Back to Basics and the Return to Rock
My whole being felt the tor ment I inflicted upon myself after being through the r inger. It was over already. Like a second chance that flew past quicker than one could grasp the tail of a kite. It was the last boulder ing world cup for a while and I wanted redemption, but no. There would be none of that and definitely no semi-finals. At least for me and the other 30 girls left standing on the sidelines.
The clouds parted as if to give me a sign of hope: you can still do this, look up, lear n. The ground was wet from the rain and my eyes felt the same. I wanted to be strong, but the war inside was fierce. I wondered if continuing to compete was worth the anguish, yet I knew I enjoyed it. Once the feelings passed, I could process what I lear nt, but for now I would sit with what was left. Oh, to be alive and feel so full, yet so empty.
Two ideas floated in my head after Innsbruck. Commence training for the Munich comp the next day or go somewhere, anywhere, and quench my thirst for rock that had returned after what seemed a long hiatus. My stomach sank at the first idea; for the later, it fluttered like a butterfly breaking free from its cocoon.
After the comp we returned to Font to discover a change in luck. My friend Andy invited us to join him in Norway for nine days. I took this as a sign; it pointed towards the land of fjords and mystery and decided we were going. Days later, the perfect Toyota van appeared and it became our home-on-wheels.
With the windows rolled down, feelings of adventure and voyage returned to my veins, vibrating them with every movement. I was excited. My gypsy blood was on fire. Part of me didn’t care if we ever got there. Let’s just keep dr iving, I thought, straight to Russia and over to China. The road eventually ended and a big ferry carr ied us over the dark Atlantic Ocean dropping us off on Norway’s doorstep.
Upon landing the scenes became more and more familiar, though it was new to me. The rock cliffs and swaying Atlantic across from each other reminded me of B.C.’s Sea-to-Sky highway.The red shack houses with fish drying on the outside reminded me of my upbringing.There was a sense of timelessness which like a spell, was broken when one looked at the clock.The sun hovered at the same height for sunrise and sunset which lasted just an hour or so. The mosquitoes were ripe and plenty.The fish were hopping clear out of the many lakes we drove past.
To be surrounded by old fr iends. Upon seeing Andy with his feet in plastic bags inside his old skateboarding sneakers made me laugh and I hugged him tightly. Öyvind and Thor, who stood next to Andy, I knew from Hueco. Norwegians who travelled the world were now showing us theirs. To be with old fr iends who shared the spir it of climbing with such passion, what a sense of familiar ity and love.
The climbing, the granite roofs and seaside view. I had never felt more at home when I was far from it. The only climbers we saw were our own reflections in the ponds we passed. Devouring the steep roofs like I hadn’t eaten in years, it felt good to have my psych and confidence back.
As things were flowing, life tested me again. News ar r ived that a sponsor wouldn’t renew my contract which meant for me no travel budget. I swallowed a big gulp when reading that and wondered if buying a van and coming to Norway was a good decision. I contemplated the bad comp results and not going outside enough. Feelings of unworthiness retur ned, as did the questions of what sponsorship and support really is.
Sitting against my van with the remnant feelings of a breakup, the shifting clouds reminded me of the phrase, as one door closes, another opens. I realized it didn’t matter and I shouldn’t lend myself to those thoughts any longer. The failed comps and time-out from rock gave me invaluable lessons about climbing and myself. I was still the same person, with the same abilities, perhaps even more so. I was sitting in a heaven on earth surrounded by good fr iends in a land that renewed something in me that had been slowly suffocating: my love for climbing.
The last bwc of the year was nearing. With one month to prepare, I started in typical Thomo fashion, which had previously doomed me.Warming up, my body felt exhausted.The advice received three months prior ran through my head, but this time I listened. Denise, a local competitor who matched me perfectly in size, became my much needed training partner. We fed off each others talents. When I thought I couldn’t do a big move, she would do it with ease. With an ability to watch me flail, she’d see my errors, find the solution and encourage me until I sent.
When the comp came around I moved at a snail’s pace and misread the problems.There was disappointment afterwards, but something was different. I was not shattered.While the other comps invoked feelings of despair and hopelessness this comp left me with strong feelings of hope. Perhaps I was tired of the self-loathing or maybe the trip to Norway renewed my spirit and confidence to be strong enough to handle the aftermath of comps, but whatever the reason, it was welcome.
By the end of it all I was happy to have my zest for climbing in all its glory: rocks, plastic, comps, lear ning, growing, failing and succeeding. It’s a roller coaster r ide that certainly isn’t over yet and I am happy to be r iding it with all its ups and downs.