I've been writing about movement, flying and of course training some, but with another rider busted in the Tour de France today my thoughts are on that event.
I used to really like watching the Tour de France. When Floyd Landis was busted for doping in the Tour I was pissed at Floyd. I had reveled in his stunning comeback, his guts, and his general down-home attitude. Then it turned out that he had doped (no real surprise for any Tour rider), and I felt betrayed despite feeling I should have known better. I followed Floyd's appeals and legal maneuvering as the case went through the courts, and at one point I became convinced that he hadn't been busted so much as framed by bad evidence. Then I read some more, and the reality is that nobody but Floyd will ever know exactly what happened. I expect that maybe in ten or 20 years the "real" evidence will come out as it often does. This year I followed the Tour a bit, but it's the same old game of doping violations. I've now just lost interest in the Tour; what does it mean to win an event that's so obviously drug-fueled? What it really boils down to for me is that the Tour is simply nothing more than a bad joke no matter what happened with Floyd and others. Either Floyd is lying like mad or the Tour is incompetent at drug testing. Either way my response is the same: I'm not interested anymore. My opinion matters little, but I suspect there are a lot of people out there who feel the same. Maybe drug testing is a dead end for athletics, maybe there are ways to test effectively, but the real problem is that high-end aerobic and strength events have big stakes, and someone will always try to cheat in that environment. It's human nature.
I've lived and worked with amateur and professional bike racers over the years and deeply respect the dedication and effort they put into their sport, but I can't respect the Tour as an event, nor can I find the confidence to trust any of the athletic performances I see on that asphalt stage. Football, baseball, hockey, any "huge" event has basically the same set of temptations and will likely produce the same behavior.
I do not know of one climber, kayaker or paraglider pilot who has ever doped to win a contest of any kind. I've heard vague accusations, but despite being involved in the high end of those sports at various points I have no solid, factual information that anyone has doped to perform at a higher level than any other competitor in any event. And even if someone had then I seriously doubt the podium reflected the doping effort; it's seldom the strongest who wins in any the sports I compete in. When someone wins a climbing or paragliding comp I can see the training, see the effort, and balance those factors against the luck everyone needs occasionally. I've had luck when I needed it and not had it when I would have liked some. I've seen competitors screwed by the "rules," and also given a break by the officials, but that's competing. Perhaps there just aren't enough rewards in my sports to inspire serious doping? That's OK with me, and I can look at the accomplishments of my friends and know that the results came from them, and not from who could avoid the drug tests the best.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Walking
I clearly remember the first time I saw someone who could truly walk well in the mountains. I was in Mexico, basically lost deep in Copper Canyon. A friend and I were carrying our kayaks on our heads and staggering around the trail like a couple of drunks in search of a bar. We never did find the river, but we did find a bar eventually, but that's another story. The locals in Copper Canyon are the Tarahumara indians. Being kinda ignorant (hence not finding the river) we didn't know much about these people, and my first sight of one came when an older woman with a huge stack of stuff floated past me up the trail. I can still remember the way her feet flowed around and through the rocks and mud, and the supple ease she displayed despite both her age, load and the tough going. It was as impressive to me at the time as watching Sharma boulder when I saw that for the first time many years later. She just knew how to move on a trail.
Over the years I've spent a lot of time beating around in the mountains while climbing, kayaking and paragliding. Often the walk to the "sport" takes far more time than the sport, and the success of many days in the mountains has often hinged more on the success of the approach and descent than the climbing or whatever. Some of my partners are very fast in all kinds of terrain, others slower despite being much stronger aerobically or physically. Of course, some people just plain kick my ass in terms of speed on about any type of terrain, I'm not claiming mastery here, just that I've put some time in and seen enough people in enough terrain to notice the differences in skills. Even those who have spent a fair amount of time on trails often fall apart when traversing some rubble fest on the side of a peak, and even fewer can move smoothly up a river bed or over a talus field. Given the importance of being able to walk well in the mountains no matter what our choice of sport in the mountains is, how do the people who do it well approach the movements, and what do they do that others don't?
Some time ago I wrote a short piece for a running magazine about how to trail run, and while that piece is still relevant to running I've had the chance to think more about moving well in the mountains over the years. I've also had a few situations in the last month that have really prompted me to think about moving in mountain terrain, so of course I'm now going to write about it 'cause that's what I do when I want to figure something out. If you have to teach something you have to understand it. So take the following posts on here as my attempt to understand something we all see as "basic," but that in my opinion isn't. I'm going to divide this writing up into three broad sections: Trails, Drainages/Talus and Steep Rubble. Look for the "trails" effort shortly, I'm pounding on it now. I'll welcome people's thoughts on the rough drafts about whether this makes sense or not, the final drafts of this writing will be used for a couple of projects I'm involved with, thanks.
WG
Over the years I've spent a lot of time beating around in the mountains while climbing, kayaking and paragliding. Often the walk to the "sport" takes far more time than the sport, and the success of many days in the mountains has often hinged more on the success of the approach and descent than the climbing or whatever. Some of my partners are very fast in all kinds of terrain, others slower despite being much stronger aerobically or physically. Of course, some people just plain kick my ass in terms of speed on about any type of terrain, I'm not claiming mastery here, just that I've put some time in and seen enough people in enough terrain to notice the differences in skills. Even those who have spent a fair amount of time on trails often fall apart when traversing some rubble fest on the side of a peak, and even fewer can move smoothly up a river bed or over a talus field. Given the importance of being able to walk well in the mountains no matter what our choice of sport in the mountains is, how do the people who do it well approach the movements, and what do they do that others don't?
Some time ago I wrote a short piece for a running magazine about how to trail run, and while that piece is still relevant to running I've had the chance to think more about moving well in the mountains over the years. I've also had a few situations in the last month that have really prompted me to think about moving in mountain terrain, so of course I'm now going to write about it 'cause that's what I do when I want to figure something out. If you have to teach something you have to understand it. So take the following posts on here as my attempt to understand something we all see as "basic," but that in my opinion isn't. I'm going to divide this writing up into three broad sections: Trails, Drainages/Talus and Steep Rubble. Look for the "trails" effort shortly, I'm pounding on it now. I'll welcome people's thoughts on the rough drafts about whether this makes sense or not, the final drafts of this writing will be used for a couple of projects I'm involved with, thanks.
WG
Friday, June 27, 2008
Eldo
I keep having these Boulder flashbacks... Over 20 years ago I drove an ancient, even for then, van into the Eldorado parking lot for the first time. I was blown away by the rock walls, and the climbing beat the hell out of me. I've climbed in Eldo hundreds of days since then, the place always fires me up despite it's "old school" vibe. A roaring river, epic quantities of rock, yeah!
One of the first routes I did (or tried?) back then was T2, a six or so pitch 5.9 that starts with an overhanging, poorly protected 5.11 high-ball boulder problem with a really bad landing. I remember my 18-year old hands sweaty hands sketching on the holds as my partner decided spotting was a waste of time and ran away before I could fall on him. Smart move.
Yesterday I was back early in the morning with an old friend, and despite the hour my hands were sweating on the first holds. It is possible to stick-clip a pin to protect the boulder start, but shit, a stick clip in Eldo is just wrong if you're from my generation of climbers. I could vividly remember my feet blowing, the resulting endless swing and time-creeping battle to hang on years ago, but if 20 years of climbing hasn't made me any smarter it has at least made me slightly stronger, and it all flowed. The rest of the route did too, setting belays, cruising, watching the birds circle in the morning thermals, Eldo is, to use the phrase from back in the day, "Mega!" We were back at our shoes in under two hours, about the same time it took me to lead the first pitch over 20 years ago, but just as happy to have had a great time of it.
We even had the obligatory, "I think the easy way to solo off the last bit is just over here" experience at the top to keep it spicy, but it sure is nice to climb rock that is generally solid instead of my normal Canadian Rockies diet that's generally not anywhere near solid, and even the solid bits are best treated with suspicion bordering on hostility as they often aren't solidly attached to the earth (at least on the trad routes in the Rockies, we do have some super solid sport climbing).
If you haven't done T2 you gotta go do it! Maybe bring a stick clip if you're not burdened by history... Thanks to the Punter for a good day of it.
One of the first routes I did (or tried?) back then was T2, a six or so pitch 5.9 that starts with an overhanging, poorly protected 5.11 high-ball boulder problem with a really bad landing. I remember my 18-year old hands sweaty hands sketching on the holds as my partner decided spotting was a waste of time and ran away before I could fall on him. Smart move.
Yesterday I was back early in the morning with an old friend, and despite the hour my hands were sweating on the first holds. It is possible to stick-clip a pin to protect the boulder start, but shit, a stick clip in Eldo is just wrong if you're from my generation of climbers. I could vividly remember my feet blowing, the resulting endless swing and time-creeping battle to hang on years ago, but if 20 years of climbing hasn't made me any smarter it has at least made me slightly stronger, and it all flowed. The rest of the route did too, setting belays, cruising, watching the birds circle in the morning thermals, Eldo is, to use the phrase from back in the day, "Mega!" We were back at our shoes in under two hours, about the same time it took me to lead the first pitch over 20 years ago, but just as happy to have had a great time of it.
We even had the obligatory, "I think the easy way to solo off the last bit is just over here" experience at the top to keep it spicy, but it sure is nice to climb rock that is generally solid instead of my normal Canadian Rockies diet that's generally not anywhere near solid, and even the solid bits are best treated with suspicion bordering on hostility as they often aren't solidly attached to the earth (at least on the trad routes in the Rockies, we do have some super solid sport climbing).
If you haven't done T2 you gotta go do it! Maybe bring a stick clip if you're not burdened by history... Thanks to the Punter for a good day of it.
Monday, June 23, 2008
14,000 feet in Boulder
Edit--thanks to Chris Webster for the photo, taken shortly after launch at Lookout. That's the Coors plant and the source of the beer thermals directly "under" me in the photo.
I started flying about 15 years ago in response to a serious case of climbing burnout. I was sick of being cloistered in a small cave hanging by my fingers; I wanted the big picture, to feel something so totally new and fresh that it fired me up the way climbing used to. In retrospect, I should have just gone into a different form of climbing, but I didn't think of that and flying was everything I wanted it to be and then some. Hanging high in space and truly seeing the geography of the land at a bird's pace (well, a really slow bird) is about as good as it gets. After doing nothing but flying for a year I got back into climbing, and balancing the two sports since then has been a constant battle of love.
On Saturday I'd made plans to go climbing, but all of a sudden these perfect clouds started forming and I flaked to head for Golden, Colorado. I learned to fly in both Golden, Colorado, and Golden, BC. Both are great sites, but totally different. Golden BC is a big-air, big glide, big place to fly. Golden, Colorado (also called Lookout) is a little site with a big attitude. When I started learning to fly at Lookout the landing zone had a powerline across half of it; it's still one of the trickiest places I know to land in. But the flying is worse--you're flying on the wrong side of the Rocky Mountains so you're always in the lee. The mountains heat up and draw the air west onto the east-facing slopes, but the entire front side of the Rockies is generally a mass of down-flowing air. There is also always a sheer layer somewhere between the top of the hill and the clouds that will toss your glider around in an engaging manner, and all you have to do is make one little mistake and you're on the ground. But it's kind of like learning to ski at an area with really bad snow; if you can survive your local skiing disaster then you can likely ski anywhere. When I got to launch on Saturday there were only a few pilots left, everybody else had headed off on about a 40K task to North Boulder. Conditions were a bit strong, but not too bad, and I got into the air uneventfully off of the Lookout launch for the first time in almost a decade.
I found my first real thermal by following the classic Lookout rule--if it starts smelling like beer in the air turn and follow the smell! The Coors plant is upwind of the hill, and the yeasty-smelling"beer thermals" are a great indicator of rising air. I had a huge smell-induced memory and was turning to core the brewery lift before I even realized it. Thanks Coors!
I first went south about 10K, and remembered all the "fun" that Lookout has to offer. Scrappy thermals that move in random directions at different altitudes, climbs that go from 1 to 5 and back on the vario with no notice, and glides that were atrocious. I loved it, it was a ten-year old flashback. Little-remembered skills kicked in almost sub-consciously; move with the thermals even if the direction seems "wrong," never leave any shitty lift, conserve every foot of altitude with a passion bordering on neurotic... Then I headed back north to try and intersect any pilots coming south from Boulder, but didn't see many. The strong east wind down low soon turned northeast, and I found myself going only 25K an hour on glide, but the sink was even worse. Normally paragliders sink at a meter or two a second on glide in air between thermals, but not at Lookout. I was hitting 5 and 6 meter sink consistently, with thermals only in the 2-4 range. Ah, Lookout! I was only hitting about 2900M for the first hour, but about 20K north the magic happened and I was suddenly at 4300M, or over 14,000 feet. I've only been at this altitude maybe ten times in hundreds of flights from Lookout, it was a sweet moment to look west and see the snowy peaks of the divide, south all the way to Pike's Peak and out onto the flat plains extending seemingly forever. I really like that combination, few sites I've flown offer it.
I was due back home to kid-sit early that evening and didn't want to have an epic with getting my truck back at launch, so just short of Eldorado Canyon I turned and ran back south to launch and my vehicle. Flying my Boomerang 5 at Lookout felt like cheating compared to the old days; with half bar I was going 65K, and was able to fly well out over the town of Golden, tour the Coors plant and still have more than enough altitude to make it back to launch, all on one glide. My mind remembered fighting to glide even a few K, but the new gear makes things so very nice!
I'm hoping for some more good days at Lookout while here in Boulder, it's the best lousy site I've ever flown. I hope to see some more pilots from back in the day while I'm launch or in the air too. The local crew at Lookout likely saved me from killing myself several times, often with very direct and effective commentary such as, "Well, shit, that was about the dumbest thing I've ever seen anyone do--if you want to crash why not just fly straight at the hill and crash closer to the road so the rescue will be easier? Do that again and you'll likely end up dead, can't believe you haven't killed yourself yet. Can I have your truck when you die?" It was all meant in the best way, and the ideas behind the words absolutely stuck with me over the years. A good local crew is as important as the school lessons for a pilot, maybe more. Thanks to the Lookout crew of all those years ago, and thanks to Lookout for the stellar flight on Saturday, yeah!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Boulder
I'm in Boulder, Colorado. Just mention the name and most people have an idea of the place and the societal meaning. Hippies, athletes, the University, lots of tech, and of course the odd bit of climbing. No, make that a whole lot of climbing and even more climbers. Boulder is one of the world centres for climbers, right up there with Yosemite or Sheffield; the number of climbers here is just insane compared to any other place in North America, and maybe the world. The variety of climbers is also astounding; trad, seven bumpers, sport, boulderers, ethical satirists, ethical hard-liners, poets and of course an unlimited supply of posers, which, come to think of it, covers pretty much all of us who call ourselves climbers. But the climbers are relatively tame in their posing compared to some of the other athlete groups in Boulder. The cyclists are the most obvious; is it really necessary to walk around the mall in a Lycra outfit with your cleated cycling shoes on? I had to buy a new battery for my computer the other day and was surrounded by the click-click of cleats in the computer shop. My chalked hands couldn't compete.
It's hot here, which for me is like Kryptonite to my climbing. So I've been going to the gym and jumping in the river in my boat, and getting little morning boulder sessions on before the temperature dial goes to "pasty white guy can't hang onto a pull-up bar anymore." I have spent hundres of hours in the gyms of Boulder, and for me it's like going back to an old local crag. The Spot has savage bouldering, and the Boulder Rock Club still has the best route-setting of any gym I've ever climbed in (Thanks Chris). What amazed me were how many of the same people I used to train with were still in the gym. We're all ten years older, but it was great to see so many of the old faces pulling harder than ever and loving it. Boulder has a lot of "lifers,' my favorite kind of climber because they will be pulling until they simply can't reach the holds anymore. That's what it's all about.
Stay cool.
One Truth: Skin is temporary, climbing is forever.
