For the first time in five years I have time to myself. At first the thought of unleashing myself on myself was rather disturbing, not knowing if myself could handle myself all alone, all at once. It wasn’t that hard (or bad) in the end, manners were on high alert and constantly engaged. Where is this coming from? Quite simply I (yes I, alone, implying no Coco and no Simon) had packed my bag and joined Will Currie on a trip to Mount Arapiles at the end of November – usually one of the hotter months. Was I crazy? I guess that depends on what one views as being the objective. When this impromptu trip surfaced I was eager to get away, anywhere, and my family supported me, and so I left quick smart before they changed their minds. Arapiles looked like the easiest and quickest escape so off we went.
Gradually, as I got farther and farther away from home my heart sank deeper with the knowledge that I couldn’t just rush home and give my Coco bunny a kiss and a cuddle. I called her late in the afternoon of day one. No tears there from her just a casual, Where are you? I miss you. When are you coming home? My body held the tension of holding my heart in my hand all that day and the days that followed. A few days into the trip I was exhausted physically; by trying really, really hard on my project, and mentally from trying to convince myself that it was ok to relax.
I was working on Lord of the Rings (31), a route that I had tried back in 2006 for two days then again last year during a heat wave of 40+ degree temps, it went well…perhaps not, but I thought I could do all of the individual moves. To clarify that’s on top rope, off the dog, not linking a single move, but it was a start and I always had the hots for this line. So I was excited to try this route and see if I could progress things somewhat.
I was battling a barrage of mixed emotions. I felt incredibly guilty not having the task of chasing Coco around dealing with her day-to-day requirements, having left that all to Simon. Was he coping? Was she coping with him? I know I was not coping with the luxury of time and my new found freedom. Nor was my body coping with climbing. Climbing anything was hard, I was tired, my elbow hurt, my bicep hurt, my body had shut down. I recognised what was happening, rather than beating myself up I gave in to doing nothing, and waiting for it to come back on board.
Encouragingly, each time I called home I was reassured that, “all was quiet on the home front” and gradually I was able to chillax.
At last the day came when things just clicked together. It was my first attempt at leading the route and conditions were good. Sporadic, but good. I got through the lower crux (which had been giving me grief) and just kept going… … snatch left edge, right toe up, right hand cross-over to credit card crimp, plant left toe, rock-over to high side-pull, right toe to edge, tension and snatch to right side-pull, drop down and cross left foot under to pocket, left hand snatch… And it was going great until it came time to clip; clearly that needed more work. But I was ecstatic, I had overcome a huge hurdle. I was on lead and I wasn’t scared and I got so much further than I thought possible. It was a good outcome. I’m sure it can go down and I’m psyched to return.
I had also come to realise that not every move had to be perfect. Sometimes just doing the moves and staying on the rock was enough, just to keep on going seemed to work, little hand or foot adjustments could be made on the run, this was something I thought would not be possible on this route.
So I returned home grateful for the break and overjoyed to see my family again.