Many Thanks for Climbing.

First there’s the obvious: I am so thankful I climb. I’m thankful that my friends brought me to the gym a few times before college; I’m thankful the UNH climbing team doesn’t cut kids who project v0; and I’m thankful to have met some of the right, and best, people.

I’m thankful for my mom and sister buying me my first pair of shoes. They are the opposite of aggressive, and I can wear two pair of socks in them, but they have gotten me to the anchors on enough 12s to show me that technique, not my now resoled Nagos, is what holds me back.

I’m thankful for friends and friends of friends and sometimes friends of friends of friends who have taken me on cliff adventures:

Alec had never met me, but he picked me up outside my dorm last spring to spend a Monday morning showing me easy boulders in Pawtuckaway even though his projects started at v6. He gave Maxim a few burns and then led me and another novice around pointing out rocks and tossing down crash pads for us. I didn’t even have a bouldering pad to contribute to the expedition; Erin’s word that I was psyched and one dining hall bagel with cream cheese were enough. He has since taken me up Cathedral and even let me lead a pitch; my second ever trad lead.

Erin is awesome. So many thanks to her for spending several days with me at Rumney this summer, watching me project 10s while she played on 8s to avoid becoming further concussed. Thanks to her for living with me and always being down to talk climbing, gear, food, and the philosophy of free soloing. Our climbing schedules never seem to line up, but we get psyched to hear about each other’s projects when we get back Durham. She has also set me up with several strong climbers when she was too busy to climb. Her connections got me up my first big wall.

Jared is great, a little crazy, and always down to climb. He had met me once before I texted him to climb (thanks Erin for knowing he was free). I texted him hoping he’d want to hit up Rumeny the next day. He had work the next day but could go right then; I was busy running errands. I told him I couldn’t go, promptly rearranged my schedule, and texted him back saying actually I was free for three hours. He set up draws for me at Rumney in the rain so I could project routes that he was sending in approach shoes. He let me struggle, call down for beta, and comment about how tricky the climb was. It was only after I clipped the chains that he told me he’d put me on an 11a. I’d never lead anything above 10c before and was stoked and slightly less embarrassed about falling multiple times. “I knew you wouldn’t have gotten on it if you knew what it was,” was his only comment. He’d seen me climb four routes and already knew how to push me.

That same day I met Mike, Jared’s friend who also wasn’t planning to be at Rumney but ended up stopping by. He only saw me climb (struggle) up the 11a that day. However, when he heard I was trying to climb the next day and didn’t have plans, he asked if I’d “like to try some multi pitch.” I’d never even seen a trad rack before; no way was I passing up that opportunity. He took me up Cannon after having known me for less than two hours. I was (and still am) so stoked and super thankful to him and all the other experienced climbers who have taken me out knowing I’m inexperienced and happy to teach me anyway.

Psych is a great thing. If you’re not excited about a route you’re not going to have fun, and you’re going bring everyone else down too. Tommy is the opposite of this. I don’t think I’ve met anyone more psyched on climbing than he is; it’s awesome. He got me the most excited about bouldering I’ve ever been at Lincoln Woods this summer, and that’s saying something, as I’d rather grab a rope and some draws than a mattress backpack any day of the week. I’m lucky that Tommy’s major requirement for taking others climbing is that they have to be psyched. He has driven me all over New England, from Rhode Island to Maine to climb. He has put up with my smelly climbing shoes (and sneakers), obsessive reading of roadside signs, and terribly dry snacks nearly every weekend since August (we’ve climbed together all but one). And that is just the beginning of what I’m thankful for.

Matt, I give you many thanks for letting me third-wheel for most of the summer to hike and climb on our weekends off.

Tim, thank you for belaying me indoors and out and for keeping me motivated to train (okay, thanks for getting me to start training).