It's hot here, which for me is like Kryptonite to my climbing. So I've been going to the gym and jumping in the river in my boat, and getting little morning boulder sessions on before the temperature dial goes to "pasty white guy can't hang onto a pull-up bar anymore." I have spent hundres of hours in the gyms of Boulder, and for me it's like going back to an old local crag. The Spot has savage bouldering, and the Boulder Rock Club still has the best route-setting of any gym I've ever climbed in (Thanks Chris). What amazed me were how many of the same people I used to train with were still in the gym. We're all ten years older, but it was great to see so many of the old faces pulling harder than ever and loving it. Boulder has a lot of "lifers,' my favorite kind of climber because they will be pulling until they simply can't reach the holds anymore. That's what it's all about.
Stay cool.
One Truth: Skin is temporary, climbing is forever.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A good send in Scotland
My bud Sonnie Trotter finally sent Rhapsody (edit, brain junk), which is a really hard trad (meaning no bolts) line over in Scotland. If you haven't been following his blog I'd really recommend checking it out. He did some fine writing about trying to climb something really hard--the mental ups and downs, and finally success. Good stuff, a big group of both friends and people who were reading his blog were really hoping he'd get the job done. We went so far as to offer $ to help him change his ticket (which he politely declined, but he won't be buying beer for a bit I'm sure), post rants on his blog and just generally let him know we were pulling for him. It was fun to push some energy across the Atlantic. Sonnie's writing and climbing got me fired up to train harder and go at it with more intensity, thanks to Sonnie for that. I heard that our cluster of attempted support actually might have helped Sonnie make the decision to stay, which was all he really needed to climb the rig so I'm super psyched to have been a very small part of his send along with everyone else who was pulling for the kid to get 'er done. Yeah! Now the question is: Sonnie, what the hell took ya so long? Grin...
Cory Richards (the friend I finally got Yamabushi down with a couple of years ago) is over there with Sonnie and also having at a very hard route. He and Sonnie have already changed their tickets twice, time is ticking, get 'er done Cory!
Training Notes:
I'm just giving it at the moment and loving it! The weather sucks, I've got tweaky elbows, tweaky fingers, a torqued knee and some other issues but damn is it fun to be putting it all into climbing right now. Some days I make big leaps in progress and feel my old limits disappearing, other days I'm back to where I was four months ago, but that's how it works. You just gotta show up, do your best to train and climb well, and the curve slowly keeps going up. I know I can't hold this training and performance level for long, but I've got some ideas that are important to me, hopefully the lines of performance and my objectives will cross at the right time.
Cory Richards (the friend I finally got Yamabushi down with a couple of years ago) is over there with Sonnie and also having at a very hard route. He and Sonnie have already changed their tickets twice, time is ticking, get 'er done Cory!
Training Notes:
I'm just giving it at the moment and loving it! The weather sucks, I've got tweaky elbows, tweaky fingers, a torqued knee and some other issues but damn is it fun to be putting it all into climbing right now. Some days I make big leaps in progress and feel my old limits disappearing, other days I'm back to where I was four months ago, but that's how it works. You just gotta show up, do your best to train and climb well, and the curve slowly keeps going up. I know I can't hold this training and performance level for long, but I've got some ideas that are important to me, hopefully the lines of performance and my objectives will cross at the right time.
Monday, June 02, 2008
One Truth: #1
Title a blog entry, "One Truth," and readers will likely be expecting something monumental. After all, successful religions have been started with far less. I often read corporate mission statements that involve the words such as "Truth" and "Honesty." Given the prevalence of the word "Truth" in all kinds of settings that have very little to do with anything approaching reality, I've started to think the idea of Truth is over-rated. The more a group or person claims to have the "Truth" about anything the more likely it is that he or she is either lying or insane, often both. Just think about the doomsday cults, government leaders, statistical junk shows in politics or real estate, etc. etc. I was going to get all sarcastic about the "Truth" in mountain sports, especially given the rather easy pickings in the mountain press, but then thought that would be just too easy. Instead I'm going to present some "Truths" I've learned over the years doing various mountain sports. I'm going to call these mini-commentaries, "One Truth," and endeavor to capture something useful in one line or less. Sort of koans for myself. This is pretentious, but this is a blog, home of the pretentious, and I aim to live up to my pretentious potential as I usually do when given a decent shot at it. So it's off the races.
Truth #1: It's always better to go and do something, anything, than not.
This evening my family and I hiked up Cougar Creek in the misty rain. We walked for a grand total of 30 minutes, and the piglet laughed a lot about the various dogs, people and other things I didn't quite get but she sure found entertaining. We didn't get our heart rates above about 70, and we almost didn't go because it was raining. But I'm glad we did, it was lot better than not. Mountains have a soft beauty in the rain and mist that they lack in sunshine.
Climbing: Been doing a lot of that, sure is fun. Climbing your way back into good shape is a rollercoaster of up days and down days, but my body is holding together well enough, and rock never feels better than when you haven't had enough of it. Blown skin, pumped arms, tweaked muscles, it's all so right. I hobble a bit going to the crag, but get 'er done once I'm tied in and pointed up. Or don't. Today was 4X4 day in the climbing gym, an old-school but potent workout that always feels nasty in a liberating sort of way. I've set some goals for myself that are lofty and will require hundreds if not thousands of layers of skin and effort. Bring it.
Truth #1: It's always better to go and do something, anything, than not.
This evening my family and I hiked up Cougar Creek in the misty rain. We walked for a grand total of 30 minutes, and the piglet laughed a lot about the various dogs, people and other things I didn't quite get but she sure found entertaining. We didn't get our heart rates above about 70, and we almost didn't go because it was raining. But I'm glad we did, it was lot better than not. Mountains have a soft beauty in the rain and mist that they lack in sunshine.
Climbing: Been doing a lot of that, sure is fun. Climbing your way back into good shape is a rollercoaster of up days and down days, but my body is holding together well enough, and rock never feels better than when you haven't had enough of it. Blown skin, pumped arms, tweaked muscles, it's all so right. I hobble a bit going to the crag, but get 'er done once I'm tied in and pointed up. Or don't. Today was 4X4 day in the climbing gym, an old-school but potent workout that always feels nasty in a liberating sort of way. I've set some goals for myself that are lofty and will require hundreds if not thousands of layers of skin and effort. Bring it.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Bouldering and Home Renos
Who knew that home renos and climbing go together so well? I've been bouldering a ton lately, as the weather is junk and my project route is likely underwater to the second or third draw. That would make it a bit easier if I could get to it in a kayak or something. Bouldering doesn't take long, which has left me some time to session on a wood stove project reno. Here are a few of the fun things I've managed to discover about home renos and bouldering.
-A chop saw will chop its own cord if you set it up just right. Fortunately I've done this before and had electrical tape and connector bits, only took ten minutes to fix, getting faster on the sequence.
-No matter how strong you think you are getting, there are always people who are way stronger. If some of them would come help me move my wood stove that would be cool.
-Drywalling sucks. How can I manage to create four feet of just beautiful inside corner joint and four feet that looks like it was done by a crack addict in withdrawal? In the same corner, alternating every foot like I meant to do it that way?
-Gear Tip: Everybody should buy a Makita hammer driver drill thing. It can sink a six-inch deck screw through four inches of seasoned fir and into my vapour barrier, wind up at least ten meters of insulation fiber on the screw, and continue to sink the screw head another two inches into the wood, right to the chuck (which means that screw will NEVER come out, even though it's not exactly where I wanted it) and still have power to burn. Sick, truly the finest power tool I've ever bought. I'm really wondering if it would work in rock.
-Climbing and renos often start alike. "I'll just have a look." Months later, with a badly dinged bank account and some weird memories, it's hard to believe it all started with just one move. I swung a hammer into drywall, I gripped warm spring stone, it's just gone sideways since then. Perfect.
-You just never know about renos or bouldering. For instance, I sent a problem that was hard for me yesterday in the gym even though my skin was blown, it was too warm, and some other excuses. And today I turned on the power to some pot lights I'd just put in, and despite fully guessing at times about which wire went where the lights came on without any of those cool blue flashes I'm kinda familiar with. You just gotta try.
The weather is biblical here in Canmore at the moment, four days of pretty much solid rain. I was getting depressed about this until I remembered that I could be in Vancouver or Seattle, which Canmore is starting to resemble. I even saw people running and riding in the rain today, a sure sign of depression and angst. May it break soon!
Not very seriously,
WG
-A chop saw will chop its own cord if you set it up just right. Fortunately I've done this before and had electrical tape and connector bits, only took ten minutes to fix, getting faster on the sequence.
-No matter how strong you think you are getting, there are always people who are way stronger. If some of them would come help me move my wood stove that would be cool.
-Drywalling sucks. How can I manage to create four feet of just beautiful inside corner joint and four feet that looks like it was done by a crack addict in withdrawal? In the same corner, alternating every foot like I meant to do it that way?
-Gear Tip: Everybody should buy a Makita hammer driver drill thing. It can sink a six-inch deck screw through four inches of seasoned fir and into my vapour barrier, wind up at least ten meters of insulation fiber on the screw, and continue to sink the screw head another two inches into the wood, right to the chuck (which means that screw will NEVER come out, even though it's not exactly where I wanted it) and still have power to burn. Sick, truly the finest power tool I've ever bought. I'm really wondering if it would work in rock.
-Climbing and renos often start alike. "I'll just have a look." Months later, with a badly dinged bank account and some weird memories, it's hard to believe it all started with just one move. I swung a hammer into drywall, I gripped warm spring stone, it's just gone sideways since then. Perfect.
-You just never know about renos or bouldering. For instance, I sent a problem that was hard for me yesterday in the gym even though my skin was blown, it was too warm, and some other excuses. And today I turned on the power to some pot lights I'd just put in, and despite fully guessing at times about which wire went where the lights came on without any of those cool blue flashes I'm kinda familiar with. You just gotta try.
The weather is biblical here in Canmore at the moment, four days of pretty much solid rain. I was getting depressed about this until I remembered that I could be in Vancouver or Seattle, which Canmore is starting to resemble. I even saw people running and riding in the rain today, a sure sign of depression and angst. May it break soon!
Not very seriously,
WG
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Some very cool photos
A friend of mine, John Harlin, sent me a link today that is just great--stellar aerial photos of Mt. Robson taken just a few days ago by John Scurlock. Spend 10 minutes checking them out, well worth it, sounds like Scurlock is an interesting guy.
WG
Edit--as Anon noted, the name is "Scurlock," not Spurlock. Fixed, sorry about that.
WG
Edit--as Anon noted, the name is "Scurlock," not Spurlock. Fixed, sorry about that.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Spring Snow, knee
I've been outside climbing a bunch--perfect spring days, nice temps, loving it. And then it started to rain on Tuesday or so, still OK just not great conditions. Yesterday I woke up to a couple of inches of snow, no big deal, but climbing plans went indoors. Around 2:00 I shoveled things out, about a foot of snow on the ground, and I figured the storm was done. It started snowing again in the late afternoon. By the time I'd done the gym session and hit the grocery store the snow was so deep that I had a hard time opening the car door in my already-shoveled driveway. I took the photo last night late just because the snow was so cool to see, this spring storms are just wild.
Last Tuesday I managed to get in and see an orthopod about the MRI of my knee. It's been really bothering me for about six months, but I kept thinking I could fix it... Finally gave up on that idea, it's FUBAR, torn meniscus, so off to surgery sometime later this summer. I intend to rock climb, kayak, mountain bike and fly my brains out until then, I just can't walk really far or run. Not a big deal really, just switch the games up and get after it in a new way. But nice to know what's wrong and how to hopefully FIX it. The rest of my body feels great, getting stronger and loving it!
happy spring!
WG
Sunday, May 04, 2008
How many times?
How many times have I worried about whether to go climbing or not because of some seemingly important event that somehow meant I maybe shouldn't go climbing?
And how many times has that event felt even half as important on the drive home after climbing? I can't remember one, that's how many.
How many times have I tied into a rope?
As many time as I've untied. Except five or six times when I was too pumped to untie and somebody did it for me while both of us laughed.
How many times have I tried to climb something I didn't think I had it in me to climb that day--and then somehow made it to the top? More times than I've fallen off when I was sure I wasn't going to.
How many times have I had a hard time turning the key in the ignition after a day's climbing? Enough to recognize that peculiar feeling and smile with recognition, like tasting something from childhood that I'd totally forgotten about.
How many times have I gone climbing with someone and had a really good time? So many that I've forgotten half their names but none of the feelings.
How many times have I gotten so excited to see someone else send something hard for them that I completely forgot everything else? More times than I've watched someone stroll up something hard for me and felt bitter about it.
How many times has it been hard to put my hands into hot water? More times than the scars I wear with pride.
How many times have I seen some pathetic punk curse as he falls off a hard route or boulder problem? Enough to recognize that punk as myself on a bad day.
How many people have I seen give their absolute best while climbing and their absolute worst on the ground? Enough to know that climbing brings out the best in us.
How many times have I swung an ice tool and waited to hear its sound? Enough to know that it's still important, each and every time.
How many times have I stopped climbing for months at a time? Enough to know that it always feels good when I start up again.
How many times have I chosen to stuff my feet into how many pairs of rock shoes and go through how many barrels of chalk just to get to the top of a rock I could have walked around to the back side of? Enough to know I'll keep doing it for as long as I live.
How many times? Who cares, better go climbing.
And how many times has that event felt even half as important on the drive home after climbing? I can't remember one, that's how many.
How many times have I tied into a rope?
As many time as I've untied. Except five or six times when I was too pumped to untie and somebody did it for me while both of us laughed.
How many times have I tried to climb something I didn't think I had it in me to climb that day--and then somehow made it to the top? More times than I've fallen off when I was sure I wasn't going to.
How many times have I had a hard time turning the key in the ignition after a day's climbing? Enough to recognize that peculiar feeling and smile with recognition, like tasting something from childhood that I'd totally forgotten about.
How many times have I gone climbing with someone and had a really good time? So many that I've forgotten half their names but none of the feelings.
How many times have I gotten so excited to see someone else send something hard for them that I completely forgot everything else? More times than I've watched someone stroll up something hard for me and felt bitter about it.
How many times has it been hard to put my hands into hot water? More times than the scars I wear with pride.
How many times have I seen some pathetic punk curse as he falls off a hard route or boulder problem? Enough to recognize that punk as myself on a bad day.
How many people have I seen give their absolute best while climbing and their absolute worst on the ground? Enough to know that climbing brings out the best in us.
How many times have I swung an ice tool and waited to hear its sound? Enough to know that it's still important, each and every time.
How many times have I stopped climbing for months at a time? Enough to know that it always feels good when I start up again.
How many times have I chosen to stuff my feet into how many pairs of rock shoes and go through how many barrels of chalk just to get to the top of a rock I could have walked around to the back side of? Enough to know I'll keep doing it for as long as I live.
How many times? Who cares, better go climbing.
Monday, April 28, 2008
North Face of Tang Keng Poche goes down
This spring two of my buds went over to Nepal to climb a new line on the south face of Annapurna, and decided to warm up with a quick trip up the North Face of Teng Kang Poche. I was over there a few years ago trying that face, we were rejected due to poor ice, danger and perhaps a lack of understanding about how the Himalaya worked. Make that a definite lack of understanding about the biggest mountain range in the world.
Ueli Steck just emailed me--he and Simon Anthamatten sent the face in three days, alpine style. A PROUD send and likely one of the bigger hard routes in the Himalaya. Congratulations to both of them!
Now I don't feel obligated to one day go back. It's a weird sense of relief mixed with respect and pride for my friends, and a bit of, "Dang, wish I'd done that!" They did the line in the very best possible style, something we didn't think we could do in the conditions we had. More likely, we lacked the commitment to gamble as hard as Ueli and Simon, as well as the outrageous fitness the Swiss are running (I saw that fitness last fall when they were living in my basement for a few weeks, yeah!).
There are moments in life when things are right for going big, and I'll always feel a little regret that I couldn't create such a moment with my team in Nepal. On the other hand we didn't die on the face, and it's a beautiful spring day here in Canmore. These are the things we balance as climbers, and I firmly believe it's better to run away and keep climbing for a long time than to push when the vibe isn't there. It does make my decision from years ago feel "right" when Simon and Ueli do such a good job, somehow this just makes sense to me. The line has been tried a lot with all kinds of tactics, to see it get done in the best possible style is very cool. It also confirms that my initial dream of going at it fast and light was possible; I started to think of other alternatives given the dangers we saw, so better for it to be done well the first time in my mind.
