Discipline: the
practice of training people to obey rules or a code of behavior, using
punishment to correct disobedience.
While living with my
friend “Nile the Crocodile” I was introduced to climbing. He convinced me to
join a local gym named Momentum. I had seen videos of rock climbers before, and
thought to myself, “I can do that”. At the time I was working two jobs and was
constantly on the move. I thought I was fit- boy, was I in for a surprise.
Sports have always
been an integral part of my life. My father was insistent that I would be an athlete.
He enrolled me in basketball leagues since before I can remember, and I played
American Football once I was in Junior High School. Baseball, soccer, tennis,
and other traditional sports were played whenever I had down time, and was not
playing video games. Like many people, I
became disillusioned during my teenage years and gave all of these traditional
sports up completely; leaving me an obese pile of health issues.
Between the ages of
17-22 I ate poorly, drank heavily, and abused many different drugs (no meth or
heroin though). One day while I was wallowing in self-pity I found a manila
envelope addressed to me. The chicken scratch handwriting could have only been
that of my past self, and I did not remember it at all. Inside was writing from
my High School days- evidence of my angst, anger, and anxiety; frustrations
with the life we are told to live; and a powerful note from my English teacher.
I realized at that moment I had to change who I was.
I started to do the
only exercise I could at the time: walking. I weighed a little over 235 lbs. At
5’8” tall that is an extremely unhealthy weight. Acid reflux, shortness of
breath (smoker’s lung), diarrhea, excessive mucous, joint problems, and many
other ailments plagued my daily existence. My parents offered to give me an old
bike they had, and I gladly accepted. A park near where I lived at the time has
a one to two mile loop, and my first ride around was quite embarrassing- I was
panting half way through.
Bills were piling up
on me, and I wanted to rid myself of the social influences that enabled my
unhealthy behaviors. A new employment opportunity was a light at the end of
this dark tunnel, but I thought at the time that I needed more help. While discussing
this with my parents they offered to allow me to stay with them, until I was
back on my feet. The only condition they had for me was that I continue on the
path that I had chosen; a path to improve my life.
During the ten months
I lived with them I had a very strict routine. I would wake up at 5:30 to go to
work. When I would get home I would head straight to the gym to run. By this
time I was fit enough that I could run a mile in about eight minutes. The
treadmill bored me. On the televisions nearby there were always shows on that
were not of my taste, and so I began running on the track. Soon I was jogging
up the stairs, and even skipping some as I went.
With my newfound
financial freedom I was able to focus on buying foods that were healthier
(something people do not realize, until they live in poverty, is that unhealthy
food are more inexpensive). I found several books on nutrition (including two
written by a cousin) and learned what I could do to enhance my ability at the
gym. I pushed harder every day, trying to get back to that seven minute mile.
One day I arrived
home with way more energy than I was used to, so I decided to jog to the gym.
Much to my surprise the last month of running had paid off so well that I was
able to jog back to my parent’s house (which was two miles from the gym) after
I had ran two miles at the gym, and ridden a stationary bike for five miles. My
gym schedule was at the same time as some younger people who played basketball
there, and I worked this into my daily routine.
Every day I would
race home from work so I could get to the gym. Before long my hourly routine turned
into two, than three hours. I was addicted to exercise, and spent most of my
time away from work at the gym. When I would get home I would cook dinner-
chicken or fish with green vegetables (my mother loved this part of me being
home). Afterwards I would read a book for between 1-2 hours, play the piano,
and go to bed. Rarely did I watch television.
There was a day where
work had made me extremely anxious, and the idea that I was living to work
weighed heavily on my mind. I ran to the gym after work and was sprinting
around the track upstairs when an old friend from high school saw me. He walked
up from the weights and stood in front of my path, with concern in his eyes. “Are
you smoking meth?” He asked. We both laughed.
