Thursday, March 17, 2016

Beware: Girl Climbing Ahead

Nine years ago, in Joe's Valley, I sent my first (and only, to date) V4. 

                    Crusher face. 

Those Pimpin' Jeans. I'll never forget how proud I was, and how utterly crushed I was when Rocco laid into me for "grade chasing". He was trying to remind me, in his usual unapologetically brusque way, that the goal should be the love of climbing, not numbers, but to my pride it sounded like a condemnation, and a bit of an insult that I was so proud of v4; after all, he had sent double digits and was much less stoked on himself. 

That was almost the last day I ever climbed. 

I wish I had had the experience to understand and the courage to speak up then, as the tears I shed that day still haunt me as one of my greatest embarrassments. It wasn't the grade I was proud of, it was myself, that I had come so far from the scrawny little bar waitress who couldn't carry a tray of beer mugs to a scrappy rock climber who had just sent a problem that she had looked at the day before and said to herself, "There's no fucking way." I wasn't proud that I felt stronger than any other climber, I was proud because I felt stronger than I had ever thought I could be.  I was proud because in that moment, standing on top of that boulder, in that place, I realized what being a rock climber really meant and I realized that I was a part of that tribe. 

Now, nine years later, I know Rocco wasn't trying to crush my spirits. He was reminding me to enjoy the hike in and the warm ups just as much as that projects, and to not get too addicted to the rush of the hard send. It was good advice. It did crush me, though. It felt like being set apart from the tribe, that I wasn't quite there yet.

Nine years later, I'm in Bishop on a road trip. Yesterday was one of the single worst climbing days I've had in 11 years. I woke up with a sinus infection. I'm excited to get moving and go take a few runs on a project, though. 

           This one, to be exact. 2007.

I laid in bed and browsed Facebook while Tim checked in on work, and read a comment decrying women who are sponsored climbers despite only sending v6, because they're hot and post selfies with inspirational captions and how awful and sexist it is and so on and so forth. Where young Heather would've seen that as a personal condemnation and scour her Instagram to delete any cute selfies with too many hashtags that are making her look like less of a real climber, older wiser Heather who likes her fucking selfies and wears makeup to the crag and doesn't give a fuck what you think about #chickswhoclimb got kind of pissed. 

     Yeah, I selfie. You would, too, if your           eyeliner was that goddamn flawless. 

I replied. 

"(Name), I briefly got free gear, many years ago, and I to this day have never sent V5. The company gave it to me because I was on a 6 month road trip with my new husband, living in our truck, traveling and climbing and exploring. The company felt that our adventure embodied what this community is all about, living life to its fullest, being badass, regardless of grades. 
Personally, I find the whole concept of sponsorship only if you pull v12 or whatever demeaning; you can be an integral, important, powerful member of this community and not climb particularly hard. Why are grades so much more important than psyche? Does it make me less of a "real" climber to you that I don't climb hard, even if I've devoted a huge part of my life to climbing, even if I've traveled to and climbed at most of the bouldering areas in the Western US, even if I volunteer and vote and petition to maintain and improve access,  and keep areas clean and safe, etc? Does that only count if I pull double digits? Because, yo, I'm also a wife, and mother, and career woman, and I love climbing but hate training, and all those things together in a package means V motherfucking 4 for life, and I'm perfectly ok with that, and if that makes me less of a climber to you, well, you're kind of a jerk and not helping the female climbing community one bit."

I almost didn't hit send on that one. It felt defensive and a bit angry, and I suppose it is. Yet, it sums up my feelings on the matter pretty firmly, and it felt good to say it. 

Haggard sick tailgate terrible hair selfie, too. Because I fucking selfie. Suck it. 

V4 for motherfucking life. 

#ClimberChicksRock #SuckIt #LifeIsAwesome 

Sunday, March 6, 2016

New beginnings

March seems to be the turning point. 

As just about everyone knows, my Asher was stillborn at approximately 24 weeks in May of 2006. It was, and still is in many ways, the darkest time of my life. I felt so alone, completely cut off from the happiness of the world, and heartbroken. It's a feeling I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. 

           Look how tiny his feet were.

Fast forward to March, 2016. I have taken a position as business manager at a nonprofit, The JLB Project. Their (our) mission is to provide support and outreach to families who have lost a baby, due to miscarriage, stillbirth, or death in infancy. The morning I got the offer (and immediately accepted, despite having other probably more profitable opportunities), I was in a daze of happiness and excitement, and could not stop talking to Asher. "We did it, baby, we made it out and now we get to help other families make it out on the other side too. It wasn't for nothing. You never got to take a breath, but you're going to help people!" 
So many people who lived long lives never get to say that. 

It's going to be excruciatingly painful some days, I know. I don't have any illusions about that. But at the end of the day, I'm going to be able to use my professional experiences and my personal experiences to help people who are in the hardest, darkest time of their lives, and that's so worth reliving my own pain. 

Late winter feels like a perfect metaphor for life right now. The storms of the season aren't over, but the worst is behind me. The days are getting longer and warmer and new life is stirring, spring and summer are coming. I know that the storms will come again with the seasons, but I'll be better prepared and I'll be stronger. I'm ready to face the challenges the coming year will bring. 


Maybe I just needed the reminder that I've already survived things that most people can't imagine. I've come out tougher and braver and yes, much much sadder, but I've come out. If I can do that, and even be tough enough to dive back in and make it my mission to help others suffering what I suffered, then I can do anything. 
I've got this.