Now go big on Annapurna Team Swiss, but always leave a little room so you can come back to Canmore and beat around here with the old guy one day in the future.
Best,
WG
Ueli Steck just emailed me--he and Simon Anthamatten sent the face in three days, alpine style. A PROUD send and likely one of the bigger hard routes in the Himalaya. Congratulations to both of them!
Now I don't feel obligated to one day go back. It's a weird sense of relief mixed with respect and pride for my friends, and a bit of, "Dang, wish I'd done that!" They did the line in the very best possible style, something we didn't think we could do in the conditions we had. More likely, we lacked the commitment to gamble as hard as Ueli and Simon, as well as the outrageous fitness the Swiss are running (I saw that fitness last fall when they were living in my basement for a few weeks, yeah!).
There are moments in life when things are right for going big, and I'll always feel a little regret that I couldn't create such a moment with my team in Nepal. On the other hand we didn't die on the face, and it's a beautiful spring day here in Canmore. These are the things we balance as climbers, and I firmly believe it's better to run away and keep climbing for a long time than to push when the vibe isn't there. It does make my decision from years ago feel "right" when Simon and Ueli do such a good job, somehow this just makes sense to me. The line has been tried a lot with all kinds of tactics, to see it get done in the best possible style is very cool. It also confirms that my initial dream of going at it fast and light was possible; I started to think of other alternatives given the dangers we saw, so better for it to be done well the first time in my mind.
Now go big on Annapurna Team Swiss, but always leave a little room so you can come back to Canmore and beat around here with the old guy one day in the future.
Best,
WG
Monday, April 21, 2008
Climbing area review
I am so psyched to climb that I can barely stand it. My knee is totally jacked (meniscus tear) which makes it a little more difficult, but the rest of my body is good so I've been out on the ice a bit (yep, it's still ice time here in the Rockies!) but mainly hitting various climbing gyms around North America as I've had to travel a bunch lately for paragliding clinics, speaking, a TV show and some other stuff. I look forward to climbing in new gyms almost as much as new crags. Here are some "mini" reviews of a few of the gyms I've been into lately:
Joe Rockhead's, Toronto:
I first climbed here almost 20 years ago with the owners, the Bergman's, and it's gotten better since then for sure. I was in town for a TV show (CBC's "Test the Nation," which was a bit weird), and ended up taking two fellow contestants, both Olympic medalists, along with me for the pump. The curler did slightly better than the speed skater (his legs were a definite disadvantage!), but both had talent and had a great time. Introducing people to climbing is just fun. Anyhow, Rockhead's has good bouldering, good lead climbing, good lighting, decent ventilation. A good spread of problems, and good training facilities for any level of climber. Nice to see Brian still at after all these years, yeah! My only complaint with this gym involved the front desk staff; maybe it's a Toronto thing, but surly staff seemed the norm around the city. The guys working in the gym were great, and I ended up doing a demo climb for a local high school group. How cool is it have a high school PE class in the climbing gym?!
Portland Rock Gym, Portland:
I used to hang a bit with the owner way back in the day, and ended up getting a savage pump with Gary. For some reason I'm always psyched to see other "lifers" still at the climbing game with the same level of enthusiasm as we had 20 years ago. I was flying in and out of Portland for about ten days (family in Hood River and speaking/clinics elsewhere), so I hit the gym up about four times while heading to and from the airport. This gym had the best bouldering of any gym I've been in recently, lots of variety in the problems and excellent modern route setting. There's a good lead scene too, but I never tied into a rope, the bouldering was just too much fun! You can tell there are some seriously strong climbers setting problems here, but even the "V0" problems were well-set in general. I especially liked the mantle problem--it starts with a big dyno, and I thought I was done when I hit the rail finally. Then a local helpfully pointed out that it kept going with a clean mantle onto the rail... Doh! Super good scene, motivated but not pretentious, I often wound up bouldering with a new crew of friendly locals. The natural and electric lights are really nice, this is just a first-class operation.
Vertical World and Stone Gardens, Seattle:
I was teaching a paragliding clinic in Seattle and wound up staying for a couple of extra days so I got to climb in both of Seattle's major gyms. They are very different; Vertical World (VW) is focused primarily on lead climbing, while Stone Gardens has OK roped climbing but the bouldering is definitely better. I found the lead route-setting at Vertical World to be fully retro; part of it is that most of the holds were new in about 1995 or so, but the movement tended to be jerky with minimal footholds--classic "early 90s" setting. One of the fastest ways to tell what era a gym is setting in is to look at the number of footholds compared to the number of handholds; a good setter will often use about twice as many small footholds as handholds. I think the person who really figured this out was Mike Pont, head setter at Paradise in Denver in the 90s. His routes really flowed and often felt like real rock. The grades at Vertical World also redefine "sandbag;" I have fun doing a psychological profile of route setters based on their routes, and I got the sense that the route setters were super strong and younger but likely hadn't been climbing for more than a half decade, and that there wasn't a strong "knowledge transfer/training" program for the setters. I told my profile to my partner, and she said that was about right. One 11c was much closer to 12c. Grades shouldn't matter (it's plastic, right?) but they do. Most of the climbers in Vertical World also tended to be older and primarily interested in training for "outside" climbing. Temperatures were also tropical, but you can't take your shirt off. I don't take my shirt off to expose my fish-belly body to other climbers, I take it off 'cause it's HOT. I considered getting a sports bra and a thong to meet the dress code, but Christian Griffith couldn't hit Fedex in time for me to have some fun with the dress code.
Stone Gardens: This place rocks. Tons of well-set problems on an excellent variety of angles, with some longer traverses and highballs that kept the game interesting. I climbed here twice and met locals both times, there was always a nice "Give 'er!!!" psyche with no attitude. SG definitely has really good bouldering structures; the more I climb in gyms the more I think terrain is at least as important as setting. Without both the gym won't be "great." Gym design has come a long way in the last 15 years, a well-designed bouldering area would look a lot like SG's. But without modern setting and holds even good terrain won't make for a good bouldering experience. You can take your shirt off in SG too. I had two psycho bouldering sessions here, the kind where you walk out with your skin blown and your head hanging loosely 'cause you're too pounded to hold it up. If I lived in Seattle I'd be pretty happy with this gym.
I'm finally back home, and went out to Marble Canyon yesterday. I did a nice long mixed pitch that started with a few bolts of overhanging grunting before a run-out thin ice section into some really cool pillars. It was brutal to pull so hard while cold, and I had the usual "This is NEVER going to work" feeling as I pulled off the ground on the mixed start. But I had some power from the month's bouldering and locked off, reached a few times and then got a super cool stick into the side of a two-inch thick "pipe" of ice. I love that sort of thin ice move, and it was reasonably safe. The next 15 feet of thin ice might have had bolts hidden under the ice but I couldn't see them, it was suddenly pretty real and I was pumped. Tick, tick, gentle, smooth, and that first full-depth "Thunk!" stick, loved it. Wicked! EJ stayed calm on the belay, and the rest of the route was just super fun. EJ did his first grade 5 lead which was super fun to watch, and it was an all-around fine day of climbing. Now I'm gonna say something "stupid:" I've had as much fun climbing in the gyms as that day in Marble. I love fighting through the, "I can't do that!" feeling whether it's on a plastic mantle or a run-out thin ice section, it's all the same game and I love it. I have no good reason for why I'm still fired up to climb rock, ice, plastic or whatever, I just like going up. May your spring involve going UP!
WG
Joe Rockhead's, Toronto:
I first climbed here almost 20 years ago with the owners, the Bergman's, and it's gotten better since then for sure. I was in town for a TV show (CBC's "Test the Nation," which was a bit weird), and ended up taking two fellow contestants, both Olympic medalists, along with me for the pump. The curler did slightly better than the speed skater (his legs were a definite disadvantage!), but both had talent and had a great time. Introducing people to climbing is just fun. Anyhow, Rockhead's has good bouldering, good lead climbing, good lighting, decent ventilation. A good spread of problems, and good training facilities for any level of climber. Nice to see Brian still at after all these years, yeah! My only complaint with this gym involved the front desk staff; maybe it's a Toronto thing, but surly staff seemed the norm around the city. The guys working in the gym were great, and I ended up doing a demo climb for a local high school group. How cool is it have a high school PE class in the climbing gym?!
Portland Rock Gym, Portland:
I used to hang a bit with the owner way back in the day, and ended up getting a savage pump with Gary. For some reason I'm always psyched to see other "lifers" still at the climbing game with the same level of enthusiasm as we had 20 years ago. I was flying in and out of Portland for about ten days (family in Hood River and speaking/clinics elsewhere), so I hit the gym up about four times while heading to and from the airport. This gym had the best bouldering of any gym I've been in recently, lots of variety in the problems and excellent modern route setting. There's a good lead scene too, but I never tied into a rope, the bouldering was just too much fun! You can tell there are some seriously strong climbers setting problems here, but even the "V0" problems were well-set in general. I especially liked the mantle problem--it starts with a big dyno, and I thought I was done when I hit the rail finally. Then a local helpfully pointed out that it kept going with a clean mantle onto the rail... Doh! Super good scene, motivated but not pretentious, I often wound up bouldering with a new crew of friendly locals. The natural and electric lights are really nice, this is just a first-class operation.
Vertical World and Stone Gardens, Seattle:
I was teaching a paragliding clinic in Seattle and wound up staying for a couple of extra days so I got to climb in both of Seattle's major gyms. They are very different; Vertical World (VW) is focused primarily on lead climbing, while Stone Gardens has OK roped climbing but the bouldering is definitely better. I found the lead route-setting at Vertical World to be fully retro; part of it is that most of the holds were new in about 1995 or so, but the movement tended to be jerky with minimal footholds--classic "early 90s" setting. One of the fastest ways to tell what era a gym is setting in is to look at the number of footholds compared to the number of handholds; a good setter will often use about twice as many small footholds as handholds. I think the person who really figured this out was Mike Pont, head setter at Paradise in Denver in the 90s. His routes really flowed and often felt like real rock. The grades at Vertical World also redefine "sandbag;" I have fun doing a psychological profile of route setters based on their routes, and I got the sense that the route setters were super strong and younger but likely hadn't been climbing for more than a half decade, and that there wasn't a strong "knowledge transfer/training" program for the setters. I told my profile to my partner, and she said that was about right. One 11c was much closer to 12c. Grades shouldn't matter (it's plastic, right?) but they do. Most of the climbers in Vertical World also tended to be older and primarily interested in training for "outside" climbing. Temperatures were also tropical, but you can't take your shirt off. I don't take my shirt off to expose my fish-belly body to other climbers, I take it off 'cause it's HOT. I considered getting a sports bra and a thong to meet the dress code, but Christian Griffith couldn't hit Fedex in time for me to have some fun with the dress code.
Stone Gardens: This place rocks. Tons of well-set problems on an excellent variety of angles, with some longer traverses and highballs that kept the game interesting. I climbed here twice and met locals both times, there was always a nice "Give 'er!!!" psyche with no attitude. SG definitely has really good bouldering structures; the more I climb in gyms the more I think terrain is at least as important as setting. Without both the gym won't be "great." Gym design has come a long way in the last 15 years, a well-designed bouldering area would look a lot like SG's. But without modern setting and holds even good terrain won't make for a good bouldering experience. You can take your shirt off in SG too. I had two psycho bouldering sessions here, the kind where you walk out with your skin blown and your head hanging loosely 'cause you're too pounded to hold it up. If I lived in Seattle I'd be pretty happy with this gym.
I'm finally back home, and went out to Marble Canyon yesterday. I did a nice long mixed pitch that started with a few bolts of overhanging grunting before a run-out thin ice section into some really cool pillars. It was brutal to pull so hard while cold, and I had the usual "This is NEVER going to work" feeling as I pulled off the ground on the mixed start. But I had some power from the month's bouldering and locked off, reached a few times and then got a super cool stick into the side of a two-inch thick "pipe" of ice. I love that sort of thin ice move, and it was reasonably safe. The next 15 feet of thin ice might have had bolts hidden under the ice but I couldn't see them, it was suddenly pretty real and I was pumped. Tick, tick, gentle, smooth, and that first full-depth "Thunk!" stick, loved it. Wicked! EJ stayed calm on the belay, and the rest of the route was just super fun. EJ did his first grade 5 lead which was super fun to watch, and it was an all-around fine day of climbing. Now I'm gonna say something "stupid:" I've had as much fun climbing in the gyms as that day in Marble. I love fighting through the, "I can't do that!" feeling whether it's on a plastic mantle or a run-out thin ice section, it's all the same game and I love it. I have no good reason for why I'm still fired up to climb rock, ice, plastic or whatever, I just like going up. May your spring involve going UP!
WG
Monday, March 10, 2008
Wapta in a day: chasing the "A.M.s"
I first went up onto the Wapta Icefields when I was 12 or so. It was a powerful experience; big terrain, cold, warm huts, good people, all the things I like. I've been back up there a half-dozen times over the years and always enjoyed it. For those who aren't familiar with the Wapta Icefields, it's a huge area of connected glaciers just north of Lake Louise. A mega-classic ski tour crosses the Wapta via four nicely spaced huts; most people spend somewhere between three and five days skiing the roughly 55km trip. This is a fairly relaxed pace, and allows time for forays up various peaks and some nice skiing without a pack. The Wapta is one of the reasons I like living in Canada; it's a wild, remote area with burly peaks and fierce weather. I've seen it go from sunny and pleasant to the proverbial "inside of a ping pong ball" in under an hour. If the weather goes sideways route-finding can involve throwing a colored string on the snow in front of you to see the terrain in addition to the usual compass/GPS work. But on a fine day there is no more scenic and stellar place to be than high on the Wapta.
A couple of years ago Josh, Darryl and I skied the whole traverse from Peyto Lake to West Louise in a day. We choose to use light NNN gear we rented from Gear Up; heavy AT or Telemark gear seemed too slow to really move on. We left the car very early in the morning in late March or so and did the traverse in just under 11 hours. We were pretty tired , but I'd been doing a lot of long days in the mountains that year and felt pretty good on the whole traverse, just idling along without pushing too much. Watching that much great snow and scenery go by was fantastic; peaks just visible in the distance are suddenly off your shoulder, and new vistas are always just over the next roll of snow or pass.
Last week I saw my friend Phil in downtown Cannmore. Phil is a certified "AM," or aerobic monster; ex-Canadian Nordic team, regular winner of psycho trail running races, that kind of guy. He also wants to do more mountain sports action, and a plan was hatched to do the Wapta in a day but try to go a little faster. Phil spends a lot of his winter on nordic skis, and I've been out about ten times this season so I was feeling pretty solid on 'em. In retrospect, ten or so trips out on the skis with my kid on my back does not a nordic season make. Another friend, Graham, also wound up on the trip. He's done the Wapta a few times, and is also an aerobic monster. He was one of Canada's top Nordic guys when younger, but opted out of the racing scene. He now works as a ski tech for the Canadian National Nordic team and skis a lot all winter long in addition just generally giving it. So I had two aerobic monsters lined up; I was sure records were going to fall, the AMs would break trail and I'd cruise along in back swigging Red Bulls and enjoying the scenery. Ignorance is bliss.
We left the car at 9:30 and dealt with the initial cruise down and across Peyto Lake. This is when I realized I was in trouble; the two Aerobic Monsters took off like scalded cats with perfect Nordic technique. I chased 'em with less than perfect technique. We were all using gear from Phil's collection of light back country gear (Phil also runs X-C.com, a nordic demo and race team so he has stacks of good light gear), and the waxless system wasn't gripping too much. No worries, breathe, up the moraine, down onto the glacier, wax the waxless skis (don't argue with the Canadian Team tech about what wax is best for waxless skis, it's blue over purple over fish scales of course) past the Peyto hut, across glacier, over the col, down to Balfour hut. No real stops, going for me pretty hard the whole time while chasing the AMs... A cutting wind from the right blew enough snow to reduce visibility and cause a frosty right cheek but nothing serious. I grooved on the teamwork and blue glaciers and peaks, that's why I do this sort of thing. It was the pace that was killing me!