The last time he had
seen me was when I weighed 235 lbs, and by that time I was down to 145 lbs-
just a year and half later. It was no surprise he would ask such a question. He
told me I had to start lifting with him, whenever he was there at the same time
as me. I agreed without hesitation. He taught me how to build lean, strong
muscle.
Around this time Neil
moved out of the apartment he was in, and wanted another roommate; I jumped at
the opportunity. Soon after moving in he started to show me the collection of
snowboarding and climbing videos he had. Climbing peaked my interest, so we
decided to join Momentum.
My level of fitness
was at a five year high. The first time I went to Momentum I thought I was
going to be able to climb all of it; I was humbled.
To my left and to my
right were men and women who did not appear to be as strong, yet they would
climb up and down these plastic holds with ease. I was dumbfounded, I was
flabbergasted, and I was a little frustrated. Were all of these years of
exercise for naught?
For six months we
climbed at least three days per week. During this time I met exciting people
who were always ready to go out to party. I was young and full of energy. I
worked two jobs, climbed, and wanted to experience all that I could.
Unfortunately, rest is something that has always alluded me. I would only sleep
between two to four hours per night, and the toll this took on my mind and body
eventually caught up with me.
One morning after a
friend’s wedding I was on my back from getting food and I lost consciousness while
driving over the I-80 freeway along 1300 East going southbound. After many
tests it was concluded that my heart lost pressure, and the lack of blood flow
(i.e. oxygen) to my brain caused my syncope. I discussed my night life, my love
of cocaine, and my lack of sleep with a cardiologist and a neurologist- each
gave me a grave warning; I would be dead by thirty if I continued the life I
was living (surprisingly both were supportive of smoking marijuana).
This car accident injured
me- mentally and physically. I hobbled around in melancholy and self-pity for
several months, until I left the law firm I had worked for to join a health insurance
company. Here I met someone who was into weight training to build muscle mass.
He taught me how to properly circuit train, and helped me regain my mental and
physical strength, as well as the confidence I had lost.
Nile the Crocodile and
I parted ways for over a year and we did not climb at all during this time. He
moved closer to the Cottonwood Canyons (Utah) and I moved near downtown Salt
Lake City (Utah). Eventually he decided to move closer to downtown. Neither of
us had a car at this time. We would bike everywhere. One day I received a knock
on my door. I opened the door to find Nile the Crocodile acting very unlike
himself; he was excited- his words flew out of his mouth at a million miles an
hour; he told me, “We NEED to build a climbing wall in your back yard”.
I okayed the idea
with my landlord. Over the next few days I discussed possible ideas with my
friends and family who were thoroughly involved with residential and commercial
construction. The idea we committed to was an eight foot by fifteen foot wall
with two sections. The first section is set on two foot box, at a 45 degree
angle. The second is completely level (oh yeah) at a zero degree angle.
We climbed hard on this
wall almost every day. Of course not everyone has the same convictions. People
came and went, but the wall remained in my backyard- a constant reminder to
send it.
I had never thought
of climbing outside, in the mountains before, nor had I thought of doing so.
When I was young my father and mother instilled a profound love and respect for
the great outdoors. We backpacked and hiked regularly. I had seen people
climbing before, but never really given it much thought. A friend of mine took
me outside and I was terrified- an experience from my childhood haunted me.
I will not go into
much detail about my childhood trauma, since I have written about that
experience in detail already. Here I would just like to note that a family trip
to some arches in Utah caused me to succumb to acrophobia.
This is when I met my
last ex-girlfriend. We trail ran together, and I slowly climbed less and less
as we spent more time together. This was no fault of hers. She did not climb,
and I wanted to spend time with her. She was the light in my world, for a time.
After nine months of bliss she moved in, and that is when it fell apart.
A month after we
split (January of 2015) a friend of mine who had moved back to Seattle,
Washington to be close to his son moved back to Utah for a job opportunity. He
convinced me to climb outside with him.
