A world cup and a kid

After the slap in the face from millau i vowed to step out of BlocAge and go to the Paris gyms to climb and experience real comp style problems. Unfortunately still being carless, that plan didn't work out. But the weather was drier and the San Francisco crew had arrived which meant psyched climbing partners who easily picked me up so i could join them which of course, I did willingly. Admittedly I was over going to the same gym and the temptation of fine sandstone with fine people was irresistible.

Sometimes a bad comp can question my abilities as a climber but after a couple weeks in the forest with the SFB crew, i was learning to trust my abilities again and more so, enjoying climbing and being psyched with good people. But all good things must come to an end. Unsure of my return i waved a big good bye to my french family and friends, taking off for kitzenbuel, Austria, the next stop in the BWC.  

Upon arriving in kitzenbuhl I was reminded of the beauty of the mountains. As much as they know it, I will give it to them, Austria is beautiful. We were staying in the bunny hoppers hostel with fellow canadian Catherine LaFlammme who has been living in Innsbruck since September learning to master the ways of physics and the Austrian climbing scene. It was a pleasure to get to know her and to share stories and thoughts about our solo adventures in Europe which for both of us had been a whirlwind of trials and tribulations.

As for the comp, i had done a lot more mental preparation for this one than for millau, so in my mind, I felt more prepared to handle the emotional roller coaster i was about to ride.

The only thing I didn't prepare was my six year old daughter Cedar to be mentally prepared for the comp. Iso was a bit of a challenge. As i tried to warm up and get my focus and game face on, there was a constant reminder that I am a parent. Normally Cedar would climb or sit and entertain herself for the time that I warm up but for some reason, not today. My warm up was as scattered as it could be between Cedar and the climbing. As much as I tried to focus, I had this little girl constantly by my side with big brown eyes staring at me, waiting for me to finish my climb, needing my attention. The mixed feelings of guilt, love, impatience, compassion were tossed together like a salad. This is the hardest aspect to write about as is trying to convey the effort and patience needed to try and meet the needs of yourself and your child at such a setting. Those who aren't parents simply don't understand. Some climbers thought it was 'cute' that she was there and laughed. I looked at them and gave a polite snicker back. yeah. Cute. 

I have had multiple friends tell me only after the fact when they had their own children how much more they respected what i had done in terms of rock climbing and how they wished they had helped me more while we were all climbing together. Now, Cedar is bigger and more independent, but she is still a kid with needs and wants and sometimes, like any parent, I simply can't meet them. Unfortunately today was one of them. Cedar remained by my side through  iso and up to problem 3.

Just before problem one we had a mini argument because I didn't look at something she was trying to show me because I was putting my shoes on and trying to focus on getting focused with less than a minute left until the buzzer went off and I had to climb. As I walked out to the awkward as hell sideways dyno off a ramp I gathered what focus I could and tried to not think about my kid sitting behind the curtain with the other competitors and volunteers. She was waiting for my five minutes of climbing to be up and then i would return to sit on the bench again with her. Before problem two she sat in a sad slump because I wasn't there for her before to take a look at what she had found earlier. I looked at it upon return and we both waited until it was my five minutes again. And yes I felt guilty and annoyed and and and... And...

Problem two was a slab. I like slabs. In font I climbed a lot of slabs and i felt i was getting better at them but for some reason, slabs on plastic just don't feel the same. My focus isn't the same. i don't trust my feet as much. I got to the middle hold and pop go the feet and they continued like so for the duration of five minutes. 

When i returned to the bench a man working there asked me if it was ok that Cedar was with me.  How do I say the truth without making cedar feel completely unwanted which wasn't the case? I thanked him ahead of time and he whisked her off to the end of problem 5 where she waited with a friend. Deep breaths thomo. Deep breaths.

I think one of the hardest things to overcome with comps is moving on to the next confidently after the previous one shut me down, something otherwise known as presence. I felt disappointed with myself for not doing better on the first two problems. My thoughts tried to prepare for the next one but I was in an emotional time warp surrounding Cedar and the climbing itself.