At Balfour hut we met up with Josh, who I had done the tour with two years earlier and was up on the Wapta training for his ski guide's exam with a bud. Josh had some water sorted for us, thanks! We stopped just long enough to refuel and jury rig some ancient skins to the skis for the climb up to Balfour col. I had a whole box of narrow skins left over from back in the day when I used to tele ski; with some tape they fit perfectly. We'd now been out at it for about five hours, and I was suffering hard on the 2,000 foot climb up to Balfour col. The wind was blowing, and some clouds were moving in. The light went flat enough that the skis glowed against the snow, which was at times about all we could see. But there were remnants of old tracks, and Graham punched it to the top of the col to get a bearing toward the Scott Duncan before the weather totally imploded. I gasped upwards and arrived there a few minutes after Phil and Graham, not so bad considering my leg flexors were screaming and I was upchucking regularly... Luckily the weather relented, and we had a good cruise down to the Scott Duncan hut. By cruise I mean double-poling, kicking, and generally not allowing anything as restful as simply sliding along down the gentle downhill grade...
From the Scot Duncan hut we had a short section of uphill (no reason to slow down any for that though), chase the AMs some more, then finally some serious downhill to Sherbrook lake. The skiing was pretty industrial on a sun-baked breakable crust, but the light gear worked surprisingly well. You can ski just fine on really light gear if you tele and don't mind falling down occasionally. Then it was a pinball-style careen down the creek and onto the obnoxiously flat lake. I sorta thought we might start just cruising as we were no longer in danger of the weather shutting us down and we were relatively close the car, but no, the AMs kicked it up a gear and I chased. Right on the nose of eight hours after leaving the car we were back at Phil's truck. I was crushed physically but stoked on the trip--even though I spent a lot of the time gasping it's still a fine memory of a huge amount of terrain in such a short period of time. I would NEVER have moved that well without Phil and Graham setting the pace out front. It was nice to see they were also at least tired--and even talking about taking a rest day. Just to put things in perspective, Phil did a race and then skied an additional 30 or so K the day before we did the Wapta, and Graham ran up Lady Mac (about 1,000M) and back down. There is "fit" and then there is Fit.
There's a rumour that the Wapta has been skated in under seven hours at night; that would be a cool way to do it. We still had full winter conditions with some light trailbreaking and generally fluffy snow, but maybe if I train a ton for the next month and the AMs are up for it...
I did learn a few things on this trip that I'm looking forward to applying in the future. First, super light gear is the way to go. When I was a kid that's what I skied on, and it always worked just fine. We passed several parties slogging with AT gear, the difference between a light NNN or equivalent setup and that is night and day for really moving. Maybe super-light AT race gear would also work, but that gear isn't double-cambered and doesn't kick as well in general. Second, I'm never using waxless skis again, they don't glide or stick as well. I've tried three different brands, the waxless idea is nice but it just isn't as good as wax and skis for the steep bits. I think we could have cut 20 minutes or more off our time with waxable skis. I'm going looking for the ultimate light backcountry setup. It's temping to use full classic race gear, but the descents would be pretty tough on that with the breakable crust. You could do it, but I'd worry about breaking the skis--or myself. Second, we did not have ideal conditions but still sent the trip in eight hours. What's possible in 24? The possibilities are cool! I can see a reincarnation of an old sport somewhere here. Right now most people are either using super light gear on the tracks, or relatively heavy AT gear. There's a slot in there for moving well over big distances in the backcountry, perhaps much as those who did the original big Rockies ski traverses used. Light is still right.
Thanks to Phil and Graham for a wicked day of it! And I'm going to train some more...
Phil put his version of the trip up here, cool to read it from another perspective.
March 11 note: I wrote the above while still in some sort of aerobic deficit; I maybe should have mentioned that the Wapta is a pretty serious place in general. I live in the Rockies and the power of the Wapta is well-known around here, but for people not from this area the serious nature of travel on the Wapta is maybe not so obvious from my post. The traverse involves a tremendous amount of travel through tricky glacial terrain (think big holes under the snow--walking on the Wapta in the summer can be frightening when those holes are visible!). We choose a day with a good forecast, and we were fully prepared to retreat quickly if the weather wasn't reasonable. We still carried enough gear (shovels, down jackets, food) that if we were benighted by bad weather or something as simple as a twisted ankle we would have been OK if not exactly comfortable. There have been several deaths and a LOT of stressful epics over the years on the Wapta, it's a full-on place that my post above didn't really do justice to. The only place in the world I've ever frostbitten anything was on the Wapta, and the only time I've ever fallen over while standing still (sober ) due to complete disorientation was in a Wapta whiteout. A GPS, map, compass and some common sense are critical items, as is the knowledge to use them.
A couple of years ago Josh, Darryl and I skied the whole traverse from Peyto Lake to West Louise in a day. We choose to use light NNN gear we rented from Gear Up; heavy AT or Telemark gear seemed too slow to really move on. We left the car very early in the morning in late March or so and did the traverse in just under 11 hours. We were pretty tired , but I'd been doing a lot of long days in the mountains that year and felt pretty good on the whole traverse, just idling along without pushing too much. Watching that much great snow and scenery go by was fantastic; peaks just visible in the distance are suddenly off your shoulder, and new vistas are always just over the next roll of snow or pass.
Last week I saw my friend Phil in downtown Cannmore. Phil is a certified "AM," or aerobic monster; ex-Canadian Nordic team, regular winner of psycho trail running races, that kind of guy. He also wants to do more mountain sports action, and a plan was hatched to do the Wapta in a day but try to go a little faster. Phil spends a lot of his winter on nordic skis, and I've been out about ten times this season so I was feeling pretty solid on 'em. In retrospect, ten or so trips out on the skis with my kid on my back does not a nordic season make. Another friend, Graham, also wound up on the trip. He's done the Wapta a few times, and is also an aerobic monster. He was one of Canada's top Nordic guys when younger, but opted out of the racing scene. He now works as a ski tech for the Canadian National Nordic team and skis a lot all winter long in addition just generally giving it. So I had two aerobic monsters lined up; I was sure records were going to fall, the AMs would break trail and I'd cruise along in back swigging Red Bulls and enjoying the scenery. Ignorance is bliss.
We left the car at 9:30 and dealt with the initial cruise down and across Peyto Lake. This is when I realized I was in trouble; the two Aerobic Monsters took off like scalded cats with perfect Nordic technique. I chased 'em with less than perfect technique. We were all using gear from Phil's collection of light back country gear (Phil also runs X-C.com, a nordic demo and race team so he has stacks of good light gear), and the waxless system wasn't gripping too much. No worries, breathe, up the moraine, down onto the glacier, wax the waxless skis (don't argue with the Canadian Team tech about what wax is best for waxless skis, it's blue over purple over fish scales of course) past the Peyto hut, across glacier, over the col, down to Balfour hut. No real stops, going for me pretty hard the whole time while chasing the AMs... A cutting wind from the right blew enough snow to reduce visibility and cause a frosty right cheek but nothing serious. I grooved on the teamwork and blue glaciers and peaks, that's why I do this sort of thing. It was the pace that was killing me!
At Balfour hut we met up with Josh, who I had done the tour with two years earlier and was up on the Wapta training for his ski guide's exam with a bud. Josh had some water sorted for us, thanks! We stopped just long enough to refuel and jury rig some ancient skins to the skis for the climb up to Balfour col. I had a whole box of narrow skins left over from back in the day when I used to tele ski; with some tape they fit perfectly. We'd now been out at it for about five hours, and I was suffering hard on the 2,000 foot climb up to Balfour col. The wind was blowing, and some clouds were moving in. The light went flat enough that the skis glowed against the snow, which was at times about all we could see. But there were remnants of old tracks, and Graham punched it to the top of the col to get a bearing toward the Scott Duncan before the weather totally imploded. I gasped upwards and arrived there a few minutes after Phil and Graham, not so bad considering my leg flexors were screaming and I was upchucking regularly... Luckily the weather relented, and we had a good cruise down to the Scott Duncan hut. By cruise I mean double-poling, kicking, and generally not allowing anything as restful as simply sliding along down the gentle downhill grade...
From the Scot Duncan hut we had a short section of uphill (no reason to slow down any for that though), chase the AMs some more, then finally some serious downhill to Sherbrook lake. The skiing was pretty industrial on a sun-baked breakable crust, but the light gear worked surprisingly well. You can ski just fine on really light gear if you tele and don't mind falling down occasionally. Then it was a pinball-style careen down the creek and onto the obnoxiously flat lake. I sorta thought we might start just cruising as we were no longer in danger of the weather shutting us down and we were relatively close the car, but no, the AMs kicked it up a gear and I chased. Right on the nose of eight hours after leaving the car we were back at Phil's truck. I was crushed physically but stoked on the trip--even though I spent a lot of the time gasping it's still a fine memory of a huge amount of terrain in such a short period of time. I would NEVER have moved that well without Phil and Graham setting the pace out front. It was nice to see they were also at least tired--and even talking about taking a rest day. Just to put things in perspective, Phil did a race and then skied an additional 30 or so K the day before we did the Wapta, and Graham ran up Lady Mac (about 1,000M) and back down. There is "fit" and then there is Fit.
There's a rumour that the Wapta has been skated in under seven hours at night; that would be a cool way to do it. We still had full winter conditions with some light trailbreaking and generally fluffy snow, but maybe if I train a ton for the next month and the AMs are up for it...
I did learn a few things on this trip that I'm looking forward to applying in the future. First, super light gear is the way to go. When I was a kid that's what I skied on, and it always worked just fine. We passed several parties slogging with AT gear, the difference between a light NNN or equivalent setup and that is night and day for really moving. Maybe super-light AT race gear would also work, but that gear isn't double-cambered and doesn't kick as well in general. Second, I'm never using waxless skis again, they don't glide or stick as well. I've tried three different brands, the waxless idea is nice but it just isn't as good as wax and skis for the steep bits. I think we could have cut 20 minutes or more off our time with waxable skis. I'm going looking for the ultimate light backcountry setup. It's temping to use full classic race gear, but the descents would be pretty tough on that with the breakable crust. You could do it, but I'd worry about breaking the skis--or myself. Second, we did not have ideal conditions but still sent the trip in eight hours. What's possible in 24? The possibilities are cool! I can see a reincarnation of an old sport somewhere here. Right now most people are either using super light gear on the tracks, or relatively heavy AT gear. There's a slot in there for moving well over big distances in the backcountry, perhaps much as those who did the original big Rockies ski traverses used. Light is still right.
Thanks to Phil and Graham for a wicked day of it! And I'm going to train some more...
Phil put his version of the trip up here, cool to read it from another perspective.
March 11 note: I wrote the above while still in some sort of aerobic deficit; I maybe should have mentioned that the Wapta is a pretty serious place in general. I live in the Rockies and the power of the Wapta is well-known around here, but for people not from this area the serious nature of travel on the Wapta is maybe not so obvious from my post. The traverse involves a tremendous amount of travel through tricky glacial terrain (think big holes under the snow--walking on the Wapta in the summer can be frightening when those holes are visible!). We choose a day with a good forecast, and we were fully prepared to retreat quickly if the weather wasn't reasonable. We still carried enough gear (shovels, down jackets, food) that if we were benighted by bad weather or something as simple as a twisted ankle we would have been OK if not exactly comfortable. There have been several deaths and a LOT of stressful epics over the years on the Wapta, it's a full-on place that my post above didn't really do justice to. The only place in the world I've ever frostbitten anything was on the Wapta, and the only time I've ever fallen over while standing still (sober ) due to complete disorientation was in a Wapta whiteout. A GPS, map, compass and some common sense are critical items, as is the knowledge to use them.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Fearless Planet Shows
It's my week to spray about stuff I've done I guess... I've had a bunch of emails (well, mostly from people like my parents) asking where they can get DVDs of the Fearless Planet shows I did last fall for the Discovery Channel. They're finally for sale here. The show has run all over the world--except Canada. I guess we can't handle it or something? But now we can at least get the DVDs here, which is somehting. It's odd to do media with Asia one night and then have to say to a Canadian reporter, "Sorry, you can't see the show in Canada unless you have some sort of super satellite system..." I actually didn't see all the shows myself until last week!
The shows aren't perfect, but after actually watching them all I'm pretty happy with them. When I do my own shows I have a lot of control over everything from cameramen to locations (mostly I do my shows to have some fun in a cool place), but for a big series like this I was "just" the talent. I learned more about production and myself doing these shows than I have in years, it was intense. There's always a story behind every TV show; what you see on the screen is just the end product of a lot of tough decisions and bartering between the production company, the channel, the writers, the editors, producers, etc. Everybody I worked with on those shows from Impossible Pictures to the geologists to the heli pilots was a solid professional I'd happily work with again, and you can't always say that. The other night Peter Hausseler, the geologist I worked with in Alaska, was through town and we hooked up to go speed skating on the Calgary Oval. He's a dedicated speed skater who competes internationally in addition to being a bad-ass geologist; I'd never been on speed skates before. I was sore, but that's the sort of person involved in the show, and I'm proud to have worked him and everyone else.
And I'm continuing to climb and ski, it feels like the start of the season after so much time down with injuries, yeah! I hope everyone is getting out lots.
The shows aren't perfect, but after actually watching them all I'm pretty happy with them. When I do my own shows I have a lot of control over everything from cameramen to locations (mostly I do my shows to have some fun in a cool place), but for a big series like this I was "just" the talent. I learned more about production and myself doing these shows than I have in years, it was intense. There's always a story behind every TV show; what you see on the screen is just the end product of a lot of tough decisions and bartering between the production company, the channel, the writers, the editors, producers, etc. Everybody I worked with on those shows from Impossible Pictures to the geologists to the heli pilots was a solid professional I'd happily work with again, and you can't always say that. The other night Peter Hausseler, the geologist I worked with in Alaska, was through town and we hooked up to go speed skating on the Calgary Oval. He's a dedicated speed skater who competes internationally in addition to being a bad-ass geologist; I'd never been on speed skates before. I was sore, but that's the sort of person involved in the show, and I'm proud to have worked him and everyone else.
And I'm continuing to climb and ski, it feels like the start of the season after so much time down with injuries, yeah! I hope everyone is getting out lots.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Cross-Country Paragliding Clinics in March, April and July
The schedule is coming together for a bit of a spring tour on the West coast. I've been teaching cross-country paragliding clinics for about ten years, it's a lot of fun and I always leave the courses excited to fly. I think I've become a far better pilot through these clinics; if you want to really understand something just try teaching it.
The clinics are two-day events, with a "get fired up to fly" show on the night of the first day. Each day starts with about two hours of discussion, then we go fly, then debrief in the evening. Just about anyone with the minimum of a basic PG license will get a lot out of the clinics. I help each participant develop a better "mental model" in his or her head for flying XC. The ideal mental model gives the longest possible flight on a given day with the least amount of unplanned risk. I start each clinic with a general overview of how the sky works, and how to stay in it, and then move to narrower and narrower topics until we're finally talking about how to modulate glider pressure on glide with the bar . I know these clinics work from the emails I receive from past participants--even years later. And I know they work because I'm a better pilot after every clinic too. Each clinic is planned around the people in the clinic; if one group wants more information on flight planning and one wants more on competing then I'll shift the focus around as desired.
I often get asked, "So when are you doing XC clinics? And how come I don't know about them?"
Here's the answer, hope to see a few people there! Please contact the schools directly to book a place in the clinics, I don't do the bookings. Do feel free to email me with any questions about course content or whatever, thanks.
April 5th-8th: two sessions with Jeff Greenbaum through Airtime. Clinics to be held toward Fresno. Contact info:
April 12-14: One session with Seattle's top school, Seattle Paragliding. Contact Info:
End of July: XC Clinic with Muller Windsports, Contact Info.
Fly safe enough,
WG
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
An interesting read on risk
Check it out.
I don't completely agree with the author's take on why young men (and I think he dismisses the risk taking of young women far too quickly) engage in risky behaviour, but I enjoyed his perspective. Thanks to Rob Crowley on the PG Forum for the link.
