Climbing... Sweet and Succulent

Mediocre. A word often used to describe my climbing abilities. I've spent a lot of time wondering what sets the Sean McColls and the Johanna Ernsts apart from the average Joes. I've come home to update my status about some 5.12 I'd sent, only to find Sasha DiGiulian on my newsfeed having sent a 14b. I've got out of bed at 3:00am to do pull ups in frustration after spending hours on youtube watching footage of world cups and hard outdoor sends...

And after all this, somewhere along the way, I stopped sulking for a second and realized that I'm still climbing for a reason. Not for the sponsors, seeing as I don't have any (...hope La Sportiva sees this...), not for the 8a update seeing as my tick list isn't nearly impressive enough to justify having one, and not for any local crag cuties. I'm still climbing because me and the rock, we're tight. I might even go as far as to say I've fallen head over heels in love. In love with the community of psyched climbers, in love with getting shut down repeatedly on that bloody red point crux of Timber Queen, and especially in love with the occasional send the climbing gods grace me and my tattered fingers with.

I think that's what ties the soloists and the high balling pad stackers to the gym rats and the off width climbing pants shitters...

We frickin' love this sport and it loves us back.


apparently very stoked somewhere up on the chief