It was an unusual
winter in Utah that year, and barely snowed at all. So we hit crags from
February until May, and it was awesome. My friend shacked up with a lady and
moved in with her, limiting the number of days we could spend climbing
together; it was time to buy gear. (:
Gear, gear, gear! I
piled it on, and slowly chipped away at my fear of heights. I led my first 5.9,
Hollow man in BCC, and took my first thirty feet plus whipper (fall). Than the
day I sung my heart out on choir boy (a 5.9 climb in BCC) arrived. After that
it all seemed to fall into place. The fear of
falling, the fear of heights subsided for a time. Our crew of climbing
partners moved rapidly from 5.8-5.10c ratings.
I was laid off from
the firm I was working for in June of last summer (2015), and given the
opportunity to claim unemployment, on top of the severance package they
provided. This interesting experience presented another opportunity; an
opportunity to climb. I embraced the dirtbag
lifestyle.
For those of you
outside of the climbing community this means that you live to climb. I would
wake up early to climb or trail run; take naps during the day; and climb in the
afternoons with whoever was available. Showers happened every so often, there
was just too much climbing and resting for the next climb to be done! This
continued for two and half months and I would recommend such a reprieve for any
adult who is lucky enough to take advantage of such a chance.
I was head-hunted by
the law firm I currently work with. I wanted nothing to do with the traditional
life anymore; a sport that began has hobby had transitioned into a passion, and
was now a full-blown obsession (a healthy one, of course). When I was
interviewed I clearly stated this fact, and their response blew me away; they
wanted me to work with their firm so that I could chase my passions.
In the few months I
had spent climbing I had forgotten about how much more world there was out
there to explore. My mind had narrowed onto the canyons nearby. When they told
me this my mind wandered around the globe, and the possible crags I could
travel to with the income they offered- it was something I could not refuse.
Of course splitting
my time between work and climbing meant that I would have to be dedicated, I
would have to maintain self-control, and I would have to be disciplined. It is
difficult to juggle all of the balls in this adult life, but sacrifices are
easy to make when you are in love.
As soon as I am done
with work I race home to gather my gear and either head to a crag, a boulder
field, or the Front Climbing Club, where I pay for a monthly membership. Day in
and day out I climb. In addition I ride my bike to and from work, as well as
trail run with my dog two to three times per week. This regimen is exhausting,
yet fulfilling, and extremely rewarding.
I broke my tailbone
snowboarding in mid-December of 2015 and this slowed down my progress. When I
returned in February I was more timid,
more cautious, and mostly, more afraid. The fear had returned, and became an
impediment to my climbing.
This may, or may not
be common, but I fell victim to the silly idea that I would continue to improve
at the pace I had when I first started the sport. Our crew climbed so quickly
through each of the easier ratings I thought we were just that damn good. When
we reached the 10c/10d range it all changed. The routes became exponentially
harder. Holds were much smaller, slopers started to appear more frequently, and
the walls started to have more bulges, and roofs, if not being overhung the
entire time.
Gym time lost its
appeal, and it was difficult to climb around people who were better than me,
especially those that were younger. I lost confidence in my ability, and was
soon being persuaded by my mind that this was it, this was as good as I was
going to get; I had reached my limitation. One day I was at the gym and
overheard a young woman tell a friend of a friend that was there that she had
been climbing for a little over ten years. She was a beast, and her comment
gave so much insight into my own situation; I began to add up my years of rock
climbing experience- six months in the gym + six to twelve months in the
backyard+ 12 months outside = 24-30 months, or 2- 2 1/2 years.
Something else,
something deep in my subconscious yelled, “lies!” in response to my self-deprecation,
and so I scoured the internet for more information. What I found left me
stunned. Most people experienced exactly what I was at that moment: a plateau.
I changed my
strategy. Instead of expecting those milestone achievements, I began to look
for those incremental improvements in my technique and my strength. How could I
get my fingers to hold on to that crimp? What did I need to do to be able to
suck my core into the wall for that one crux move? Which edge do will give me
the right angle? What direction do I need to position my hips?