I don't completely agree with the author's take on why young men (and I think he dismisses the risk taking of young women far too quickly) engage in risky behaviour, but I enjoyed his perspective. Thanks to Rob Crowley on the PG Forum for the link.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Ice Mines Wins at Vancouver Festival
Last year Andreas Spak, Daniel Karlsson and a crew of characters went and climbed underground ice in Sweden. It was an insane trip for many reasons but also totally rewarding. We made a few cuts of the film for various TV programs (NBC, Discovery, Rush HD), but I was most happy with the film festival cut--that's the one we made for our friends in the outdoor world. I just received an email from the Vancouver Mountain Film Festival, that film fest cut for "Best Canadian Mountaineering Film," yeah! Nice to see the hard work from Dave Brown, Ben Pritchard, Christian Pondella, Emerge Media (editing, graphics and general Gadd-wrangling as usual) and other friends recognized, especially here in Canada. So nice work team underground!
For those who haven't seen the film, we basically found the largest concentration of insane ice I've ever seen anywhere. Unfortunately, it's underground, dangerous to access/climb and in Sweden. But the future of ice climbing in a warming world is for sure dark!
WG
For those who haven't seen the film, we basically found the largest concentration of insane ice I've ever seen anywhere. Unfortunately, it's underground, dangerous to access/climb and in Sweden. But the future of ice climbing in a warming world is for sure dark!
WG
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Climbing, Performance
After a long absence due to various injuries, I finally got out climbing on Sunday. We wanted to keep it simple, so we hiked from my house up Cougar Creek to the mixed area there. That's one of the things I feel I've done right in life (lots wrong too)--to live someplace where I can walk to winter and summer climbing. It's not "stellar," but it is climbing, and there's something satisfying about putting my boots on in my house and then walking to climbing. No big deal maybe, but I feel pretty lucky about that.
Anyhow, it was just nice to be out crunching through the snow with an armed pack on my back. SS and I have climbed together for years, and generally have if not fun at least some sort of rewarding experience when we go out. Actually, I can't think of one outing that wasn't fun. At the crag it was surprisingly cold--we were all excited about the supposed above-freezing temps, but it was windy and definitely tip-of-nose cold at the crag. The last time I'd climbed at this crag I'd been in really good shape; now I'm in decent all-around shape but not very good climbing shape. Scot led; I wanted to see how my collarbone and other injuries would do under load on a top-rope. He had a bit of a battle due to the cold. I definitely think we adapt to the cold; we were both laughing about how cold it felt and how "numb" we were. By the 10th trip or so of the winter I can deal with cold temps easily, but those first couple of trips are rough, and this was my first time out in the cold since Ouray, which wasn't cold...
I followed the pitch and was so awkward at first, moving like a dog on a skating rink. Then it started to flow a bit as I relaxed. I have a hard time rolling my shoulder from extended to locked off, but other than that it wasn't too bad. I got pumped stupid on a route I'd hiked on the on-sight last time, but the layers of cotton wool in my mind were almost gone by the top of the pitch, and I started to forget the nerves and just move (except when my shoulder creaked, that little bone is still moving around a bit). I was still cold and awkward, but there was a glimmer of climbing and not just scrabbling.
The sun finally came out, and suddenly we were moving more fluidly, warm, comfortable and just enjoying the day. That's what's so cool about climbing--it can go from absolutely brutal to sheer fun in moments, as well as the other way. We didn't climb all that much, but it sure was fun to be outside swinging and hooking tools, feeling the mountains, and doing what I really love to do. Yeah! May everyone get outside!
Performance:
I've been thinking a lot about what performance means, and come to the conclusion that a "good performance" in most outdoor sports means two things: First, a feeling you are doing the sport well for you. To put it another way, the act of doing the sport feels relatively inhibition free. You just do it. When you start and finish a section or an entire route and then suddenly remember that there's something else in life than what you're doing at the moment. This is internal. Second, there's the external measuring stick of time, grades, distance, what I call the "numeric" side of performance. When these two things are both "successful" then you're operating at a high performance level for you. If you do your local run in the evening and it feels really smooth and like you haven't had to try that hard but your time is two minutes faster then you've nailed it. If you go for a run and fight for every hill and your time is two minutes slower then you've had a low-performance day.
The final part of performance for me is then measuring my "numeric" performance with others. This is where it gets weird. If you're climbing 5.10 and then hike a 5.11 that's been giving you grief then you're a rock star in your own athletic world, and you've had a great performance. Drink a beer! But compared to Sonnie Trotter, well, you suck. Or do you? I suspect that if Sonnie were to have a battle on a 13a he would feel like he hadn't performed that well (or he'd laugh about it then send a 14a, he's Sonnie). Or maybe if a climber of Sonnie's caliber battled on an "easy" 14a redpoint he would be performing at a level that was incredibly high for most of the world, but might not be satisfying from a sheer performance perspective for him. But if he sends the hardest crack in the world his feelings about his performance might not be all that different from buddy who sent the 11a... There have been a few times where I've done something at the edge of the numeric envelope at the time. I had to try really hard, but when I did it I felt like it wasn't so hard. I had a good performance.
I think that we all mostly know when we've had a great performance, and when we haven't. I saw a great performance in Ouray when Will Mayo dropped one tool in the comp and then kept climbing for move after move. The crowd knew that it was a great performance. Same with Rich Marshall (I think Rich performed about the best of anyone in the comp--he doesn't have the power of the Euros, but he was performing very well). We've all been in the gym when some young kid or old punter does something that's clearly very cool--you can feel the psyche of a great performance, even if it's a V4 used as an easy warm up by the bad-asses.
It's something to think about--I often hear climbers (including me) bitch themselves out when they can't do a "lowly plastic V4! Damn, I suck!" No, they don't have the skills, or they aren't performing well at all. The more useful mental trick is to think, "Yep, my performance sucked. Why?" I've also seen climbers have magnificent performances and then deride the fact it took them so long or whatever. This strikes me as self-defeating and just wrong. They are letting an exterior numeric system define their performance, instead of looking at their own performance honestly. I think that, for me, the goal is to perform the best I can at whatever I'm doing. On good days when I'm well-trained that may be pretty high against the sport's numeric standards. But I actually performed pretty well in Cougar Creek by redpointing an m8 I'd onsighted easily... I'm not arguing for accepting lower standards, but for a realism in accepting and analyzing personal performance. If you're a world-class athlete like Sonnie, then focusing on your best personal performance may mean a new numeric standard. If you're a 5.9 climber who sends a multi-pitch 5.10 with no falls then that's every bit as cool as Sonnie's efforts, right on. If you're a 5.9 climber who falls off a 5.8 'cause you forgot to look at your feet then your performance sucked... Bottom line, if you want to get better or something then you've got to set higher performance standards and go after them. But I feel like I need to focus on the quality of my performance first, and the improvements will come as I get better at performing... There's the psychological idea of "dissonance," where your view of how the world should be doesn't meet what you're actually experiencing. If you really analyze and honestly figure out where your own performance is and was then there's less dissonance, and perhaps more chance to actually perform well in the long run. No one has a "right" to perform at a certain level, we get to a high level by developing our performances incrementally and with honest introspection. Starting to write like a new-age wanker so enough of that, we all need to shut up and perform. And recognize when we do, and do more of whatever led to that performance state...
WG
PS--and sorry to use Sonnie as an example, for some reason he just came into my mind as I writing this. I like his attitude, he is almost always psyched on climbing, both his and others. Hope you're performing well and having fun Sonnie!
Anyhow, it was just nice to be out crunching through the snow with an armed pack on my back. SS and I have climbed together for years, and generally have if not fun at least some sort of rewarding experience when we go out. Actually, I can't think of one outing that wasn't fun. At the crag it was surprisingly cold--we were all excited about the supposed above-freezing temps, but it was windy and definitely tip-of-nose cold at the crag. The last time I'd climbed at this crag I'd been in really good shape; now I'm in decent all-around shape but not very good climbing shape. Scot led; I wanted to see how my collarbone and other injuries would do under load on a top-rope. He had a bit of a battle due to the cold. I definitely think we adapt to the cold; we were both laughing about how cold it felt and how "numb" we were. By the 10th trip or so of the winter I can deal with cold temps easily, but those first couple of trips are rough, and this was my first time out in the cold since Ouray, which wasn't cold...
I followed the pitch and was so awkward at first, moving like a dog on a skating rink. Then it started to flow a bit as I relaxed. I have a hard time rolling my shoulder from extended to locked off, but other than that it wasn't too bad. I got pumped stupid on a route I'd hiked on the on-sight last time, but the layers of cotton wool in my mind were almost gone by the top of the pitch, and I started to forget the nerves and just move (except when my shoulder creaked, that little bone is still moving around a bit). I was still cold and awkward, but there was a glimmer of climbing and not just scrabbling.
The sun finally came out, and suddenly we were moving more fluidly, warm, comfortable and just enjoying the day. That's what's so cool about climbing--it can go from absolutely brutal to sheer fun in moments, as well as the other way. We didn't climb all that much, but it sure was fun to be outside swinging and hooking tools, feeling the mountains, and doing what I really love to do. Yeah! May everyone get outside!
Performance:
I've been thinking a lot about what performance means, and come to the conclusion that a "good performance" in most outdoor sports means two things: First, a feeling you are doing the sport well for you. To put it another way, the act of doing the sport feels relatively inhibition free. You just do it. When you start and finish a section or an entire route and then suddenly remember that there's something else in life than what you're doing at the moment. This is internal. Second, there's the external measuring stick of time, grades, distance, what I call the "numeric" side of performance. When these two things are both "successful" then you're operating at a high performance level for you. If you do your local run in the evening and it feels really smooth and like you haven't had to try that hard but your time is two minutes faster then you've nailed it. If you go for a run and fight for every hill and your time is two minutes slower then you've had a low-performance day.
The final part of performance for me is then measuring my "numeric" performance with others. This is where it gets weird. If you're climbing 5.10 and then hike a 5.11 that's been giving you grief then you're a rock star in your own athletic world, and you've had a great performance. Drink a beer! But compared to Sonnie Trotter, well, you suck. Or do you? I suspect that if Sonnie were to have a battle on a 13a he would feel like he hadn't performed that well (or he'd laugh about it then send a 14a, he's Sonnie). Or maybe if a climber of Sonnie's caliber battled on an "easy" 14a redpoint he would be performing at a level that was incredibly high for most of the world, but might not be satisfying from a sheer performance perspective for him. But if he sends the hardest crack in the world his feelings about his performance might not be all that different from buddy who sent the 11a... There have been a few times where I've done something at the edge of the numeric envelope at the time. I had to try really hard, but when I did it I felt like it wasn't so hard. I had a good performance.
I think that we all mostly know when we've had a great performance, and when we haven't. I saw a great performance in Ouray when Will Mayo dropped one tool in the comp and then kept climbing for move after move. The crowd knew that it was a great performance. Same with Rich Marshall (I think Rich performed about the best of anyone in the comp--he doesn't have the power of the Euros, but he was performing very well). We've all been in the gym when some young kid or old punter does something that's clearly very cool--you can feel the psyche of a great performance, even if it's a V4 used as an easy warm up by the bad-asses.
It's something to think about--I often hear climbers (including me) bitch themselves out when they can't do a "lowly plastic V4! Damn, I suck!" No, they don't have the skills, or they aren't performing well at all. The more useful mental trick is to think, "Yep, my performance sucked. Why?" I've also seen climbers have magnificent performances and then deride the fact it took them so long or whatever. This strikes me as self-defeating and just wrong. They are letting an exterior numeric system define their performance, instead of looking at their own performance honestly. I think that, for me, the goal is to perform the best I can at whatever I'm doing. On good days when I'm well-trained that may be pretty high against the sport's numeric standards. But I actually performed pretty well in Cougar Creek by redpointing an m8 I'd onsighted easily... I'm not arguing for accepting lower standards, but for a realism in accepting and analyzing personal performance. If you're a world-class athlete like Sonnie, then focusing on your best personal performance may mean a new numeric standard. If you're a 5.9 climber who sends a multi-pitch 5.10 with no falls then that's every bit as cool as Sonnie's efforts, right on. If you're a 5.9 climber who falls off a 5.8 'cause you forgot to look at your feet then your performance sucked... Bottom line, if you want to get better or something then you've got to set higher performance standards and go after them. But I feel like I need to focus on the quality of my performance first, and the improvements will come as I get better at performing... There's the psychological idea of "dissonance," where your view of how the world should be doesn't meet what you're actually experiencing. If you really analyze and honestly figure out where your own performance is and was then there's less dissonance, and perhaps more chance to actually perform well in the long run. No one has a "right" to perform at a certain level, we get to a high level by developing our performances incrementally and with honest introspection. Starting to write like a new-age wanker so enough of that, we all need to shut up and perform. And recognize when we do, and do more of whatever led to that performance state...
WG
PS--and sorry to use Sonnie as an example, for some reason he just came into my mind as I writing this. I like his attitude, he is almost always psyched on climbing, both his and others. Hope you're performing well and having fun Sonnie!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Lying Airlines
I thought this article on CNN was pretty funny, as I had a "weather" delay for a Jan 17th flight out of Montrose, Colorado. I received a phone call at 8:00 the night before telling me my scheduled early morning flight was canceled due to "weather." The sky was clear, lots of stars, not too cold. While the United agent was on the phone looking for alternates for me I pulled the weather for Montrose: Mostly clear overnight, sunny in the morning. OK, maybe high winds aloft? Nope, all good there. Ah, freezing rain? No. I told the agent that and she insisted it was a weather delay. OK, maybe United has some sort of super-secret weather forecasting info. While the nice agent tried to rebook me and my family I kept surfing the web--there was absolutely no weather event within 1,000 miles that would preclude even a paraglider flight--no fog, no snow, no freezing rain, no thunderstorms, nada. I believe that the small planes that fly Montrose-Denver and back do just that and perhaps other short local trips; weather elsewhere in the flight system (like Chicago) doesn't seem likely to have been the problem. I was due to meet five other people and drive three hours in a van after my flight, so I wasn't happy when the agent told me I was now going to arrive six hours later--arriving in Mexico city past midnight for a scheduled van that left six hours earlier isn't a great plan with a family. I kept working with the friendly agent, who finally allowed that United could book me on other carriers "if available." I read her the weather forecasts with some laughter and we talked about flying, her husband was a pilot and she got where I was coming from. Eventually we were booked on another airline.
I woke up at 6:00 a.m to crystal clear starry skies. At the airport I asked a few people what was going on, and a maintenance sorta guy said, "Oh, the runway lights are having problems, but we can't say that 'cause then the airport has to pay for diverted flights and the airlines have to deal with their passengers." Hmmm.... I asked a baggage guy what was up and got the same answer. At the United counter (still had to deal with the tickets for 45 minutes) I got, "Weather" until I repeated the stories I had just heard. She then said, "Yeah, it's the runway lights, but we can't say that or we have to pay for hotels and stuff. We hope the part shows up soon." So the real deal was that the lights at the airport weren't working, which meant they couldn't fly the plane in late at night or early in the morning.
And the airlines wonder why people hate 'em? When you get flat-out lied to repeatedly it sorta makes you less than trusting, know what I mean? If United had said, "The runway lights are broken and we can't fly your plane here in the dark, so we've got to schedule you on a different flight" I would have been a little annoyed, but OK, United doesn't fix the runway lights, fair enough. But to get a lame excuse about weather just makes United look like not only liars but idiots--it's pretty bold to invoke bad weather when the sky is clear, a sort of Jedi mind trick, "No, really the weather is bad, that is not the sun..." Right.
I woke up at 6:00 a.m to crystal clear starry skies. At the airport I asked a few people what was going on, and a maintenance sorta guy said, "Oh, the runway lights are having problems, but we can't say that 'cause then the airport has to pay for diverted flights and the airlines have to deal with their passengers." Hmmm.... I asked a baggage guy what was up and got the same answer. At the United counter (still had to deal with the tickets for 45 minutes) I got, "Weather" until I repeated the stories I had just heard. She then said, "Yeah, it's the runway lights, but we can't say that or we have to pay for hotels and stuff. We hope the part shows up soon." So the real deal was that the lights at the airport weren't working, which meant they couldn't fly the plane in late at night or early in the morning.