Problem 3 was comparable to the blob of a situation that I had found cedar and myself in. The start hold was a cross between a jug and nothing. It resembled a big slopey pinchy feature which I wondered, hmm, what am i supposed to do with this now?! I managed to figure out something just seconds before the buzzer. I was officially annoyed.

Problem four gave me hope as i was one hold from the end. Though my vision failed. As I held onto the second last hold and tried to match,  I noticed the 'extra' hold just above it. Oops. I was not at the finish hold. No need to match here thomo. Tut!! How did I not see that?! rookie...!!

Finally problem five... A bit dynamic but I got hold of it. I found myself matched and fighting with greasy hands on a big pink sloper. As I reached for the next hold my foot popped off and well the rest is history. I didn't have to look at the results to know that i didn't do well. I knew that on my own accord and I really didn't need to look up at a big florescent screen beaming down to me and everyone else that screamed: you failed!! (I know, i'm so dramatic... :))

Trying to give myself a break, i remind myself that where i have been climbing the last few months hasnt helped nor has the fact that my daughter with me was in iso and holding my hand up to problem 3. But still. I was disappointed. People tell me different things to try and make me feel better. 'You are so brave, you're out there, competing against the best, facing your fears...' Yeah sure, but in the moment...shit!!  Its like wow...! I just can't climb these problems! Plain and simple! 

After my run through the torture chamber I sat on a picnic table holding cedar close to me. I was glad to have her there by my side.  As frustrated as I was over my performance and the whole backstage scene our relation is open enough that we can talk about what had happened and our feelings about it. In her world all was fine again and I simply just had to suck it up.

Sean came up to me shortly after i climbed with some advice about how it isn't just about being strong. You have to know how to read these problems. To be familiar with the type of movements which are so specific and to be able to remain calm. I soaked in his advice. 

After the comp I went to the physio who had volunteered at the comp as i had a tweak in my shoulder. He asked me some questions and was so so sooo surprised to discover that team Canada had no coach, no physio, no trainer and that we had to pay for and organize everything including training to accommodation. It's the norm in Europe to have these things covered. Currently my visa bill is outstanding. I would have gone to proper gyms and physios in plenty if i had the funds to fix my broken van and body but I couldn't. This isn't meant to come across as a sob story because i actually am very blessed to be where i am and I am sure there are people who would like to be in my position. But, i do believe that certain support and situations can enable someone to thrive as opposed to just get by. Well, at least if I ever move to kitzenbuhl, there is a physio who said he'd sponsor me for physiotherapy!! Awesome! 

Needless to say my plans to return to font immediately after the comp was abandoned. As much as I loved climbing with the San Fran crew and my french family, i needed some real gym time. I would follow Sean's advice. No training, no pull ups, no campus. Just climb. And so after sitting out another semi finals and watching yet another finals, we took the train towards Munich where the many problems of the fine gym called Boulderwelt awaited. 

Woo-hoo!

Millau

Eye opener. Slap in the face. But i am not stupid. i knew what i was in for. But, somehow along the way, i forgot. It didn't take me long to realize that BlocAge hadn't prepared me for this comp. The problems there were nothing like those at blocAge... The holds there were nothing like those at BlocAge... The slopers, the gigantic pinches, the monster size holds and the particular type of setting...

Riding the Metro to my millau ride...

But i knew this. Yet i didn't take what seemed then like a gigantic leap to change my situation. I can fairly say that my lack of transportation really limited my choices. There was BlocAge or BlocAge... I wasn't close enough to the train without having to ask for a ride and I didn't want to be a burden. 

Millau left me feeling like all the training that i had been doing was in vain. After problem one which I was stupidly close to finishing but my nerves wouldn't let me relax enough to think about what I was doing to make the final match, i started a downward spiral that i felt powerless to stop. At problem two a gigantic sloper that i had never meet before handed me my ass. It was like wrestling something which had nothing to grab, no hair to pull. I distinctively felt embarrassed to be out there and lived the feeling a kid in a play would feel when they forget their lines on stage. I wanted to disappear at that very moment. Besides feeling like a bit of a joke I also felt that old feeling return that comes ones way through failure and on top of that, public failure. Why should I care what over people think of me? I shouldn't, but of course to an extent, I do.