Brandon, thank you for getting me rides with the boys to Pway last winter/spring. There is no way I would have braved all that snow and icy rock on my own. Also thank you for coming to my aid when I got myself stuck halfway up routes; those spots were quite comforting when I realized I was no longer over my crash pad.

Luke, thanks for being tent and seat buddies for HP 40. Also thank you for all the “short people beta” and lots more spots.

Sarah, projecting v0s in Pway with you is awesome; thank you.

Mom, thank you for letting me borrow your car to pursue a sport you deem dangerous. Also, the granola bars were bomber.

Climbing, thank you for the challenges, self-awareness, amazing adventures, and bringing me out of occasional states of college-stress-induced mania.

Climbing in the Cold

It’s November, which means only the oak trees still have leaves, it gets dark at 4:30 p.m., and everyone gets excited about eating pumpkin pie with their relatives. It also means it’s cold, with air and rock temperatures routinely dipping into the 30s. Sure this supposedly makes crimps “sticky,” but it also makes my hands numb, my rubber slippery, and my closet empty of coats. Yet there is no way I’m going to stop climbing, so I’ve adopted some tricks—many quite obvious—to keep me warm, or at least prevent full-on frost bite.

As a small female—females do get cold faster than males—with little natural insulation, I have learned that staying warm often requires more than just the heat generated as your climb. Though climbing = using your muscles = heat generation = you getting warmer, sometimes you need a little extra to get you started or going again after a break.

Here are some stay-warm tips:

And sometimes wearing down pants over two winter
jackets is the only solution...

General advice:

1. Keep moving. Do sets of pushups, squats, jumping jacks, and tree-limb pull-ups.
2. Do core…obsessively. Find a flat section of ground and do planks, pushups, Russian twists or throw down a jacket or crash pad to do crunches (to keep your back from losing heat to the ground).
3. If you’re just sitting around, lean back to engage your core. This is a great low-profile warmth technique; you can pretend you’re just leaning back to get a better view of other climbers when really you're warming up (and getting a mini-core workout in).
4. Bring a thermos with hot water, tea, chocolate, or soup. This will keep you hydrated, warm, and give you energy (through calories) to continue climbing.
5. Eat. Calories = warmth, especially healthy fats. Anything slathered in peanut butter (or my new go to: sunbutter) is great.
6. Hydrate. The water might be cold, but if you’re dehydrated you’ll be colder. (See number 3 for warm hydration options).
7. Use the "outdoor facilities" when necessary. You don’t want to be keeping extra “water” warm.
8. Wear a hat always and all your hoods between burns. 
9. Zip up all your pockets and zip all your jackets up to your neck. Wear a scarf or neck warmer for extra coziness. 
10. If you can fit them, wear socks in your climbing shoes. I always wear two layers of socks: a thin, synthetic wicking layer that I can fit in my climbing shoes with a thick pair of Smartwool socks over them for between burns. 
11. Bring a dog to cuddle with.
12. When all else fails go for a run, provided you’re not on a belay ledge.

Special tips for warming up one’s hands:

1. Wear belay gloves. Wear gloves on the approach. Wear gloves in between burns. Still cold? Try mittens.
2. Put hand warmers in your chalk bag.
3. Put your hands on the back of your neck, in your armpits, on your stomach, or down your pants for insta-warmth.
4. Swing your arms in large circles to force blood back into your hands. Try 20 full circle swings on each arm to start. 
5. Keep your core warm (see numbers 2 and 3 in the general – it will help keep your extremities warmer.

If these tricks don’t help, then either you need to invest in a bigger puffy and a onesie snow suit or consider taking up ice climbing, alpinism, or hitting the gym for a few days when it’s below 0°F.

To my future crag dog,

First off, we are going to be great friends. You are going be an adorable, irresistible, soft, wiggly puppy. You will have the opportunity to join in on some lengthy approaches, non-climbing day hikes, mid-day naps, and evening swims. We will have loads of fun, get super strong, and enjoy a life of adventure. By the way, this means you will be living out of a van for a few years. It will be awesome.