And the airlines wonder why people hate 'em? When you get flat-out lied to repeatedly it sorta makes you less than trusting, know what I mean? If United had said, "The runway lights are broken and we can't fly your plane here in the dark, so we've got to schedule you on a different flight" I would have been a little annoyed, but OK, United doesn't fix the runway lights, fair enough. But to get a lame excuse about weather just makes United look like not only liars but idiots--it's pretty bold to invoke bad weather when the sky is clear, a sort of Jedi mind trick, "No, really the weather is bad, that is not the sun..." Right.
Competitive Yoga
Everybody makes New Year's resolutions. Given the number of minor but still debilitating injuries I've gone through in the last year my most "major" resolution was to try and do some form of stretching at least 150 days this year. That works out to about every other day, so it seemed like an achievable goal. I did Yoga about 50 percent of the days in November and December (modified due to a torn oblique), it was feeling good, but I wanted to feel "looser" and perhaps also prevent some of the soft (and not so soft) tissue injuries I've been having. I blame these injuries directly on getting older--I'm as motivated and fired up as ever, but my body just doesn't do as well with rapid sport switches and sudden random movements as it used to. I'd really noticed that my comfortable range of motion was decreasing; it stands to reason that a better range of motion in my muscles, and putting my body into weird positions more regularly, might result in fewer injuries or at least a more comfortable feeling.
I'm wired as tightly as an ostrich; I've always done some form of irregular and often injury-causing stretching over the years, but the reality is that my range of motion was still decreasing. Yoga helps fight my natural stiffness when I do it regularly, but Yoga can also be really damaging. Yoga instructors usually have no clue how to deal with competitive athletes or the male ego in their students. When I walk into a class and flop the mat down I'm just NOT there to get in touch with my inner chillness, I'm in there to bust a cap on my stiff ass, know what I mean? The problem with this attitude is that it results in "competitive yoga," which results in injuries. Touch my toes? Yeah, so I can't do that normally but the flabby-assed punter on the next mat is touching his head to his knee so I'll just try harder... Oops, that was the sound of hamstring ripping... Eventually I figured out that Yoga wasn't competitive, but I watch guys in classes do exactly what I've just described a lot. Yoga instructors should start their classes by saying, "If you're an athlete the next hour needs a mental adjustment. It's not like the weight room, where the goal is to lift the heaviest weight you can and try as hard as you can. If you use that approach today you WILL be injured, perhaps seriously. There are people in this room who can do what you will likely never be able to do unless you also practice Yoga regularly for years. So just work gently with your range of motion or you will be injured. A stretch should feel good, like yawning, not like a jack is forcing your body into a new position. Forcing your body in Yoga will only result in injuries, which will make you stiffer, not more flexible. Regular gentle practice will help you gain flexibility and strength through a range of motion, which may make you a better athlete. Going hard at Yoga once a week will only result in INJURY. So mellow out, do NOT push into pain, just practice regularly with a relaxed and smooth attitude and you might not get hurt. Guys, this means YOU. Clear?" Most Yoga instructors seem to think their students don't try hard enough, and will urge "Push into the position, relax into it, push a little farther" and similar rhetoric that any decent athlete will respond to with effort to the point of injury... It only took me three years and a lot of injuries to figure the above out, maybe you learned the lesson faster. I've done fits and bursts of Yoga for the last three years, it's still helped once I mellowed out a bit, but I don't think I'm seeing good gains because I wasn't regular about it. So 150 days of Yoga this year or bust!
It's day 42 of the year and I've hit the mat 22 days despite four weeks of travel of chaotic travel (travel is always chaotic, but add in an eight-month old, some competitions and some foreign countries and it's total chaos). I've done yoga in the business lounge of several airports, in the hallways of hotels early in the morning, and on a nasty tile floor in Mexico. I have a basic routine that takes 25 minutes at a bare minimum, and 45 if I work with it a bit. The first five minutes involve no "stretching," just moving through my range of motion and generating heat. That's another beef I have with most Yoga classes--you walk in from a -10 day and immediately start stretching while totally cold. Super-bendy young female yoga instructors just don't realize that for a lot of male athletes sitting cross-legged on the floor for five minutes IS a serious stretch, or that "gently bending forward and placing your hands toward the floor while contracting your inner Bunny" is a MAJOR stretch. I don't need to contemplate my navel in a painful position for five minutes at the beginning of a Yoga class, I need to get the blood moving... Yoga classes where I live are scheduled for people with regular schedules, which I don't have, so it's important that I do it on my own most of the time. I don't have to think much with my routine, just relax, feel the poses and the motions and do it. The results are slow but definitely there even after only a few months--I can touch my toes easily when I'm warmed up, and my messed up left hip has opened about an inch. I feel looser while climbing, and even just walking down the street. If you're under 30 and female that's probably less than impressive, but for a 40-year old high-mileage male athlete I'm digging it. I find my yoga days are also a little better mentally too, which is a bonus...
A half hour every other day of Yoga is achievable, we'll see what the results are at the end of the year. Because for me results count more than anything, the rest is just justification and excuses for non-performance. To quote Fugazi, "Function is the key." I want to function better.
I'm wired as tightly as an ostrich; I've always done some form of irregular and often injury-causing stretching over the years, but the reality is that my range of motion was still decreasing. Yoga helps fight my natural stiffness when I do it regularly, but Yoga can also be really damaging. Yoga instructors usually have no clue how to deal with competitive athletes or the male ego in their students. When I walk into a class and flop the mat down I'm just NOT there to get in touch with my inner chillness, I'm in there to bust a cap on my stiff ass, know what I mean? The problem with this attitude is that it results in "competitive yoga," which results in injuries. Touch my toes? Yeah, so I can't do that normally but the flabby-assed punter on the next mat is touching his head to his knee so I'll just try harder... Oops, that was the sound of hamstring ripping... Eventually I figured out that Yoga wasn't competitive, but I watch guys in classes do exactly what I've just described a lot. Yoga instructors should start their classes by saying, "If you're an athlete the next hour needs a mental adjustment. It's not like the weight room, where the goal is to lift the heaviest weight you can and try as hard as you can. If you use that approach today you WILL be injured, perhaps seriously. There are people in this room who can do what you will likely never be able to do unless you also practice Yoga regularly for years. So just work gently with your range of motion or you will be injured. A stretch should feel good, like yawning, not like a jack is forcing your body into a new position. Forcing your body in Yoga will only result in injuries, which will make you stiffer, not more flexible. Regular gentle practice will help you gain flexibility and strength through a range of motion, which may make you a better athlete. Going hard at Yoga once a week will only result in INJURY. So mellow out, do NOT push into pain, just practice regularly with a relaxed and smooth attitude and you might not get hurt. Guys, this means YOU. Clear?" Most Yoga instructors seem to think their students don't try hard enough, and will urge "Push into the position, relax into it, push a little farther" and similar rhetoric that any decent athlete will respond to with effort to the point of injury... It only took me three years and a lot of injuries to figure the above out, maybe you learned the lesson faster. I've done fits and bursts of Yoga for the last three years, it's still helped once I mellowed out a bit, but I don't think I'm seeing good gains because I wasn't regular about it. So 150 days of Yoga this year or bust!
It's day 42 of the year and I've hit the mat 22 days despite four weeks of travel of chaotic travel (travel is always chaotic, but add in an eight-month old, some competitions and some foreign countries and it's total chaos). I've done yoga in the business lounge of several airports, in the hallways of hotels early in the morning, and on a nasty tile floor in Mexico. I have a basic routine that takes 25 minutes at a bare minimum, and 45 if I work with it a bit. The first five minutes involve no "stretching," just moving through my range of motion and generating heat. That's another beef I have with most Yoga classes--you walk in from a -10 day and immediately start stretching while totally cold. Super-bendy young female yoga instructors just don't realize that for a lot of male athletes sitting cross-legged on the floor for five minutes IS a serious stretch, or that "gently bending forward and placing your hands toward the floor while contracting your inner Bunny" is a MAJOR stretch. I don't need to contemplate my navel in a painful position for five minutes at the beginning of a Yoga class, I need to get the blood moving... Yoga classes where I live are scheduled for people with regular schedules, which I don't have, so it's important that I do it on my own most of the time. I don't have to think much with my routine, just relax, feel the poses and the motions and do it. The results are slow but definitely there even after only a few months--I can touch my toes easily when I'm warmed up, and my messed up left hip has opened about an inch. I feel looser while climbing, and even just walking down the street. If you're under 30 and female that's probably less than impressive, but for a 40-year old high-mileage male athlete I'm digging it. I find my yoga days are also a little better mentally too, which is a bonus...
A half hour every other day of Yoga is achievable, we'll see what the results are at the end of the year. Because for me results count more than anything, the rest is just justification and excuses for non-performance. To quote Fugazi, "Function is the key." I want to function better.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Travel, comps, good old gear
To those of you who have been giving me alternate loads of grief and writing inspiration, thanks. It's been a mad four weeks:
Ouray Ice Festival:
As always, incredibly fun, the social event of the year. Didn't compete due to a ripped stomach muscle, which was hard not to do, sure looked fun. Congrats to Jeff and Ines and everyone who pulled to the limit!
Monarca and Pre-Worlds Paragliding comps in Mex:
Tons of fun, 40+ hours of flying. I somehow managed to break the tip off my clavicle before the comps even started, but flew anyhow, a little pain focuses the mind. Or not. Thanks to the Arctic house for the good times. For anyone who hasn't flown in Valle De Bravo, go. It's stellar. Hopefully the local politics will be resolved soon, and be sure to join the local club if you visit.
I did learn a few more things about my own head in the two comps, mainly that I'm not interested in competing in paragliding comps with a 150 other pilots. I don't like flying so close to other people for hours, so I often just headed off on my own. I do not make a good herd animal, and PG comps require herd flying to win. I've won some comps, but those are generally comps where I just do what I feel like doing and the choices end up being correct enough to win. At a big comp with many high-level pilots and difficult conditions you need the herd. On the last day of the comp about 100 of us were climbing in a total cluster just after the start when I looked downwind on the course line and thought I could make the transition to the next bump. I KNEW that going was a bad idea from a comp perspective, but there was nobody on the bump... I did eventually get up there, but I should have waited and climbed with the herd to make it happen--if I were flying alone that's what I would have done (get higher), but I wanted out of the gaggle... When you're making bad decisions in a comp just to move away from the gaggle then you're not competing to win or do your very best. If you're not competing to win (or eventually win) then competition is meaningless, and in my opinion you're just taking up space. One day we had cloudbase at around 18,000 feet over a local volcano; I kept looking at that as I was flying back and forth along the course and thinking, "Why am I not there?" Flying up there might have been risky, but flying directly over a huge volcano would have been cool... I also find myself making poor decisions from a safety perspective during high-end comps; I went for one of the worst rotor rides of my life going to goal one day, just so I could beat a few pilots in. After the ride I still had the altitude to make goal, but that would have meant flying downwind at 80+K less than 100M over the ground. I landed rather than chance that. You have to have that, "WIN!" desire to pull moves like that (or be totally unaware), I don't think winning another comp is worth that sort of risk. I'll take big risks for what I believe is a big reward, but I'm not seeing winning comps as being worth the risks I (and that's just me, not everyone has the same attitude obviously) sometimes will take. A man's gotta know his limitations as someone once said.
Competition is the acid test for pilot skills and I like that and fully respect it, but part of that skill set is flying in big gaggles for hours. I've come to the realization that while I can do that, it's not why I fly a paraglider. I only get so much time every year to fly, and for me pushing the limits of the sport in more remote places is now a higher priority. Yeah! Sometimes in sports I realize what's actually important to me about the sport, and adjust how I approach it as a result. It always feels good, even if it's not an easy thing to admit at the time.
Good Gear:
Yesterday I took the kidlet and went on a savage aerobic burn session at the local Nordic centre. She loves riding in the backpack, and an extra 25 plus pounds on my back just adds to the load. At one point I looked down and noticed that my old "classic" skis were the same onces I used to race on in high school, so that makes them 20+ years old. They are Fischer SCS skis, red and white, with almost as ancient "race" bindings on them. That started me thinking between hills (can't think up the hills) about good gear I have that's really old and that I still use. There isn't much of it, but what I do have is kinda cool to me:
The Fischer SCS skis. I've used them for big backcountry tours in -25, raced on them, trained on them, and still going.
My Jrat neck gaiter. At least 20 years old, still works. It's flown over the Grand Canyon, climbed hundreds if not thousands of ice routes, and just done me right. Ugly enough that nobody wants to steal it. Jrat was an era.
A #9 Hex. Also 20+ years old, beat to shit, still hanging on the wall and occasionally gets an outing.
A cave bag: It was old when I bought it, and is 20 years older now. Some piece of junk US Army surplus, but still works, and gets out once a year or so.
I can't think of much else that I have that's 20 or more years old and still in semi-regular use (OK, my body, but that doesn't really count as I can't buy a new one); I've saved a few bits just to save them, but this is just the gear I truly still use. I keep thinking I'll get a new pair of nordic "classic" skis, but those skis still work just fine. I have the sweetest new backcountry setup going, but part of the cool thing here is that old nordic gear is still functional. And that's cool.
What else do other people have that's 20 years old or older and still going out into the hills regularly?
Ouray Ice Festival:
As always, incredibly fun, the social event of the year. Didn't compete due to a ripped stomach muscle, which was hard not to do, sure looked fun. Congrats to Jeff and Ines and everyone who pulled to the limit!
Monarca and Pre-Worlds Paragliding comps in Mex:
Tons of fun, 40+ hours of flying. I somehow managed to break the tip off my clavicle before the comps even started, but flew anyhow, a little pain focuses the mind. Or not. Thanks to the Arctic house for the good times. For anyone who hasn't flown in Valle De Bravo, go. It's stellar. Hopefully the local politics will be resolved soon, and be sure to join the local club if you visit.
I did learn a few more things about my own head in the two comps, mainly that I'm not interested in competing in paragliding comps with a 150 other pilots. I don't like flying so close to other people for hours, so I often just headed off on my own. I do not make a good herd animal, and PG comps require herd flying to win. I've won some comps, but those are generally comps where I just do what I feel like doing and the choices end up being correct enough to win. At a big comp with many high-level pilots and difficult conditions you need the herd. On the last day of the comp about 100 of us were climbing in a total cluster just after the start when I looked downwind on the course line and thought I could make the transition to the next bump. I KNEW that going was a bad idea from a comp perspective, but there was nobody on the bump... I did eventually get up there, but I should have waited and climbed with the herd to make it happen--if I were flying alone that's what I would have done (get higher), but I wanted out of the gaggle... When you're making bad decisions in a comp just to move away from the gaggle then you're not competing to win or do your very best. If you're not competing to win (or eventually win) then competition is meaningless, and in my opinion you're just taking up space. One day we had cloudbase at around 18,000 feet over a local volcano; I kept looking at that as I was flying back and forth along the course and thinking, "Why am I not there?" Flying up there might have been risky, but flying directly over a huge volcano would have been cool... I also find myself making poor decisions from a safety perspective during high-end comps; I went for one of the worst rotor rides of my life going to goal one day, just so I could beat a few pilots in. After the ride I still had the altitude to make goal, but that would have meant flying downwind at 80+K less than 100M over the ground. I landed rather than chance that. You have to have that, "WIN!" desire to pull moves like that (or be totally unaware), I don't think winning another comp is worth that sort of risk. I'll take big risks for what I believe is a big reward, but I'm not seeing winning comps as being worth the risks I (and that's just me, not everyone has the same attitude obviously) sometimes will take. A man's gotta know his limitations as someone once said.
Competition is the acid test for pilot skills and I like that and fully respect it, but part of that skill set is flying in big gaggles for hours. I've come to the realization that while I can do that, it's not why I fly a paraglider. I only get so much time every year to fly, and for me pushing the limits of the sport in more remote places is now a higher priority. Yeah! Sometimes in sports I realize what's actually important to me about the sport, and adjust how I approach it as a result. It always feels good, even if it's not an easy thing to admit at the time.