Trying to gather an ounce of confidence and positive energy from deep down in the well that seemed dry I felt my legs shaking on problem 3. Problem 4 lead me into a tunnel that narrowed down to changing my footwork instead of my hand sequence. I thought of trying other methods but I wasn't having it. Later i silently slapped myself as i watched people try the beta which i had shrugged off. 

Before problem five as I was siting in isolation i almost broke down into tears. I really didn't want to go out there. I realized how little mental preparation I had done to prepare my head for these testing and complex situations. I wondered what was I doing there? Why am I putting myself in this situation if failing makes me feel so shit? Why did i do so little to help what i call, 'my gym comp thing'? Why didn't I go to Munich where there are proper comp style problems in a plenty and a perfect campus board? I mean really! If I was going to train for these comps, that meant climbing in a suitable gym and preparing myself mentally and physically for them! That said, i don't regret my winter stay in font. I had a great time, met some amazing people who I can call family and learnt some French. But I am beating myself up for not having prepared smarter. It's the way i roll sometimes.

On top of that there was the nagging feeling that i was ruining my climbing career which was established on rocks, not plastic. But I am not here to prove something. i am here to learn and improve but i feel like such a rookie amidst the 'pros' in an aspect of a sport which still feels so new to me. I know I wanted to do this but I sure as hell didn't want to suck this bad at it!!

With problem 5 around the corner and my thoughts way to deep into trying to understand the cause of my suffering, the buzzer went off. The advice from Sean McColl rang into my head. Look at the problem and think you CAN do it, not that you will. For the others I had looked at them and silently said WTF to myself. Not the best performance boosting thoughts. So, i looked at it and said, ok, I can do this one. That thought alone gave me some belief. I fell. But I got back up. I reevaluated my beta and boom bang I was through the bonus and at the second last hold. I was still shaking a little and surprised that I was where I was. I fumbled around mentally and physically trying to relax but feeling utterly rigid i slipped and bang, i was on the floor. I tried to get back to my high point but the static method I used for the lower big move I could not repeat. As I watched others on this move afterwards I saw girls easily jump through what I had done static. Jump? Wow. The thought of jumping did not even register into my brain. Jump. Incroyable. I have so much to learn... 

Well I shouldn't let my results or climbing abilities in competitions affect my self confidence but it is  hard to separate from it sometimes. i put so much effort into it. Live and learn I spose. It was the first comp of the season and all those voices in my head that are trying to put me down are going out with todays garbage. 

Homework on the ride back. 

And then there was the Paris comp...

My friend Alberto had told me of a local comp in Paris which he wanted me to go to. He willing drove me there. On his own time, in his own car. How nice can people be?! I was psyched to go. New problems, a fun atmosphere, some comp style problems... it worked. I met princess Leah. I saw obi-wan kenobi. I hugged Yoda. There were a lot of strong climbers there some who I had seen around the comp circuit but the energy was lighter, less serious. I met some people and had one of the funniest comps that I have ever had. I left realizing a few things about myself and competitions. I like climbing. Simple. Competition mode can take that away from me if I let it. At this comp I found myself trying hard but I felt relaxed which obviously improved my climbing. I was focused on the climbing and not on anything else. I looked at all the problems with a wanting to try them. My motivation was so high that when the comp clock was done I ran around and tried to finish the problems that had really inspired me which I hadn't finished. I felt slightly high and couldn't stop smiling. It was then that I realized comps are fun. What isn't fun is dealing with less than ideal results. I felt I climbed well. Sure there were problems I couldn't do and some of the lines clearly shut me down because of reach as onlookers agreed but I did my best and enjoyed myself. It was then that i realized I wasn't going to look at the results. I was there for myself and for the climbing. Nothing else mattered. And so when I left this comp I left feeling good. I didn't have the sense of failure even though I had failed on some problems and in front of people. i didnt care who was watching me. I was there to just climb and that's it.

