Climbing is very intrinsically motivating to me. I don’t look at the guy next to me and think I can out climb him (or her). I look at the route and wonder if I can do it. If I fall, why did I fall? What body position did I have, where was gravity taking me. I love the feeling of learning more about myself. About pushing my limits both physically and mentally.
I yearn for that moment when my grip is failing, hearts pounding, legs shaking and gravity, as it always seems to do, laughs as it feels the pangs of another victory. It’s in these moments I seem to come alive. A voice inside grows, clawing it’s way out of some deep black pit inside me and refuses to let go. To defy physics. Even if it’s just for one more move. I can’t go down without a fight.
On the other side of this, however is of the flow. I feel it when my body moves together, controlled by one focused mind. My moves are slow, calculating and deliberate, moving in time with slow deep breaths. I am nothing more than I am. The outside world melts and time passes and I’m aware only of that moment. If the other is my compulsive need to fight, this is my calm and my peace.
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