Good Gear:
Yesterday I took the kidlet and went on a savage aerobic burn session at the local Nordic centre. She loves riding in the backpack, and an extra 25 plus pounds on my back just adds to the load. At one point I looked down and noticed that my old "classic" skis were the same onces I used to race on in high school, so that makes them 20+ years old. They are Fischer SCS skis, red and white, with almost as ancient "race" bindings on them. That started me thinking between hills (can't think up the hills) about good gear I have that's really old and that I still use. There isn't much of it, but what I do have is kinda cool to me:
The Fischer SCS skis. I've used them for big backcountry tours in -25, raced on them, trained on them, and still going.
My Jrat neck gaiter. At least 20 years old, still works. It's flown over the Grand Canyon, climbed hundreds if not thousands of ice routes, and just done me right. Ugly enough that nobody wants to steal it. Jrat was an era.
A #9 Hex. Also 20+ years old, beat to shit, still hanging on the wall and occasionally gets an outing.
A cave bag: It was old when I bought it, and is 20 years older now. Some piece of junk US Army surplus, but still works, and gets out once a year or so.
I can't think of much else that I have that's 20 or more years old and still in semi-regular use (OK, my body, but that doesn't really count as I can't buy a new one); I've saved a few bits just to save them, but this is just the gear I truly still use. I keep thinking I'll get a new pair of nordic "classic" skis, but those skis still work just fine. I have the sweetest new backcountry setup going, but part of the cool thing here is that old nordic gear is still functional. And that's cool.
What else do other people have that's 20 years old or older and still going out into the hills regularly?
Saturday, December 22, 2007
The Spot, and Happy Solstice
This is interesting...
I think I'm going to order one and check it out, could be really good for paragliding in remote areas, backcountry skiing, etc. I'm a firm believer in doing my absolute best to self-rescue, but sometimes it's not going to work out. A satellite text message could be just the trick, and a lot simpler and lighter than a satellite phone for sure. In the Canadian Rockies we don't normally have cell phone coverage, this could be just the ticket. The same service is used to track shipping containers and other cargo, it works well for that, although Globalstar phone service is reportedly imploding.
And a big, Happy Solstice! This is the darkest day of the year, from here on out we're all (those of us in the North anyhow) going to find a little more light in our lives, yeah! Most cultures in the northern hemisphere have a huge party around this time of year, some sort of "festival of lights" to mark the fact that the days are finally growing in length and the nights shrinking--hence all the lights on houses, trees, etc. Christmas is great and all, but all the commercialism makes it a bit difficult for me to get very fired up about. I'm also unimpressed with the whole god/supernatural/psychic thing, but more light is a great thing for sure! Less headlamp juice required from here on out for all our adventures.
I think I'm going to order one and check it out, could be really good for paragliding in remote areas, backcountry skiing, etc. I'm a firm believer in doing my absolute best to self-rescue, but sometimes it's not going to work out. A satellite text message could be just the trick, and a lot simpler and lighter than a satellite phone for sure. In the Canadian Rockies we don't normally have cell phone coverage, this could be just the ticket. The same service is used to track shipping containers and other cargo, it works well for that, although Globalstar phone service is reportedly imploding.
And a big, Happy Solstice! This is the darkest day of the year, from here on out we're all (those of us in the North anyhow) going to find a little more light in our lives, yeah! Most cultures in the northern hemisphere have a huge party around this time of year, some sort of "festival of lights" to mark the fact that the days are finally growing in length and the nights shrinking--hence all the lights on houses, trees, etc. Christmas is great and all, but all the commercialism makes it a bit difficult for me to get very fired up about. I'm also unimpressed with the whole god/supernatural/psychic thing, but more light is a great thing for sure! Less headlamp juice required from here on out for all our adventures.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Outdoor junkies and tech
A comment on my recent anti-PDF screed (and I still hate 'em as they're designed around using paper) got me thinking. The question was, "Does anyone else find it amusing that a PDF topic has generated so many comments on a blog dedicated to outdoor fun & adventure? Are all outdoorsy people really just closet tech nerds?!?!"
I don't know about all outdoorsy people being tech nerds, but I am willing to bet a dual-layer DVD of my recent films that most of us are pretty into our tech, be it analog (cams, shoes, packs, tents) or digital. Most of my garage is devoted not to storing cars but more important stuff--gear. Most of my office is laden not with printed PDFs but with scanners, a dozen or so hard drives, two computers, a printer (which doesn't get much use), editing gear, cameras, GPS units, radio bits, etc. Who among us "outdoorsy" types doesn't have at least a half-dozen weather forecasts bookmarked? Plus various road condition reports, blogs, outdoor forums (for several sports), and of course five or six mailboxes devoted to upcoming trips? Plus various folders on our hard drives devoted to the same, and maybe a map program or four...
Paragliding is even worse than climbing; GPS programs, flight analysis software, digital aviation maps, etc. The truly nerdy paraglider or hang glider pilots will have a minimum of two GPS units plus two flight computers, which they fly with and then download and geek out for hours before uploading the tracks to various forums where other pilots geek out on tracks for hours... I'm sure I'm missing some stuff here but gear, be it analog or digital, is for sure a HUGE part of the outdoor game. The phrase "gear junkie" no longer applies to just outdoor gear from footwear (who among us doesn't have far more outdoor footwear than "dress" footwear?) to tents but also our digital bits.
I also suspect there are a lot of "tech" types who are outdoor junkies of one kind or another. It's certainly true in paragliding, where the stereotypical pilot is an IT guy living in a major west-coast city. Some of the responses to my, "F the PDF" post were very solid from a tech perspective (as well as grammar, sorry about that, this stuff gets written straight off the top of my head--which is likely obvious to anyone who works with words professionally). There are likely still outdoorsy people who don't spend a good chunk of each day in front of a monitor, but they're not the sort likely to post comments on a blog.
So get your tech on, yeah!
PS--someone just emailed me to explain that PDF really stands for, "Print this Damn thing and Fax back." Yep, PDFs sure are great for two-way communication in the digital age. I think I'm going to set my email up to just flat-our reject any email with a .pdf attachment along with a message that says, "You recently sent me a PDF. This shows that you really don't want a response from me, nor do you want me to be able to actually work with the data. I'm going to save us both some hassle and just ignore it."
PPS--my travel agent just sent me an itinerary in, yep, PDF format. It's a five-page document that's near-useless, although it has very nice proportions and scales well (full sarcasm). This isn't two-way communication, but it also doesn't work as I can't drop the info into my calendar, phone, etc. I think I was sort of used to the hassle of PDFs before but all this discussion has made me realize just exactly how retro and bass-ackwards they are for just about anything.
I don't know about all outdoorsy people being tech nerds, but I am willing to bet a dual-layer DVD of my recent films that most of us are pretty into our tech, be it analog (cams, shoes, packs, tents) or digital. Most of my garage is devoted not to storing cars but more important stuff--gear. Most of my office is laden not with printed PDFs but with scanners, a dozen or so hard drives, two computers, a printer (which doesn't get much use), editing gear, cameras, GPS units, radio bits, etc. Who among us "outdoorsy" types doesn't have at least a half-dozen weather forecasts bookmarked? Plus various road condition reports, blogs, outdoor forums (for several sports), and of course five or six mailboxes devoted to upcoming trips? Plus various folders on our hard drives devoted to the same, and maybe a map program or four...
Paragliding is even worse than climbing; GPS programs, flight analysis software, digital aviation maps, etc. The truly nerdy paraglider or hang glider pilots will have a minimum of two GPS units plus two flight computers, which they fly with and then download and geek out for hours before uploading the tracks to various forums where other pilots geek out on tracks for hours... I'm sure I'm missing some stuff here but gear, be it analog or digital, is for sure a HUGE part of the outdoor game. The phrase "gear junkie" no longer applies to just outdoor gear from footwear (who among us doesn't have far more outdoor footwear than "dress" footwear?) to tents but also our digital bits.
I also suspect there are a lot of "tech" types who are outdoor junkies of one kind or another. It's certainly true in paragliding, where the stereotypical pilot is an IT guy living in a major west-coast city. Some of the responses to my, "F the PDF" post were very solid from a tech perspective (as well as grammar, sorry about that, this stuff gets written straight off the top of my head--which is likely obvious to anyone who works with words professionally). There are likely still outdoorsy people who don't spend a good chunk of each day in front of a monitor, but they're not the sort likely to post comments on a blog.
So get your tech on, yeah!
PS--someone just emailed me to explain that PDF really stands for, "Print this Damn thing and Fax back." Yep, PDFs sure are great for two-way communication in the digital age. I think I'm going to set my email up to just flat-our reject any email with a .pdf attachment along with a message that says, "You recently sent me a PDF. This shows that you really don't want a response from me, nor do you want me to be able to actually work with the data. I'm going to save us both some hassle and just ignore it."
PPS--my travel agent just sent me an itinerary in, yep, PDF format. It's a five-page document that's near-useless, although it has very nice proportions and scales well (full sarcasm). This isn't two-way communication, but it also doesn't work as I can't drop the info into my calendar, phone, etc. I think I was sort of used to the hassle of PDFs before but all this discussion has made me realize just exactly how retro and bass-ackwards they are for just about anything.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
PDFs and Film Festivals
Whoever invented the PDF file format should be sent to the same sort of hell reserved for whoever took the auto-fill thingamabob off of gas pumps. In this hell, Mr. PDF and Mr. "Stand there and pump gas instead of doing something useful like checking the oil" will argue endlessly about exactly who has wasted more of modern humanity's time--while the guy who invented internet blogs looks on. Here's why:
I send a lot of films out to mountain film festivals, of which there are now hundreds. I receive three or four emails a week asking for my films, which is a really nice compliment in a way, and I usually take the time to send each one a DVD. Unfortunately, most film festival entry forms now require either a convoluted on-line system (total waste of time, usually resets on page 7 of 11) or PDF documents, which are the single greatest waste of time, paper and energy ever invented. PDFs must be good for something, but they are totally worthless as a form of two-way communication in the digital age. You can't fill them out electronically--unless you pay extra for some sort of Adobe secret de-coder ring to open 'em up and actually work with them, instead of just admire the pretty layout some frustrated art-school dropout produced.
I hate it every time I see that file extension on a document; unless it's really important, like a film festival entry form, I'll usually just ignore it. In fact, I've started ignoring even film festival PDFs and just sending back a plain email with the info they want. Seems to work, who would have thought?
Anyone who sends someone else a PDF is obviously either plain clueless or actively dislikes the recipient, perhaps both. The sender is asking the recipient to print it, fill it out by hand (anyone who has seen my writing knows that this is a further waste of time as far as any actual communication goes) and then scan it and email it or fax it back. Twenty years ago this process would have seemed kinda high tech and cool; now it's like a brick-sized cell phone or a voicemail instead of a text: a total waste of time. Lawyers also seem to love PDFs; "Here's a 27-page contract, mind finding a printer while in some no-star budget hotel and faxing that back tonight? We know we've got you by the short hairs on this one, so don't even try to use something modern like a digital signature." Send me a Word document, a text file, a simple email with questions, an "Open Office" form, a Keynote form, even an ancient Quark file and I'll fill it out. But the next person who sends me a PDF? I'm going to do what my mother used to do with those "postage guaranteed" solicitation forms: attach a brick to it and send it back "postage due."
PDFs suck, BAN THE PDF! PDF stands for, "Pretty Damn Fecking Useless," they just forgot the U.
In other news, climbing sure has been fun lately. Fully analog, all physical, no computers, no PDFs, what a great sport. I had so much fun yesterday I ripped a stomach muscle, so today I can't really sit up. Kinda cool to have a new injury. On the left side of my body I have the following problems: Elbow tendinitis, jacked knee, strained oblique, infected cut from the Whistler rock gym's hand crack, and a some sort of pustilence where a spider bit me. I'm really not making this up; my right side is totally fine, but my left side appears to be about age 75 right now. Which is why I'm surly and writing about PDFs. I hope your day was PDF-free and outside.
I send a lot of films out to mountain film festivals, of which there are now hundreds. I receive three or four emails a week asking for my films, which is a really nice compliment in a way, and I usually take the time to send each one a DVD. Unfortunately, most film festival entry forms now require either a convoluted on-line system (total waste of time, usually resets on page 7 of 11) or PDF documents, which are the single greatest waste of time, paper and energy ever invented. PDFs must be good for something, but they are totally worthless as a form of two-way communication in the digital age. You can't fill them out electronically--unless you pay extra for some sort of Adobe secret de-coder ring to open 'em up and actually work with them, instead of just admire the pretty layout some frustrated art-school dropout produced.
I hate it every time I see that file extension on a document; unless it's really important, like a film festival entry form, I'll usually just ignore it. In fact, I've started ignoring even film festival PDFs and just sending back a plain email with the info they want. Seems to work, who would have thought?
Anyone who sends someone else a PDF is obviously either plain clueless or actively dislikes the recipient, perhaps both. The sender is asking the recipient to print it, fill it out by hand (anyone who has seen my writing knows that this is a further waste of time as far as any actual communication goes) and then scan it and email it or fax it back. Twenty years ago this process would have seemed kinda high tech and cool; now it's like a brick-sized cell phone or a voicemail instead of a text: a total waste of time. Lawyers also seem to love PDFs; "Here's a 27-page contract, mind finding a printer while in some no-star budget hotel and faxing that back tonight? We know we've got you by the short hairs on this one, so don't even try to use something modern like a digital signature." Send me a Word document, a text file, a simple email with questions, an "Open Office" form, a Keynote form, even an ancient Quark file and I'll fill it out. But the next person who sends me a PDF? I'm going to do what my mother used to do with those "postage guaranteed" solicitation forms: attach a brick to it and send it back "postage due."
PDFs suck, BAN THE PDF! PDF stands for, "Pretty Damn Fecking Useless," they just forgot the U.
In other news, climbing sure has been fun lately. Fully analog, all physical, no computers, no PDFs, what a great sport. I had so much fun yesterday I ripped a stomach muscle, so today I can't really sit up. Kinda cool to have a new injury. On the left side of my body I have the following problems: Elbow tendinitis, jacked knee, strained oblique, infected cut from the Whistler rock gym's hand crack, and a some sort of pustilence where a spider bit me. I'm really not making this up; my right side is totally fine, but my left side appears to be about age 75 right now. Which is why I'm surly and writing about PDFs. I hope your day was PDF-free and outside.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Haffner Mixed
Haffner is a small canyon near my home. Really small-about 40 feet high, but with at least 20 mixed routes worth doing. I've been hitting it for almost ten years; it's close, has a lot of fun routes, it's close, etc...
Yesterday was my first time in there for a long time. Last year I didn't climb much between the fall rock season and the spring ice season as my elbow was tweaked; no new mixed routes, no 50 days or more of scrabbling on the rock and dangling icicles I so love. Yesterday reminded me of exactly why I love mixed climbing. It's brutal, aggressive, mental, tenuous, annoying, satisfying and downright engaging. No other form of climbing combines so much emotional response in such a short period of time for me. I've done some more alpine climbing this fall, and love that too, but mixed climbing just distills all that I like about climbing into one rope length of giving it.
It's so hard at first; every season I'm definitely a novice for the first few climbs. I don't trust my tools, get super pumped on "easy" terrain, my feet blow and it takes everything I have to not melt down into a quivering pile of mental mush. Then it gets a bit better by the second or third pitch, and usually by the end of the first day I forget about all the mechanics at least for a few moves and simply climb. I find mixed climbing requires a much stronger mind than rock climbing, at least for me. On rock I just climb, but on mixed I've got to get through this mental barrier before I can truly move. I've got to get over the fear of the tools, rock, my feet don't work naturally. But when I finally get that mental boulder off my shoulders it just feels so good...
Then there's just being outside in winter. We had to break trail up to the Haffner Cave, which was a bit arduous for me as I tweaked my knee kite-skiing the other day (not a good idea to launch big when you don't really know what you're doing). I always like hiking through that burned but still standing stark black forest, watching the big peaks, and just being out there with friends. I can get the same experience ski touring in a way, but ski touring doesn't have the same mental "ambush" for me as mixed climbing. I know I can ski, I'm never sure I can mixed climb, and often can't until things get moving again... All climbing is mental, but mixed climbing is definitely more mental than any other form of climbing for me.