The whole feeling, movement and energy involved with climbing is at its core why I climb. It is why I love circuiting in Font so much. So much movement; dancing with stone. Every move is different, every hold. Shifting weight from one foot to another can take all my focus. Stay, stay, stay i tell my foot. The black polished rock disagrees. I quickly slide back and land on my ass. I look up. Humbled again. Encore doucement it says, trust yourself, allez up. Ok. Encore enfois. I try again. And again and again and again, until there is a magic moment which transcends all inner dialogue and the body conforms with the stone, like water pouring over a mountain side. Somehow I am standing on top of a piece of rock that has taught me patience, perseverance, movement. Thank You for teaching me rock. I look forward to the next one. 

A little bit about climbing...

When I finished writing my last post I realized I had said very little about climbing. Maybe this is a good thing as i find talking about climbing and especially, what one has done in terms of climbing generally not that interesting. Surely there is a way of speaking about climbing which can take in all of the aspects besides that of simple achievements. And so, I try to speak about climbing...

Before the death of my van I can say, yes, I did get to go outside when weather permitted which unfortunately wasn't too often since it was the wettest and coldest winter since the 1960's. I was restricted to what I could try with one pad and a six year old spotting so circuiting and one pad problems became my best friend. The old sense of feeling alone in my european adventure knocked at my door many days as I watched large groups of people walk towards the boulders laughing and smiling. In retrospect, I guess I could have tried to be more outgoing and speak to them but I guess a part of me got used to the way thing were and besides, approaching people was something I had done numerous times already and well, when clouds loom, it sometimes feel that they may never part and I didn't feel up for the chance of rejection.

One of the days when I was circuiting with cedar I was trying red number 25 at Roche Aux Sabots. This is one of the most technical prows that I had encountered requiring one to stand on the typical polished smears followed by equally polished slopers. After falling near the top numerous times I was near done but decided to give it one more go which resulted in me falling and hitting my heel very hard on the rock which was next to my pad. I cursed to myself and the world for not giving me a spotter and friend to climb with for what had at that point, seemed like an eternal situation. My heel hurt for the next 2 months and without travel insurance I vowed from that day on to keep what I try to a limit.

Shortly after that, my van died. Most of my climbing adventures were then spent behind closed doors among the psyched crew of blocAge which I will admit, have been some of the most memorable and fun. Not knowing much about training I put my energies towards writing myself a program with the help from a couple of people and reading lots of conflicting information on the internet. Writing a program proved easier said than done. My mentality was that of CS Fletcher who says that those who believe in overtraining are woosies who are afraid of a bit of work. But from last years experience of being plagued with injuries i knew better. All the same, I wanted to get stronger and stay injury free. I put together a 3 month program which followed the ideas of periodization. A good base, later some strength and then conversion. I was set! With font as my backyard and Paris gyms not far, I could climb at blocAge for the days when I couldn't travel. Unfortunately the death of the van put an end to these ideals except for blocAge and random excursions into the forest with people who were willing to pick me up.

For training I found myself lacking a lot of necessary training equipment: no campus board, no hangboard, and a mere 14 kg of free weights to work with. On top of that, the problems and holds were nothing like those at the comps. Working with what I had, the first month and a half were spent getting better fitness and general conditioning. I tried to set WC style problems but not only is that in itself a work of art needing mastery, it's even harder with the holds that i had available.

In late February a campus board and a handmade hang board were put up and though both were not ideal, again, i worked with what I had. I got into the habit of recruiting training partners so I wasn't always alone. Farid got psyched for stronger fingers and soon enough Fred made some rings. Maille a strong guy from the france team often joined me and though I pried, I tell you, the french don't give out their secrets easily!

For me I discovered I loved training. The feeling afterwards of having pushed your fingers and body so hard made my whole being feel exhilarated. I had written down 'Beginners mind' on the Gullich when my campusing wasn't improving and noted to remember to enjoy the process when things felt monotonous. Overall I felt I had a good thing going and I continued to learn more about training and adapted my program to the new information which may or may not have been a good idea. As comp season got closer I got some delayed responses to the questions I asked months ago and in a panic i changed the exercise base of my program once again which was a bad idea. I ended up hurting my shoulder from doing too much of a good thing with a bit too much psych and had to take a step back.

