Okay, now for something a little different.
I mentioned my bad back a few days ago, and also that I injured it in an indoor climbing accident. Well, in 2007, I wrote an article about all the injuries I'd acquired on indoor climbing walls (specifically bouldering, which is unroped climbing above a crash mat, tackling short, powerful problems no more than about 15' high). CLIMB magazine liked the article, but ultimately rejected it because it didn't fit into their standard editorial format. So it's lingered in my archives for a couple of years. But I thought I would drag it out and leave it up for a while. I'll attempt to provide a brief glossary of names and terms at the bottom to clarify any obscure references for the non-climber. But in essence this is a tale of passion and disenchantment. It inevitably makes for a long blog, but I hope you like it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Indoor Falls
1999 was a good year; the year I came close to realising my potential. Dylan Moran has said that we should never try to examine our potential too closely for fear of finding that, like your bank account, theres far less in it than youd thought. And I was certainly never going to be a Dawes or a McClure. But in my own limited way I came close to achieving something special. With good partners and fine weather, my climbing improved and my enjoyment grew with it. Chalk Storm was my hardest, Coral Seas an evening gem at Harpur Hill. But taking on a green and brooding Sloth was the pinnacle of my year. Backing off, then committing to the perfect jam, and swinging on up in an arc of ecstasy. Oh, 1999 was indeed a good year.
The Sloth
But my relationship with the indoor environment has inexorably worn away my ability to enjoy the sport anymore. Not the crowds, no, nor the tedious repetition. But the falls and, my God, the resultant injuries. Now, Ive had my fair share of falls outside. My most spectacular was a huge whipper on Black Slab at Stanage, where my bombproof Friend ripped pathetically from the crack, leaving me ample time to contemplate the frailty of my last remaining piece, before being pulled up short as I made close eye contact with my belayer. But the worst I ever experienced was the searing but mercifully brief pain of a turned ankle, falling from the top of a chilly Burbage boulder, missing my mat and hitting a lump of frozen peat. Five minutes and a cigarette later, and the pain was almost a memory.
The first indoor fall was similar my foot disappearing into a hole in the crash mats, my ankle cracking under the impact, tendons stretched and torn. But ice, physio and an ankle brace all helped, and I still managed to boulder one-footed. In fact, it improved my balance no end.
The second was much worse. My back was already weak from years of dry-stone walling, and was in no condition to deal with my next disaster. Struggling to cope with one of Mr Bishtons fiendish finishes in the Edges bouldering room, I fell awkwardly. My heels hit the mat first, my head coming down fast to impact hard with my legs. Cue massive muscular and tendon damage in my lower back, which even now results in spasms that only a daunting combination of drugs can alleviate.
I should have been conscious by now that my affiliation with the room was a painful one, at least on my part. In any relationship, the first slap in the face can be put down to an aberrant display of temper, completely out of character. The second one, though, should alert you to the possibility that all is not well. Its time to start listening to those warning bells. But I didnt.
V5 was my zenith and nemesis. Each time I would recover steadily, and push myself back to the point where I could manage one or two of them. Then I would over step the bounds. The third injury was, in hindsight, a possible indication of encroaching middle-age. An awkward, crimpy side-push, requiring an awful lot of right-arm tension, had foxed me several times. But finally, I got my balance right and pushed up.only to feel a dull pop in my elbow. There wasnt much pain then, but I knew that something had given way.
Climbers elbow lateral epicondilytis was the result. In one article I read on the web it listed the symptoms, including, laughably pulling off a V12 becomes difficult. No change there then. But the pain was less easy to laugh away. A dull ache that radiated up my arm as far as my shoulder. Despite plenty of rest it wasnt healing, and so I took a deep breath and gave up climbing for a year.
I honestly cant remember what I did in that year, apart from putting on a considerable amount of weight. But I returned to the sport in late 2006. Without a partner now, the proximity of the bouldering room beckoned again as a lunchtime escape from work. Again the rusty joints began to enjoy the movement and balance, and my mind renewed its addiction to working out the problems. Again my performance improved, both inside and out. Chilly, happy days on Burbage followed when the weather finally dried that winter.