Yesterday I flailed on routes I used to do laps on with a weight belt. But by my last go I was linking big sections, and climbing with the pump instead of pumping out instantly. My hands were suddenly warm and my body relaxed instead of frozen and tight. I'm back on the curve, and can't wait for tomorrow, when we'll do it all again. Game on
As always, there's no point to this but damn is mixed climbing fun! I hope everyone is getting out...
Yesterday was my first time in there for a long time. Last year I didn't climb much between the fall rock season and the spring ice season as my elbow was tweaked; no new mixed routes, no 50 days or more of scrabbling on the rock and dangling icicles I so love. Yesterday reminded me of exactly why I love mixed climbing. It's brutal, aggressive, mental, tenuous, annoying, satisfying and downright engaging. No other form of climbing combines so much emotional response in such a short period of time for me. I've done some more alpine climbing this fall, and love that too, but mixed climbing just distills all that I like about climbing into one rope length of giving it.
It's so hard at first; every season I'm definitely a novice for the first few climbs. I don't trust my tools, get super pumped on "easy" terrain, my feet blow and it takes everything I have to not melt down into a quivering pile of mental mush. Then it gets a bit better by the second or third pitch, and usually by the end of the first day I forget about all the mechanics at least for a few moves and simply climb. I find mixed climbing requires a much stronger mind than rock climbing, at least for me. On rock I just climb, but on mixed I've got to get through this mental barrier before I can truly move. I've got to get over the fear of the tools, rock, my feet don't work naturally. But when I finally get that mental boulder off my shoulders it just feels so good...
Then there's just being outside in winter. We had to break trail up to the Haffner Cave, which was a bit arduous for me as I tweaked my knee kite-skiing the other day (not a good idea to launch big when you don't really know what you're doing). I always like hiking through that burned but still standing stark black forest, watching the big peaks, and just being out there with friends. I can get the same experience ski touring in a way, but ski touring doesn't have the same mental "ambush" for me as mixed climbing. I know I can ski, I'm never sure I can mixed climb, and often can't until things get moving again... All climbing is mental, but mixed climbing is definitely more mental than any other form of climbing for me.
Yesterday I flailed on routes I used to do laps on with a weight belt. But by my last go I was linking big sections, and climbing with the pump instead of pumping out instantly. My hands were suddenly warm and my body relaxed instead of frozen and tight. I'm back on the curve, and can't wait for tomorrow, when we'll do it all again. Game on
As always, there's no point to this but damn is mixed climbing fun! I hope everyone is getting out...
Friday, December 07, 2007
MEC pulls Nalgene Bottles
About a month ago I got rid of my epic collection of hard plastic Nalgene bottles. I'd read enough stories suggesting that they likely weren't all that good for me or my family. MEC just did the same thing...
The risk of developing fatal cancer (or breasts or whatever) from these bottles is probably pretty low. But we've got so many "minor" nasty things in our environment today that I'm trying to cut out the "easy" potential problems such as these bottles.
We're all obviously gonna die, I'd just prefer to die while reasonably healthy and from something other than a lingering nasty health issue if I can...
A few other links:
Utah Story
Blog story, good
Wiki article If babies can reach 13 µg/kg/day, and research in mice suggests exposure of 0.025µg/kg/day can cause serious issues (see article), well, I don't think I wanna be drinking out of these bottles when there are good alternatives...
The risk of developing fatal cancer (or breasts or whatever) from these bottles is probably pretty low. But we've got so many "minor" nasty things in our environment today that I'm trying to cut out the "easy" potential problems such as these bottles.
We're all obviously gonna die, I'd just prefer to die while reasonably healthy and from something other than a lingering nasty health issue if I can...
A few other links:
Utah Story
Blog story, good
Wiki article If babies can reach 13 µg/kg/day, and research in mice suggests exposure of 0.025µg/kg/day can cause serious issues (see article), well, I don't think I wanna be drinking out of these bottles when there are good alternatives...
Monday, December 03, 2007
Snow Tires, Slideshows and Subarus
I've just spent two full days trying to drive from Whistler back home to Canmore. Road conditions have been abysmal--ice, snow, freezing rain, truly the worst roads I've seen in years. We left Whistler reasonably early yesterday after the Mountaineer's Soiree the night before (thanks to the organizers and crowd, good fun!), only to encounter crawling traffic on the Sea to Sky. No big deal, just slow, avoid the accidents waiting to happen. In Vancouver the roads were OK, just wet and a bit slushy, but by about Langley we were back to crawl mode with people orbiting off into the ditches regularly. I was feeling pretty good about the Subaru and the four new studded snow tires I'd just picked up in Portland on the way home from England and Scotland--studded snow tires seem like overkill until you're driving for hours and hours on ice and snow... Finally stopped in Kamloops after 11 hours (about a six hour drive normally) figuring that the roads would get better in the morning, and they were initially this morning. Then it was back to rut surfing and powder driving, which is a lot like powder skiing somehow. I was feeling pretty confident with the Subaru and the good tires despite the poor conditions, but you can only drive as fast as the other traffic really... After waiting for an hour outside of Revelstoke for avi control we got back at it, pounding through increasingly rutted roads. I was passing occasionally when I could see well enough, but not driving flat-out in the poor conditions. After a while I noticed a couple of white vans keeping pace with me, and eventually working up until they were behind me. Not surprisingly, I recognized the vans as belonging to the Canadian National Nordic team. Nordic teams have a long history of all-out winter driving--motivated coaches, skiers and a lot of experience on bad roads. My windshield wipers started dying, and I was passed by a white van then two. It happens. I'd been passed a few times on the drive, often by a yahoo with bad control of his vehicle. The National Team passed me with style and solidity, so right on--I'd put the Canadian Ski Team drivers up against anyone else in the world, may their athletes do as well this year!
By Golden we had been on the road for another six hours for a three-hour drive. The Trans-Can was closed over to Lake Louise, so we started toward Radium. About 1oK out of Radium we came over a hill to see green a car sideways in our lane at the bottom of the hill. The temperature gauge had been spiking, from -8C in Golden to +4C, and it had started to actually rain, all in less than 15 minutes. I had tested the traction a couple of times since Golden, and it had been good. But with the rain and rapid temperature rise the brakes did very little... It was like a skating rink with a layer of water on it. Even with the new tires and studs we barely had enough traction to slow down. The money spent on the tires suddenly seemed like a really, really good investment. Studs kick ass on any studless tire, I've tried a few and they all suck in comparison.
It was pretty clear that Mr. Green Car was going to get pasted by the next vehicle to come along, so I pulled up behind and asked the driver if he wanted a push. The camber of the road was enough to keep him from starting again, that's how slick it was. A brief push with the bumper was all it took to get him moving again. At this point my adult passenger fully lost it, she'd had enough. Fair enough, it was horrendous. It was back to Golden, where we are now. All the roads out of Golden are closed, it's raining pretty hard on the snowpack, things are going to get wild up high and on the roads tonight. We hope to make it home to Canmore tomorrow, two and a half days after leaving Whistler. This should normally be a one-day drive.
Winter driving sure is fun!
By Golden we had been on the road for another six hours for a three-hour drive. The Trans-Can was closed over to Lake Louise, so we started toward Radium. About 1oK out of Radium we came over a hill to see green a car sideways in our lane at the bottom of the hill. The temperature gauge had been spiking, from -8C in Golden to +4C, and it had started to actually rain, all in less than 15 minutes. I had tested the traction a couple of times since Golden, and it had been good. But with the rain and rapid temperature rise the brakes did very little... It was like a skating rink with a layer of water on it. Even with the new tires and studs we barely had enough traction to slow down. The money spent on the tires suddenly seemed like a really, really good investment. Studs kick ass on any studless tire, I've tried a few and they all suck in comparison.
It was pretty clear that Mr. Green Car was going to get pasted by the next vehicle to come along, so I pulled up behind and asked the driver if he wanted a push. The camber of the road was enough to keep him from starting again, that's how slick it was. A brief push with the bumper was all it took to get him moving again. At this point my adult passenger fully lost it, she'd had enough. Fair enough, it was horrendous. It was back to Golden, where we are now. All the roads out of Golden are closed, it's raining pretty hard on the snowpack, things are going to get wild up high and on the roads tonight. We hope to make it home to Canmore tomorrow, two and a half days after leaving Whistler. This should normally be a one-day drive.
Winter driving sure is fun!
Friday, November 23, 2007
Food
A good friend recently sent me a few links about nutrition for sport. He's all fired up on this idea of counting "blocks" of carbs, protein and fat. I wrote the following back to him, then thought it was kinda interesting so here it is...
Don't worry too much about what you eat, but eat simple foods when given a choice. Train hard. Drink water like a drunkard. Drink alcohol in moderation. Direct your mental energy toward performance, not worrying about how many blocks of whatever you eat. I think one of all-time classic training errors is to worry about things that you don't need to, especially food. Your body will respond to hard training and sports as it needs to. When I run a lot I get skinny. When I paddle my kayak or fly a lot I get relatively heavy. I travel a lot and don't always have "perfect" food available, but if I make the "best" choice on the menu it's OK in the long run.
During competition food intake needs to be a slightly more organized as the stress of competing or performing can result in low energy levels, but the rest of the time simply eating good solid food and training hard will produce the body type you need for the sport you do. I would wager that the most successful athletes in the world spend far more time and energy thinking about how to perform and compete than how many scoops of cereal they eat for breakfast, especially in the sports we do. I have trained with some of the best climbers, kayakers and distance athletes on the planet. They did not measure their food. I've also trained with some of the most ripped, fit looking individuals on the planet, yet these same individuals don't win, and don't perform at the highest levels in their sports. The best athletes I've ever trained with worry first and foremost about getting their training done so that it leads to success, and how to organize their lives so they have the best possible chance at success. Food is an important but ultimately relatively minor part of that equation.
Sharma is not counting how many fucking corn flakes he eats. Sharma is kicking ass. Tiger Woods is not counting how many caviar crackers he eats. Tiger Woods is kicking ass. My sport climbing results improved dramatically when I stopped worrying so much about what I ate and started focusing more on how to be a better climber. It's always tempting to focus on things that are relatively easy to control such as food intake, rather than the more complicated but more important "real" goal: performance. Form follows function, focus on the function and kick ass. Eat when hungry. Don't eat when not hungry. Get up from the table feeling slightly less than full and you'll get skinnier. Get up from the table feeling stuffed and you'll likely get fatter. Your body is a finely tuned machine for doing what you want. Don't fuck with it or it will get confused.
When the emphasis on food goes from "I need fuel and enough of it train hard" to, "What does the diet plan say I need?" then things are going to go wrong. If you bonk on a long ski tour and then get back to the car and chow down an entire pizza you've blown it. You should have eaten the pizza before and during the long ski tour, no matter what the current diet rage says.
If you're truly fat and that fat is hindering your performance I'd argue that you're not training well and that you're using food as something other than fuel. Focus on how to change that equation...
-----------------
This is aimed at outdoor sports athletes.
Don't worry too much about what you eat, but eat simple foods when given a choice. Train hard. Drink water like a drunkard. Drink alcohol in moderation. Direct your mental energy toward performance, not worrying about how many blocks of whatever you eat. I think one of all-time classic training errors is to worry about things that you don't need to, especially food. Your body will respond to hard training and sports as it needs to. When I run a lot I get skinny. When I paddle my kayak or fly a lot I get relatively heavy. I travel a lot and don't always have "perfect" food available, but if I make the "best" choice on the menu it's OK in the long run.
During competition food intake needs to be a slightly more organized as the stress of competing or performing can result in low energy levels, but the rest of the time simply eating good solid food and training hard will produce the body type you need for the sport you do. I would wager that the most successful athletes in the world spend far more time and energy thinking about how to perform and compete than how many scoops of cereal they eat for breakfast, especially in the sports we do. I have trained with some of the best climbers, kayakers and distance athletes on the planet. They did not measure their food. I've also trained with some of the most ripped, fit looking individuals on the planet, yet these same individuals don't win, and don't perform at the highest levels in their sports. The best athletes I've ever trained with worry first and foremost about getting their training done so that it leads to success, and how to organize their lives so they have the best possible chance at success. Food is an important but ultimately relatively minor part of that equation.
Sharma is not counting how many fucking corn flakes he eats. Sharma is kicking ass. Tiger Woods is not counting how many caviar crackers he eats. Tiger Woods is kicking ass. My sport climbing results improved dramatically when I stopped worrying so much about what I ate and started focusing more on how to be a better climber. It's always tempting to focus on things that are relatively easy to control such as food intake, rather than the more complicated but more important "real" goal: performance. Form follows function, focus on the function and kick ass. Eat when hungry. Don't eat when not hungry. Get up from the table feeling slightly less than full and you'll get skinnier. Get up from the table feeling stuffed and you'll likely get fatter. Your body is a finely tuned machine for doing what you want. Don't fuck with it or it will get confused.
When the emphasis on food goes from "I need fuel and enough of it train hard" to, "What does the diet plan say I need?" then things are going to go wrong. If you bonk on a long ski tour and then get back to the car and chow down an entire pizza you've blown it. You should have eaten the pizza before and during the long ski tour, no matter what the current diet rage says.
If you're truly fat and that fat is hindering your performance I'd argue that you're not training well and that you're using food as something other than fuel. Focus on how to change that equation...
-----------------
This is aimed at outdoor sports athletes.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Kendal Mountain Film Festival
I'm over at the Kendal Mountain Film Festival, in Northern England. It's about as English as English gets in my mind. We went out for a hike the other day and walked through green fields filled with sheep, rock walls, rolling hills, little stone houses, older couples in gum boots out walking up hills in the mud and so on before retiring to the pub to sink a few pints.
I think any English-speaking person likely has some sort of mental image of Britain. This small collection of islands exerted a huge influence on me, from nursery rhymes to the Magna Carta to Wordsworth poems. I keep looking out the window at the rain, sheep and all other stuff I just mentioned and feeling that I have seen it all somewhere before, and that it is more familiar than my few brief trips here should make the view. The Kendal Film Festival is definitely an British production,with a full collection of English, Scottish, Irish and even Welsh film makers--somehow this too makes sense, all the accents swirling in a pub. I'm on the jury and sworn to secrecy on that, but I am really enjoying this festival. When I get old I'm going to do nothing but tour around to film festivals. Wait, I'm already sort of doing that, Dundee is next week!
Seriously, this is a fantastic event and worth planning a trip around. The sun even shone for two days, unfortunately I was locked in a basement and unable to see it. Now that we're done judging the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds and rain that even has the locals commenting on the poor weather...
We've been hitting the Kendal climbing gym hard in the evenings, so much fun! My elbow problems finally seem to be in the past, and I just can't wait to get after it again. I even love climbing plastic, just the feeling of moves, chalk, ropes, friends new and old, climbing is just so damn great no matter what the medium.
I think any English-speaking person likely has some sort of mental image of Britain. This small collection of islands exerted a huge influence on me, from nursery rhymes to the Magna Carta to Wordsworth poems. I keep looking out the window at the rain, sheep and all other stuff I just mentioned and feeling that I have seen it all somewhere before, and that it is more familiar than my few brief trips here should make the view. The Kendal Film Festival is definitely an British production,with a full collection of English, Scottish, Irish and even Welsh film makers--somehow this too makes sense, all the accents swirling in a pub. I'm on the jury and sworn to secrecy on that, but I am really enjoying this festival. When I get old I'm going to do nothing but tour around to film festivals. Wait, I'm already sort of doing that, Dundee is next week!
Seriously, this is a fantastic event and worth planning a trip around. The sun even shone for two days, unfortunately I was locked in a basement and unable to see it. Now that we're done judging the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds and rain that even has the locals commenting on the poor weather...
We've been hitting the Kendal climbing gym hard in the evenings, so much fun! My elbow problems finally seem to be in the past, and I just can't wait to get after it again. I even love climbing plastic, just the feeling of moves, chalk, ropes, friends new and old, climbing is just so damn great no matter what the medium.
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