So overall my training wasn't optimized like i had wished but I did what i could with what i knew. On a positive note, I gathered enough information for the next round, so hopefully i will be set with a proper gym with the specific comp style problems and a optimal program. Which will of course have a backyard littered with amazing boulders...

Rocks. What about them?

Being carless in Font where the boulders are spread out in all directions isn’t as dreamy as it may sound. The typical day was spent waiting for friends to contact me or I contact them. If they climb at a place near arbonne la foret where i was staying such as Bas cuvier or Isatis, a pick up is received with gratitude. Otherwise, if a pick up is a detour (understandable), I sit in a festering slump of pity for a few minutes but then i close my eyes and remember... ahh, BlocAge... Ok. Not all is lost. Breath. Look up. You’re alive.

I will admit at moments it has been complete mental torture especially on the rare sunny crisp days. Maybe I am an over emotional being but days when people are trying things that sound like candy and I can’t join them, it feels like my world is falling apart right before my eyes. My freedom to go to A and B has been dismantled. It’s days like these that FORCE me to be positive or the festering slump will swallow me up and take me into its abyss under my own permission. And some days that abyss has succeeded. Other days I pop out of it like a fully wound up jack-in-the-box. As Sandra would say: “You’re not dying...”

Oh yeah. Right..! Respire..!

A Fontainebleau winter wrapped up

November. I arrived in Font in just in time for the ideal perfect fall conditions which turned out to be the perfect timing for the arrival of what was to be the worst and darkest winter that has befallen northern Europe since the 1960’s. And so the story goes... I debated between waiting it out or going to the sun in Spain or even to Germany to get an early start to training for next year’s competition round. After a lot of procrastination and pro/con lists I had finally made a decision. I was going to Spain. Screw the rain and climbing alone and lets just forget about training for now. My good friend Claudia was in Spain and so was the sun and I wanted to see both.

camp

The next day I went to drive to the only local Internet spot which I know of, a McDonald’s which is considerably different from the average Mc’d’s in the states. A little cleaner, more upscale but not enough to make me feel guilty for sitting freely in there poaching the internet. Claudia was going to get some good news! But, things didn't go as planned. After being here for so long and having experienced so many epics, i have come accustomed to the way things work. I make a decision and sometimes, life decides otherwise. That's OK. I mean, I don't need the sun to survive. I don't needddd dry rock. But friends... Hmm. Well yes, friends are nice. 

My big red home on wheels decided to pee out of a spot which it shouldn't be. A long trip to Spain was clearly not in our fortunes and mechanical talk replaced the awkward conversations gaps that are usually filled in by weather updates. Look out the window, it’s raining. Who cares. My van is raining. Again, who really cares. I am not quite sure if I cared. Besides, one never knows what is good or bad for them until later.

getting towed. again.

At the mechanics, the keeper who was a somewhat overweight man stared at me in his dirty overalls with the kind of stare that makes you feel 2 feet tall. I tried to brush it off and continued my one way conversation in broken french about my mechanical symptoms for what seemed like an eternity. He finally admitted after ten awkward minutes that he wasn’t the mechanic and the real mechanics wouldn't be there until Wednesday. I wondered what was up with the dirty overalls and why he didn’t kick me out earlier. This started some kind of vicious cycle with other mechanics who I visited and I have concluded that french mechanics either don’t want to work, don’t like strange red vans littered with pine cones and lapis brushes or maybe, just maybe, they don’t understand British made vehicles that behold french engines. Eventually I gave up and fortunately, after a month, the leaking subsided to a mere dribble but I was not trusting the road worthiness of my van anymore and so we were to stay put in Font for the cold and wet winter.


December. I became accustomed to following random people around the boulders similar to how a cat chases a mouse. After some time I met some cool locals who became the sort of friends that you might actually hang out. Unfortunately it seemed as fast as they had entered my life, they disappeared just as quickly. Not remembering anything that I did that would be considered offensive I decided to not take this one personal. People come and go and then,well, we die.