These questions and
many more gnawed away at my mind constantly.
Bouldering was my
answer. I found several articles by very experienced climbers and alpinists who
said that they would find boulders with moves like the cruxes they could not
get through, and work on those problems until they felt mentally and physically
ready to accept the challenge the rock had waiting for them. I met another
climber during this time who got me more into Traditional climbing, which has
just added to my technique, strength, and overall mental fortitude (placing
gear while pumped is spicy!)
After many months of
rigorous training a couple friends and I went to Haystack Mountain in the Uinta
National Forest here in Utah. This was last weekend. The boulders up there are
difficult (most have to be above my current skill; V7+), and require a 1 1/2
mile hike up a steep hill. We sent several lines that were between the V0-V2
range, and then we found the boulder we were looking for.
Three problems on the
wall shut us down (V4-V5). We tried repeatedly to send the problems and
continued to fall at the crux each time. I started to work on a problem next to
one they had chosen. After several attempts, and just being utterly confused
how to climb up, I watched them slap at the rock. It only took a few seconds to
realize that I could send that line.
I jumped on it and
gave it a go; I fell over and over. Instead of becoming frustrated I was
getting more excited with every single fall because I was getting closer and
closer to landing that crimp, and locking off my fingers- I knew I could send
this line. It was a challenge, but it was a challenge I could complete. My
fingers were getting tired, so after a good long rest I gave it “one last try”;
as usual, that was all that was necessary.
I locked off my left
hand on the crimp, placed my feet, leveraged my weight on my right toe, edged,
jammed my toe in the crack, and threw my right hand onto the other crimp- it
locked off, it locked off! Instinct overtook my senses and movements. The next
three holds were visible to every sense I have. Within seconds I was on top of
the boulder, and I let out a warrior cry out of sheer ecstasy.
Last night my friend
who got me climbing outside- the one who moved back from Washington- wanted me
to check out the limestone crag called Hellgate Cliffs, in Little Cottonwood
Canyon Utah. On the east side is a wall called Melting Mud wall, with a route
aptly named Cottonmouth King. When he asked if I would like to go to Hellgate
this was the only route that stood out in my mind; a route rated 5.11a-
something I had never led before.
The climb was a mix
of underclings, crimps, sidepulls, awkward moves, touchy feet, and glorious
pockets (most of which were only big enough for one or two fingers). I battled
bolt to bolt and fell several times, but I made it to the top. This tremendous
achievement was a small drop in the bucket of my climbing career. It is a
testament to hard work, self-control, and discipline; the enormous amount of
time required to improve one’s self is worthwhile.
Now I understand why
so many have embraced the sport of climbing, and the lifestyle you eventually live,
once you become obsessed (i.e. in love) like I am. The daily challenges, the
struggles, the work, the pain, the fatigue, the money (or lack thereof), the
constant sacrifices of social events to climb, and facing your fears, all lead
to small victories that instill such an overwhelming feeling of joy that every
fiber of my being craves for my next climb.
I have been
transformed physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually by the rock.
These lessons
inevitably affect the rest of your life. A profound appreciation for nature and
all of its glory created a passion for conservation and preservation of our
beloved outdoors. My attitude toward others is more positive than ever before.
The small things that create beauty and joy in this world are no longer unseen
by my eyes, and it is easy to point these out to others. Optimism for the
future and an unwavering conviction to the work necessary to create a future I
desire inspires me every single day.
Life is climbing
because climbing is life. Rock climbing is a hobby that transitioned to a
passion, and now it is a healthy obsession that will never allow me to become
that person I once was. I am thankful every day for the people that led me down
this unbelievable path, and to those that have enabled me to become a person
who can inspire others to chase their own passions.
Find what you love
and live it every day. When you reach your ten year mark you will have so much
knowledge and experience you will be a teacher of our people, and in doing so
we will create a better future together. Cheers.
Much love,
Laron
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