Head space

Lately I have been finding myself in these situations where I’m looking at myself in a slightly detached way.  You know those times where you’re going “well what have we got here missy?  You’re run out, smearing on sketchy feet, holding on with a half pad thumb gaston and the potential fall could be the nasty ground type where Gravity has the upper hand yet you’re casually whistling your way up.  Don’t you think it would be appropriate to show a little fear right now?  Maybe even just fake it a little?  Because hot damn, shit could get real here.”

And yet, with all the ranting that little voice does, I can’t seem to muster the fear.  Oh, it’s still in there for sure.  For years my head was the biggest obstacle to my climbing progress.  And I’m certainly not the most bucking cowboy on the block but lately those moments have happened more and more.

Perhaps there is some internal auditor taking stock of the amount of friction divided by the difficulty of the move, timesed by the coefficient of how gutsy/stupid the next move might be and rounded off to the nearest level of experience.  An internal auditor that sits there with a pencil jammed into the too tight bun which sits behind the ear where their oversized glasses rest and nasally responds “honey, you got this.  You’ve been here before.  Only it was 3 years ago in the peak of summer with worn down shoes and on tired arms and ever so slightly sleep deprived but you still pulled it off.  Okay, you were younger and fitter an certainly skinnier but now you’re more experienced and wiser.  So shut up and climb.”

I don’t know what the answer is but I’m going to ride the onsight spree while I can.


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