Event after event stirred a mental struggle between wanting to stay and wanting the comforts of home and friends. At this point, spending the apocalypse and Christmas alone, seemed unbearable. This proved to be my hardest time in Europe. Ditching the van and the European dream seemed more inviting than all the sandstone boulders that Font could have offered. But somehow, barely, Font won. We stayed. And thankfully, things only got better.

It was now very cold, very wet and I was getting warnings from older french ladies about a killer that was nearby that had tied some poor girl to a tree and well, must i go on? That shit is bad for the soul to hear. I smiled politely as they spoke and watched them as they acted out the drama. I thanked them for caring and promised that I would not let any strange men into my van. I continued my day with a smile on my face, not because they gave me a huge bag of Kinder chocolate bars, but because they reminded me the kind of old ladies who say that type of thing that i have encountered throughout my whole life. Sure bad things happen but I am not about to start living with a mask of fear over me.


But there is a bit of truth in everything and in the end part of me listened and of course, part of me didn’t.  I decided to change up my camping spot a bit more and one evening I stayed in a new spot. It could have been the heavy rainfall that made the atmosphere just plain spooky but something didn’t feel quite right. Sure enough, as I was delaying going to bed a random car pulled up: a man walking his dog. I immediately felt fear run through my veins for unknown reasons and i searched for all tools of defence that i had nearby. Knife, check. Heavy frying pan, check. Yes i am prepared..! Minutes later i hear the scuffling of feet outside my van and then a quiet knock. Shit... what did i get myself into...! He said hello and sitting as confidently as I could, i responded in the deepest voice possible, ‘hello’ followed by a rude, ‘what do you want?’ After staring at each other for a few minutes through a foggy window eventually he cowered away. I guess he couldn’t tell how tall I really was. Minutes later he drove off. Quickly after that, so did I, thankful to be OK.

A snowy winter indeed

January 

came around bringing with it more cold, snow and ice. It was freaking freezing. It felt like Montreal. It was so cold that the fuel in my stove, my main source of heat had turned to slush and failed to work. Days started late and ended early as the suns appearance was just that. We spent our days walking through the leaf covered forest and later huddled at the Fontainebleau library or at Bloc Age which became my place to go.

one of the coolest climbing families of BlocAge

BlocAge 

is a local co-op style gym which became my second home outside of my van. It had heat, water, dry holds. It is the kind of place where everyone knows your name and that brings a smile to my face the moment I enter. In the beginning I was known as the Canadian but now i am known as Thomasina which feels rather welcoming. There is a feeling of a second family. It’s small but packed with psyched and motivated climbers who support each other, something which I yearned. And it has Farid. Farid has a smile that reaches ear to ear and he climbs and plays a game of memory like a zen monk. He is surely one of my most favourite people of all existence. Sure playing favourites isn’t cool, but come on, its Farid. Magic Farid. 

Do you know coffee? 

Farid and I

And then there is Fred and Sandra. Fred is the El President du Bloc Age and a known legend in these parts. He’s cool enough to let a Canadian like myself buy a membership to their french co-op, looks pretty good for an old guy and wears some pretty dank dancing shoes. Sandra is owner of Gite Arbonne which is a gite beyond perfection nestled amidst trees, singing birds and has an aura of permanent love and acceptance within all of its pyramids. I don’t know how else to describe this place which has become a home away from home for more than just myself.

Sandra is a petite, beautiful woman with a wild array of dark curls that that alternate between being tightly braided alongside her head or propped up in a wild bun with random bits hanging out gently from the sides. When her dark smiling eyes look at you they bring with them a feeling of love free from all judgements. She is the one to blame for my still being here, otherwise a plane ride would of been mine long ago. We received a text from her on one of the coldest days in January that urged us to come to her house because it was too cold outside. That was the middle of January and currently it is March and we are... still here. The winter was long and my recurring questions of leaving were brushed off with ‘no, stay. if it isn’t you, it will be someone else and you are perfect.’ These are the kind of words that would make anyone feel welcomed. So the next few months our European lives improved drastically. The once dominating thoughts of leaving subsided to a mere whisper. Cedar has the 4 girls of Sandra to play with and is learning french. Christine, Sandra's mom who the kids call Kiki, has since become my Kiki as well.

a normal day at the gite Arbonne

Fete de la roi

My adopted family go ice skating with Kiki! Theres more to life than climbing!