Here are the conditions.

1. You may sleep in my bed, provided that you don’t choose my head as your mattress and only lick my face after 7am; I could get used to a furry alarm clock.
2. The van is not a bathroom. This includes the outside.
3. No chewing on gear, shoes very much so included.
4. You will carry your own weight (except for the first few weeks when you’re small and getting used to hiking).
5. You will not steal my sandwiches. You will be stealthy and selective when stealing others’ sandwiches. 
6. You will attend all adventures.
7. You will do your best not eat things that will make you sick. If this occurs, you will refrain from puking on in the van or on any piece of gear.
8. You can eat leftovers, but please refrain from begging. Also, your regular food will be the dry, bagged kind; wet food is expensive and smells weird.
9. For your own safety, please do not take naps on crashpads that are currently in use.
10. Do not bark at, growl at, chase, bite, or otherwise annoy any humans or dogs at the crag. Making friends, however, is encouraged.
11. When it comes to squirrels, the look but do not touch (or chase) principle applies. (Unless the squirrel is in close proximity, we are just relaxing, and you promise to not run too far away. Then have fun.)
12. No one likes it when someone else whines. In this cause, consider yourself in the “someone else” category.
13. Be ready to be snuggled and petted and loved and infrequently spoiled.  
14. Be psyched for adventure 95.67% of the time. (I understand that 4.33% of the time you might be having an off day.)
15. Do not abuse your cuteness. Choose wisely when to look adorable and beg for things; that tactic will only work so many times.

So yes there are a few rules, but they are mostly to make life confortable and maximize adventure. No one likes to have to waste a day buying a new rope or pair of shoes cause you decided to chew something besides your bone. Plus, that money will come out of your Milk Bone fund, which isn’t advantageous for you either.

However, beyond the rules, I can make you some promises: You will be very loved and given lots of attention. You will see many places, go on many adventures, and cover more ground than most dogs. You will be a nomad, living in the van for a while; however, when you’re old and have bad knees from hiking thousands of miles, you will have a plush dog bed in front of a woodstove in a small cabin to curl up in. And if you’re feeling lonely in that bed of your own, you can still hop up with me (or we can snuggle down on your bed if your knees aren’t feeling up to the jump).

Love,

Liz

The Reverse Warm-Up (and Variations)

Some people really like to warm up for a day of sport climbing. My friend Erin is a big fan of starting the day on a nice 5.6-5.7. She has sent 5.11c.

I don’t like to start out easy. It’s not because I think I’m all that, but I have a tendency to get used to jugs. I wonder why they have suddenly disappeared when my second climb is two grades higher and tend to fall more and complain even more in that situation. Thus, I determined the reverse warm-up to be a more effective method to begin my day.

The reverse warm-up is what it sounds like: starting on something harder than the route you’d like to send. Here is why (I think) it’s great:

1. You will get shut down or at least hangdog your way to the top desperation style. The next climb (your project) will feel easy in comparison.
2. If number one does not happen, you will surprise yourself by greatly increasing your on-sight grade.
3. At the beginning of the day you’re fresh, so you have maximum power to combat the lack of adequate hand and foot holds. You cannot use the “I’m tired from giving X five burns” excuse for not clipping the anchors.
4. You will be forced out of your comfort zone immediately, not lulled into spending the day doing “fun” climbing below your level.
5. You will be forced to work on your technique. This is good for you.
6. You will get better at climbing. Studies show pushing your grade has that effect.
7. Add your favorite additional reason here.

A note of caution: The reverse warm-up is not an excuse to cause great harm to yourself or others. Do not choose something two grades higher than your project. Do not skip bolts. Do not do anything you think would likely cause you or your belayer to suffer an injury requiring the attention of a medical doctor. If your project is 5.11a you might consider trying out an 11b or c first, not a 5.13b X.