Was it a V5 that did for me this time? Indirectly, yes. I took a rest from my attempts on a crimpy, but uncomplicated little number, and kept myself warm on a couple of easy problems. On a V1, I grasped a huge ladder rung with my left hand. My right arm dangling, I stepped casually up till my shoulder drew level with the hold.and then my feet slipped (damn those new slippers!). My arm was yanked sharply downwards and, as all my body weight came onto it, there was a loud tear from deep in my shoulder. Against all hope, I dangled there for a second before dropping to the mat, a searing pain exploding down my arm and across my chest.
The bruising was impressive; the whole of my bicep turned a livid purple with yellow highlights. I had torn the bicep tendons, that much was obvious. But worse was to come. Once the swelling and bruising had died down, it was clear that the tendon across the front of my armpit was a lot looser than it should be. I had completely ruptured my pectoralis minor. The muscle is detached and useless, the damage was permanent.
That was the final straw. To hell with this sport. Im too old, too overweight, and too fed up with the injuries for this to carry on. Twenty five years of climbing had to be consigned to my past. What should I do instead? Sailing, maybe, for that same sense of adventure, the combination of physical exertion, balance and finesse with ropes (or sheets). Or scuba diving, perhaps very low impact. No more painful, demoralising injuries. No more having to build my form back up from scratch. No more obsession over tiny problems. No more paralysing fear way out above my protection. No more hot aches on a January morning. No more scary falls. No more plotting my life by the climbs Id done. Its time for a fresh start. New horizons, new experiences beckon.
On impulse, I bought a mountain bike on credit. Ill sell all my gear to pay for it; theres a few hundred pounds worth there. Ive listed my kit, written the advert. Now all I need to do is pin it on the board at the wall, recoup my money and walk away. No problems, no regrets. Itll be easy.wont it?
--------------------------------------------------------------
Dylan Moran: Irish comedian
Johnny Dawes: "Johnny Dawes is a myth, a living legend - He is one of the boldest and most talented climbers and knows how to interpret rock as few others are capable of" (Heinz Zak). I was lucky enough to have a one-to-one workshop with him once. Mindblowing concepts of movement.
Steve McClure: Oh, just watch this. And note the position he gets himself into just to take a rest, before starting the hard bit! Can you even imagine calling that position a rest? I occasionally had the privilege of sharing the bouldering room with this short, powerful guy. Just watching this excerpt makes my fingers sweat....
Jam: Inserting your hand into a crack; making a fist so that your hand locks into the crack and then pulling up on it.
Whipper: a fall you take while leading a climb, usually well above your last piece of protection resulting in a considerable drop!
Friend: a piece of protection; a camming device you can insert into a crack which then expands and locks, and you then clip the rope into. Or, alternatively, the person holding the end of the rope!
Belayer: The person holding the end of the rope! Occasionally your life saver - don't argue with them!
Percy Bishton: an excellent climber, and also a route-setter for international climbing competitions. He set the routes at the Edge, and had a reputation for emphasising technique rather than power, with difficulty increasing with height. Very nerve-wracking finishes!
V1/V5/V12, etc: a grading system for bouldering problems, devised by US climber John 'Vermin' Sherman at Hueco Tanks in the 90s. Very, very few people can climb V12 or above. Purely a technical grade that does not take danger or fear into account, unlike other systems.
Crimpy side-push: how to explain? Extend your right arm to your side at shoulder height. Turn the back of your hand towards you so you are looking at your nails, and they are pointing to 9 o' clock. Now imagine your fingertips are pushing sideways against a small hold. Bend and straighten your elbow to understand the action. For added effect, try it balancing on a tin of beans with one foot, using the other leg to counter-balance the movement
Slippers: climbing shoes are very like ballet shoes, except with a high friction rubber sole. They require a great deal of foot arch strength, and are excellent for completely deforming your feet...as I well know! Virtually impossible to walk in!
--------------------------------------------------------
Well, if you stuck with it, I hope it passed the time a little.
All the best!