As it got warmer, thoughts of returning to van life entered. As much as I love living with my adoptive family, it is their house and surely it isn’t cool to stay here much longer. It was around this time that my big red van decided to take a final plunge towards eternal death. While blue, black and grey smoke sputtered through the exhaust, the motor decided to run in a sort of unreliable cutting out sort of fashion. Every attempt to drive it ended up in some sort of adventure that I was pretty tired of. To fix it would be the price of 2 plane tickets and so the dilemma to stay or go reentered my thoughts. The good weather was about to come here as were the World Cups which I had wanted to do. To leave without having had a chance to climb much outside seemed almost too sad a story to fulfil as did passing up the chances to do the World Cups, something which was drifting from my thoughts before they had even started. But reality was knocking at my shoulder. I hadn’t gotten permission to compete yet. I couldn’t go climb as I wanted because my van was dead. How was I to buy a new van when my bank account was in the negative. My feelings fluctuated between despair and a baseline of acceptance.

Hmmm. smells bad.

'oui, c'est mort' 

One morning I was having a bit of a hard day and was in a bit of a foul mood mainly because of the situation with van and not having the freedom to climb where and when I wanted. As i looked at Sandra I apologized for my crankiness and she looked at me with the deepest respect and said in her sexy french accent, “I know who you are” with a gentle smile that reassured all insecurities inside of me.

Gite Arbonne

So the past few months, rather, my whole European stay has given to me many opportunities to be free of the chains of unhappiness, stress and self loathing when things don’t go my way. This freedom is more powerful than any send because it’s liberating and only becomes stronger with more and more practice. Some days accepting what comes is easier than not. I can shrug it off, breath and keep walking or I may drown in it. In the end it is up to only me.

So, despite my dead van and the inability to climb where and when I want, I am truly grateful for my stay here. Sandra and BlocAge have been my saving graces beyond imagine. I didn’t buy a plane ticket home yesterday nor did i buy one today. Even though some people have told me that I am the most unrealistic person they know, I don’t care. I may not have any money. I may not have a car. I may not have a way to get to the competitions that I signed up for. But... I am not ready to stop.  I got ideals. And in my back pocket there is a some kind of dream. And those dreams are powered by some sort of faith in something that I know nothing about but fully trust. And the more i distress from everyday events and random “reality” checks, my life improves. I breathe, I relax. I can look up and see the trees 

touching the sky. I hear the birds talking. And those birds sing a song to me that says keep on truckin’ and keep on trusting. I ain’t lookin’ for some gold medal but I am looking to strengthen that little ball inside that is OK with things just as they are, climbing or no climbing, friends, or no friends, car or no  car. I ain’t worried. In the reality that exist outside of the head, life is pretty dang good.

Random photos:

Visiting Dave and Cedar playing a serious game of guess who

Visiting Lyn crushing as always

Alberto is seriously serious about skin care

The french throw a good party!

My view walking back from the gym

My Arbonne friends. Agnes, Sandra and Alberto

Ketch-up

This is post is dedicated to Sandra who, one night could not sleep. In the middle of the night she decided to check out my blog. The next morning she scolded me for not having written anything about my time here in France.
Alors, Sandra, cette est pour toi. XX

The time between my last post seems so long ago as much as happened and yet nothing of great importance at the same time. I left Italy after Arco, went to Paris for the World Championships, went to Germany for a brief taste of the Frankenjura, saw a bit of Cresiano, embraced the American culture found scattered around Germany and eventually returned to Font. So since it has been so long since my last post... I decided to write something as brief as brief can be about the time between Arco and Christmas... Getting the ball rolling on these things is a bit of a chore sometimes but once it is going my thoughts seem to work like a spider web. Many writing ideas evolve out of the random events of my life and I realized in the middle of the night after stirring from a dream where I was drowning, that indeed, I do have some things that I could talk about. All the better since no one can talk back. And so, on with the post... 

