.  It’s target was now apparent.

Pat, with his big, imposing crash pad on, went up the embankment, grabbed Taylor by the collar, and I fished out my keys to unlock the car.  We successfully got the happy-go-lucky mutt into my Forester, and looked down the embankment.  Still staring up at us were the same yellow eyes of the wolf…

So we got in our cars and left, feeling a high that I hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

I could have finished editing a cool video that night, but instead, a friend came along and reminded me that I was a rock climber.

-NS

Melissa going to work with some extra weight.

The Deeper Meaning, Part 3: Respect

When it comes to climbing, the role of genetics in helping to pull through a crux is always debatable.  I believe genetics plays a part in the way one climbs, but, as I said before, I consider myself to be average; nothing out of the ordinary is pushing me past others.  Actually, I am at a disadvantage because I have a disease called Hypothyroidism.  When not treated, this disease causes fatigue, depression, cases of being overweight, difficulty concentrating, and feeling cold all of the time.  There is no cure, but there is a pill that has to be taken every morning in order to sustain normal thyroid levels, and keep the symptoms at bay.  If I miss a pill, my body is out-of-whack for an entire week.  Throughout my diagnosis, I tried to push through my pain, and climb.  It was impossible to send anything due to my disease.  Two weeks after receiving my medication, I began to feel like my normal self.  Now, I have the discipline to push beyond my limits, because I have the energy and willpower to succeed.

Just recently, I have taken six weeks off from climbing due to an unusual injury.  While warming up at nationals, I slipped off the wall and my elbow smashed into a huge plastic hold.  This caused a contusion, or severe damage to my “funny bone” nerve in my right arm.  My entire forearm went numb, and so did my pinky and ring fingers.  Even though I couldn’t feel much, I still went out and climbed.  Before nationals, I was training four hours each day, four days a week, in high hopes of placing well.  All this was crushed when I fell warming up, something that seems so dumb, and would make for an even dumber story.  Although I couldn’t climb well at Nationals, I gained a lot from those six weeks I didn’t climb.

Sometimes, things happen in our lives that we cannot control.  It is how we deal with these situations that determines how people see us.  A person can have respect for themself, and the respect of others, but it may come quickly or slowly.  Through this disease, I gained respect for my body’s needs, carefully tending to them to keep healthy through the grueling training I do for climbing.

Melissa, and teammate Kevin. I guess conditioning is fun...

~Melissa G.

Always Cheerful.

Melissa, currently finishing up her junior year in high school, is a climber whose heart is in all the right places.  Melissa loves climbing, hates drama, and trains every chance she gets until her fingers are bleeding.

… usually longer, come to think of it.

Melissa, checking the top-out.

About a month ago, I asked Melissa if she’d be interested in contributing something to EasternClimber; something from her point of view, about climbing in general.  I told her to write about whatever she wanted, but only if she had something to say.  Her eyes widened, her face lit up, and I think she started it that night.

Meet Melissa Godowski:

The Deeper Meaning, Part 1: Pride

I began climbing when I was 13.  Who can forget those great days when they were 13?  The way our bodies were misshaped, growing hair in places you didn’t before… or maybe not.  My point is that puberty was awful for me and everyone else.  I wore old jeans that barely fit and over-sized Gap sweatshirts.  I hated the 7th grade, and felt like I stood out because of how awkward I looked.  I liked myself the way I was, but feared everyone else looked at me as a freak.  I was trapped in a gossipy middle school, desperate for an outlet.  That is when I found Rhode Island Rock Gym and began climbing on their youth team.

I was the youngest on the team, but I felt like a winner as I became stronger.  The older kids accepted me, and helped me grow to who I am now.  I looked up to them, and I became a more mature person.  My parents deserve some credit, as they helped me find climbing, and dedicated many hours to sitting in a chalky gym while I had fun.  Climbing, and the climbing community, helped me develop a sense of pride in myself when I needed it most, and it continues to do so, even through the toughest times.