Another note of caution: Do not use the reverse warm-up as a way to brag about your climbing level. Do not abuse the phrase “I warm up on 13a” to make it sound like you cruise it before projecting 14b. The reverse warm-up should humble you and show you what you might one day achieve not give you undue bragging rights.

Variations on the reverse warm-up:

1. Climbing wet routes makes anything dry feel amazing. (Consider likelihood of death before attempting to climb dripping cliffs).
2. Climbing in approach shoes, barefoot (if you normally use climbing shoes), or wearing thick wool socks in your least aggressive pair of climbing shoes will have you believing your Solutions are indeed the equals sign for sending.
3. Weighing yourself down with excessive draws or your trad rack for added discomfort and weird looks from other climbers.

How I (wish) I Sprained My Ankle

***Disclaimer: If any of the details or events of this tale appear true, it is purely by coincidence.  None of the following occurred in part or in whole, though it would have been epic and would mean I’m 10 times above my current climbing ability level.***

It was pouring. Nothing new for autumn in New England, but it was also Saturday, which means Tommy and I were climbing anyway. Tommy had finally invested in a rack, so we decided to mess around a bit despite of the weather.

By the time we dragged ourselves out of an entangled web of sleeping bags and into Dunkin Donuts for some much needed caffeine, the weather was starting to look better, so we headed out to find dry-ish cracks to stuff our cams, fists, and feet into.

Tommy led the first pitch, a little damp, but a doable 5.8. It had a few spicy moves and the polished sections were further slickened by the spray, but it just added to the delightful uneasy feeling one gets when placing gear. I followed up, cleaning gear and convincing myself that the weather was only going to improve.

When I reached the anchors, I saw two cracks above me. We'd left the guidebook in the car, so I got to blindly choose my own adventure. I picked right, less-wet-moss-covered crack and racked up. The first few moves were fun, lie backing in the slightly seeping crack and smearing my feet on the slimy face. I placed a number two and then a number one, but 10 feet later all I’d seen were more places to fit a number one. Tommy didn’t have doubles, and all the nuts I kept trying in the thin crack to my left were falling out. Another 10 feet up, I was getting more pumped and less hopeful.

The rain started up again and the wind drove it sideways, soaking the route and raincoat-less me. The crack was not longer seeping; it was streaming. There was water running down my elbows, the back of my neck, and beginning to drip off the bottoms of my shoes.

I was stuck. Downclimbing was impossibly scary and letting go was even scarier. I was twenty feet above Tommy’s number one and holding on with two fingers in a river. I desperately tried to stuff in a piece, but I couldn’t see where to place it with all the water running down the crack.

“Watch me here,” I yelled down to Tommy, but he couldn’t hear me over the rain slapping the rock. He too was soaked, not owning a raincoat, and later said he could barely see me with all the water pouring in his face.

I tried to make a big move up to jam my free left hand into the crack above, but it slid out immediately. I switched into sport mode: crimping on bumps on the face. I made one more move up when everything blew simultaneously.

I have never fallen so far. I landed with my right foot flexed and heard a pop, audible over the storm’s din. I then had to half boink my way back up to the anchors I’d fallen below, so we could make our getaway plan, leaving one of the cams in the process.We rapped down and assessed the damage: one very swollen right ankle and a lot of sopping wet gear.

The rest is less interesting, just hospital visits, eating ibuprofen, and attempting to cross-train in the pool. But the moral of this story is: Don’t try to trad climb wet, unknown routes in the rain (or if they’re wet and it’s not raining at that moment, or if the forecast calls for 100% chance of rain in the next ten minutes).

Alternate versions of this ankle-spraining story include me running from a bear on an approach while carrying a full pack and falling down an animal burrow and then having the bear drag me by my ankle, me falling off a pad-less highball buildering problem (insert mental image of crazy tall or interesting skyscraper here), or me having a mishap while practicing aerial dance. You choose which sounds the best.