L
I mentioned my bad back a few days ago, and also that I injured it in an indoor climbing accident. Well, in 2007, I wrote an article about all the injuries I'd acquired on indoor climbing walls (specifically bouldering, which is unroped climbing above a crash mat, tackling short, powerful problems no more than about 15' high). CLIMB magazine liked the article, but ultimately rejected it because it didn't fit into their standard editorial format. So it's lingered in my archives for a couple of years. But I thought I would drag it out and leave it up for a while. I'll attempt to provide a brief glossary of names and terms at the bottom to clarify any obscure references for the non-climber. But in essence this is a tale of passion and disenchantment. It inevitably makes for a long blog, but I hope you like it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Indoor Falls
1999 was a good year; the year I came close to realising my potential. Dylan Moran has said that we should never try to examine our potential too closely for fear of finding that, like your bank account, theres far less in it than youd thought. And I was certainly never going to be a Dawes or a McClure. But in my own limited way I came close to achieving something special. With good partners and fine weather, my climbing improved and my enjoyment grew with it. Chalk Storm was my hardest, Coral Seas an evening gem at Harpur Hill. But taking on a green and brooding Sloth was the pinnacle of my year. Backing off, then committing to the perfect jam, and swinging on up in an arc of ecstasy. Oh, 1999 was indeed a good year.
The Sloth
But my relationship with the indoor environment has inexorably worn away my ability to enjoy the sport anymore. Not the crowds, no, nor the tedious repetition. But the falls and, my God, the resultant injuries. Now, Ive had my fair share of falls outside. My most spectacular was a huge whipper on Black Slab at Stanage, where my bombproof Friend ripped pathetically from the crack, leaving me ample time to contemplate the frailty of my last remaining piece, before being pulled up short as I made close eye contact with my belayer. But the worst I ever experienced was the searing but mercifully brief pain of a turned ankle, falling from the top of a chilly Burbage boulder, missing my mat and hitting a lump of frozen peat. Five minutes and a cigarette later, and the pain was almost a memory.
The first indoor fall was similar my foot disappearing into a hole in the crash mats, my ankle cracking under the impact, tendons stretched and torn. But ice, physio and an ankle brace all helped, and I still managed to boulder one-footed. In fact, it improved my balance no end.
The second was much worse. My back was already weak from years of dry-stone walling, and was in no condition to deal with my next disaster. Struggling to cope with one of Mr Bishtons fiendish finishes in the Edges bouldering room, I fell awkwardly. My heels hit the mat first, my head coming down fast to impact hard with my legs. Cue massive muscular and tendon damage in my lower back, which even now results in spasms that only a daunting combination of drugs can alleviate.
I should have been conscious by now that my affiliation with the room was a painful one, at least on my part. In any relationship, the first slap in the face can be put down to an aberrant display of temper, completely out of character. The second one, though, should alert you to the possibility that all is not well. Its time to start listening to those warning bells. But I didnt.
V5 was my zenith and nemesis. Each time I would recover steadily, and push myself back to the point where I could manage one or two of them. Then I would over step the bounds. The third injury was, in hindsight, a possible indication of encroaching middle-age. An awkward, crimpy side-push, requiring an awful lot of right-arm tension, had foxed me several times. But finally, I got my balance right and pushed up.only to feel a dull pop in my elbow. There wasnt much pain then, but I knew that something had given way.
Climbers elbow lateral epicondilytis was the result. In one article I read on the web it listed the symptoms, including, laughably pulling off a V12 becomes difficult. No change there then. But the pain was less easy to laugh away. A dull ache that radiated up my arm as far as my shoulder. Despite plenty of rest it wasnt healing, and so I took a deep breath and gave up climbing for a year.
I honestly cant remember what I did in that year, apart from putting on a considerable amount of weight. But I returned to the sport in late 2006. Without a partner now, the proximity of the bouldering room beckoned again as a lunchtime escape from work. Again the rusty joints began to enjoy the movement and balance, and my mind renewed its addiction to working out the problems. Again my performance improved, both inside and out. Chilly, happy days on Burbage followed when the weather finally dried that winter.