Melissa, sending Last Call (V7), Lincoln Woods, RI

Continued in Part 2…

She brought it up after coming back to the climbing gym with me, and asked if I had read the passage about how you shouldn’t climb with your girlfriend/boyfriend all the time…

Well, this got me to thinking about a few things.  For one, there have been a lot of people before me who thought about all this stuff like, 20 years ago, and I am in no way a special or profound person.  Then, I thought, Wait, yes I am. So here it is: My Thoughts on Recruiting New Climbers

1. Stop spraying beta at a brand new climber.
2. They won’t know what “flagging” is.
3. You don’t want your significant other to be your sole best climbing buddy.
4. If your girlfriend/boyfriend first climbed with you, find them some other climbing friends with whom they can grow as a climber.  Climbing is a gift that is bigger than your stupid insignificant relationship that’s going to crumble in 7 months anyway. [Disclaimer: Honey, I didn't mean us.  I'm just saying, it's like statistics.  And statistics are imaginary anyway, right?  I knew you'd understand.]
5. If you’re bringing your friend climbing for the first time, let them keep their beginner’s mind.  Give them space to act like a kid, and flail as their feet are eight or nine feet below their hands on a 5.7.
6. Climbing isn’t going to be as fun for your large friend that you’re inviting along just to be nice.  In fact, it might not be fun at all.
7. Your all-star, super-athlete, wire-build buddy will out-climb you shortly after they learn what a figure-eight knot is (you know who you are).  Be prepared, and leave your ego at home.
8. The guy at work that is 30 years your senior wants to be a climber too.  He just doesn’t know it yet.
9. The one label the media gave climbing that will forever limit its accessibility: Extreme.
10. Don’t try to turn the drama queen with the perfect ass into a climber, but bring her along just once so all your buddies can stare at her high-stepping on a 5.5.
11. Better yet, bring her camping.
12. I’m getting distracted.

The Sends Outtakes from Shawn Boye on Vimeo.

I feel the need to speak about a number of issues that have been weighing heavily on my mind.


The first is an ongoing issue with the climbing scene in the northeast: there seems to be a significant shortage of climber girls.See, I’m not speaking of some imaginary woman who climbs 5.13, keeps up with the boys’ drinking, and will drive somewhere 8 hours away for weekend climbing, and still seems to always look like a model.

See, I know such a girl exists – I hear they roam around by the dozens out west, and Brooklyn Boulders may have more than a few, but what is going on with the scene by my place?  Every gym I go to in MA seems to have the guys outnumbering the girls at least two-to-one.  And some of those girls might as well be men.

As for the girls in the CRG crew, while small in number, you are the most badass, beautiful, fun climber girls around.  Keep up the good work.

Bill:
Bill played baseball throughout his youth, in hichschool and college.  In his middle years, he played in recreational leagues with his work buddies, and, while he wished everyone took it a bit more seriously, it was mostly an excuse to get away from their wives and children during the week.  Over the years, Bill’s batting and fielding skills deteriorated with the inverse of his weight, largely a result of copious amounts of beer and chicken wings that followed the “workout” of throwing a ball to the infield, and running around the bases once per game.  He also blew out his knee when he awkwardly slid into second one game, and, despite the $5000 surgery he underwent, it just hasn’t been the same since.  Now, 65, Bill plays in a seniors league.  He’s 50lbs overweight, has high blood pressure, and hasn’t hit a double in 10 years.  During a particularly intense game against some crotchety curmudgeons (I’ve wanted to use those words for a long time now), he gets into an argument with the umpire over a strike call, has a heart attack, and dies while pooping his pants.  His last thoughts were, “that was a goddamned ball.”

Cedar Wright and Renan Ozturk climbing the

first ascent of Birthday Bash, Zion National Park.

Photo: Eric Draper (ericdraper.com)

Derrick currently resides in Missoula, MT, where he is finishing up some grad work. Besides rock climbing, he enjoys French poetry, eating the occasional croissant in a charming café, and gazing into the works of Claude Monet.