One sunny day, unlike any other fine sunny day (because really - each day is quite different from the next), I arrived in Fontainebleau after having driven a long 11 hours in terms of European standards. Originally I was on the way to Paris for the Climbing World Championships but there was a sign on the road which summoned a detour for me. An hour later, instead of climbing the coloured problems at some random Paris climbing gym, I was juggling my time between the orange, blue and red circuits in the forest of Fontainebleau.

There isn’t much to say about the Paris comp. I didn’t realize they were such a big deal until after the fact. People train years for this event. Years! I won’t say out of embarrassment how much I trained but it did teach me a few things. Some highlights to keep it simple: Tonde, Kelly and the Canadians, adventures through the city and watching some of the best climbers in action. As for my climbing, I made some errors to learn from but I also felt pretty focused thanks to Tondes advice: ‘Be decisive and listen to the right voices.’ Something which could be remembered any time of day really. Watching Cecile and Jain Kim climb throughout the event was motivating. They both inspire me for various reasons but one common thread is because they are so short yet they can still do these big moves that even stumped the taller girls. But anyway...enough about that.

team canada without the leader sean

cedar, tonde and florian making art history

rest time

this kid is wondering what i have on my back.
crashpad for metro safety?

In a blink of an eye Paris bercy is over. After a sweet day in Font with Kelly and Ajo i am left alone to ponder my next move. The most logical stop would be to just stop. And so i did. My shoulder was achy and the advice of many rang through my head and this time, I decided to take it. So Cedar and I headed to England for some time off climbing. A whole two weeks. I was going to do it no matter what. I considered it a project and i was going to send.

The time off in England was easy. Visiting friends, touring London. London is full of museums of all sorts and sizes, some which take up city blocks and days to explore. But the best thing? They are all free! Freaking free! Proudly sponsored by the freaking British Lottery. We rode the old cities buses and trams and lost ourselves over and over again. By the time my bus pass had expired we finally absorbed all we could that was British. The queen, the stand still guards, the hords of tourist and marmite. The sun was shining and the pull to return to France was strong. With one week left of rest I questioned if it was wise to return with such nice weather and such tempting rock but as I said, the pull was strong. Besides, I could run, spot Cedar, stretch...

tate modern

tate modern

humans sitting still in an organized artistic sort of fashion

Being in Font with the sun and not climbing was a taste of mental torture. But the thought of spending time in Paris was less than enticing. Besides, being surrounded by trees and fresh air was why I returned to France and so I decided to embrace this rest week instead of think about the climbing that I wasn’t doing. I mean, really, there is more to life than climbing. While Cedar climbed, I spotted and used the nearby trees to stretch my shoulders. I got to know the trails close to camp, the bakery that sold the worlds most delicious flan as well as spent some time doing nothing which is in itself a great healer. Some Spaniards were befriended along with some Germans. Before I knew it the week was over. I had spent the whole sunny week successfully resting in Font and my body thanked me. 

our france welcome

Two days of climbing were in my fortune followed by many days of intense rain drops. The fall had quickly decided to set in. I found a small gym to climb at for two days which helped my efforts to wait it out but the rain continued and I was the last one standing at camp. The time came for us to leave. What we did between then and Christmas is a slight blur. What have i done?  Some time spent here, other time spent there... A few scattered weeks in Germany, a small taste of the Frankenjura, some rain, some snow, a couple of US military base thrown in between. A long snowy drive to Tichino which became a lesson in never doubt your intuition. Perhaps the most unsuccessful ‘climbing’ trip ever which I was reluctant to go on but: a promise is a promise. It basically consisted of 3 or 4 warm ups, partners bailing, a touch of malaise and finally a good dose of heavy rain. Drop. Drop. Drop. The noise of rain on my tin roof was like pouring salt into an open wound. Always trust your intuition. Always... But, to be optimistic, had i not gone, this lesson would not have been ingrained into my very being. And i would not be where I am today which is, back in Font...

german heros

cresiano view

sad, sad faces

I realized in the middle of the night after stirring from a dream where i was drowning that indeed, I do have something i could talk about. More to come, sooner than later. I got Sandra keeping an eye.