Was it a V5 that did for me this time? Indirectly, yes. I took a rest from my attempts on a crimpy, but uncomplicated little number, and kept myself warm on a couple of easy problems. On a V1, I grasped a huge ladder rung with my left hand. My right arm dangling, I stepped casually up till my shoulder drew level with the hold.and then my feet slipped (damn those new slippers!). My arm was yanked sharply downwards and, as all my body weight came onto it, there was a loud tear from deep in my shoulder. Against all hope, I dangled there for a second before dropping to the mat, a searing pain exploding down my arm and across my chest.
The bruising was impressive; the whole of my bicep turned a livid purple with yellow highlights. I had torn the bicep tendons, that much was obvious. But worse was to come. Once the swelling and bruising had died down, it was clear that the tendon across the front of my armpit was a lot looser than it should be. I had completely ruptured my pectoralis minor. The muscle is detached and useless, the damage was permanent.
That was the final straw. To hell with this sport. Im too old, too overweight, and too fed up with the injuries for this to carry on. Twenty five years of climbing had to be consigned to my past. What should I do instead? Sailing, maybe, for that same sense of adventure, the combination of physical exertion, balance and finesse with ropes (or sheets). Or scuba diving, perhaps very low impact. No more painful, demoralising injuries. No more having to build my form back up from scratch. No more obsession over tiny problems. No more paralysing fear way out above my protection. No more hot aches on a January morning. No more scary falls. No more plotting my life by the climbs Id done. Its time for a fresh start. New horizons, new experiences beckon.
On impulse, I bought a mountain bike on credit. Ill sell all my gear to pay for it; theres a few hundred pounds worth there. Ive listed my kit, written the advert. Now all I need to do is pin it on the board at the wall, recoup my money and walk away. No problems, no regrets. Itll be easy.wont it?
--------------------------------------------------------------
Dylan Moran: Irish comedian
Johnny Dawes: "Johnny Dawes is a myth, a living legend - He is one of the boldest and most talented climbers and knows how to interpret rock as few others are capable of" (Heinz Zak). I was lucky enough to have a one-to-one workshop with him once. Mindblowing concepts of movement.
Steve McClure: Oh, just watch this. And note the position he gets himself into just to take a rest, before starting the hard bit! Can you even imagine calling that position a rest? I occasionally had the privilege of sharing the bouldering room with this short, powerful guy. Just watching this excerpt makes my fingers sweat....
Jam: Inserting your hand into a crack; making a fist so that your hand locks into the crack and then pulling up on it.
Whipper: a fall you take while leading a climb, usually well above your last piece of protection resulting in a considerable drop!
Friend: a piece of protection; a camming device you can insert into a crack which then expands and locks, and you then clip the rope into. Or, alternatively, the person holding the end of the rope!
Belayer: The person holding the end of the rope! Occasionally your life saver - don't argue with them!
Percy Bishton: an excellent climber, and also a route-setter for international climbing competitions. He set the routes at the Edge, and had a reputation for emphasising technique rather than power, with difficulty increasing with height. Very nerve-wracking finishes!
V1/V5/V12, etc: a grading system for bouldering problems, devised by US climber John 'Vermin' Sherman at Hueco Tanks in the 90s. Very, very few people can climb V12 or above. Purely a technical grade that does not take danger or fear into account, unlike other systems.
Crimpy side-push: how to explain? Extend your right arm to your side at shoulder height. Turn the back of your hand towards you so you are looking at your nails, and they are pointing to 9 o' clock. Now imagine your fingertips are pushing sideways against a small hold. Bend and straighten your elbow to understand the action. For added effect, try it balancing on a tin of beans with one foot, using the other leg to counter-balance the movement
Slippers: climbing shoes are very like ballet shoes, except with a high friction rubber sole. They require a great deal of foot arch strength, and are excellent for completely deforming your feet...as I well know! Virtually impossible to walk in!
--------------------------------------------------------
Well, if you stuck with it, I hope it passed the time a little.
All the best!
L
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
An interesting read indeed, not a subject I am too familiar with but on the whole nicely written.
I meant to ask, what does your username mean? x