The Rock Warrior's Way: Mental Training For Climbers

continues: “I don’t know if I can make it. A fall from up there would be dangerous. But I have do it. What will Brian think of me if I just give up? I should at least look like I’m struggling and giving it my all before I fall.”
    I climb up, not willing to commit myself to going all the way to where the next pro possibilities are, even though the next few moves seem easier. I hesitate.
    “Should I commit? I’m getting higher—don’t want to fall too far. I’m getting pumped now and feel off balance.” To feel more secure, I hold on tighter. “I have to get in some pro here.”
    I see a wide slot and pull off a hex from my rack, but I can’t work it in. “God, why didn’t I let Brian lead this? I led the last route. I just want to get a solid piece.”
    My forearms are flamed, legs shaking. I’m holding my breath. I want to be off this route. “Watch me!” I yell to Brian. I hold on for a few more seconds unwilling to let go of control. Inevitably, too pumped to keep fighting, I give in and take a short fall. The chock I’d placed below holds, arresting my fall and keeping me off the ground.
    “What the hell is wrong with me? I suck! I’ve done plenty of 10s. Who cares about this dumb route, anyway?”
    The route was Super Slab , a 5.10d in Eldorado Springs Canyon, Colorado. The year was 1977. The book Climb! (a history of Colorado climbing) had just come out, which was full of stories of my heroes and the staunch ethic that guided their climbing—no falls, ground up, and no hanging on pro. As I rested, I noticed some friends scrambling up in our direction. “Brian,” I called down quietly, “don’t tell them that I fell.”
    This was not one of my finer moments, but I realize now that it was not so unusual. Perhaps you can see in this story ways I was thinking and climbing that limited my performance. Over the years to come—almost twenty-five years, in fact—my way of climbing evolved. I learned to use attention more effectively and climb more decisively. In the past few years, I have fashioned a powerful way of climbing, which I use myself and also teach. I call it the Rock Warrior’s Way.
    I started climbing in 1973. Aluminum wedges and hexes were just being introduced. Pitons were being phased out as free-climbing protection. Such “clean” climbing was new, and I can still remember free climbing with a sling of chocks, pins and a hammer. Few climbers used chalk and belaying was done mostly via a “hip-belay.” I was climbing the limestone and sandstone cliffs of Tennessee while studying geology at Tennessee Tech University.
    In 1976 I attended the Army Ranger School at Fort Benning, Georgia, and then transferred to the University of Colorado in Boulder. While in Boulder, I was influenced by my heroes—Roger Briggs, Duncan Ferguson, Jim Erickson, Pat Ament, Steve Wunsch, David Breashears, Henry Barber, and Jim Collins to name a few. I didn’t know them personally, but I identified with their approach to free climbing and did my best to emulate their staunch ethic. I worked my way through the grades until I was climbing 5.10s regularly. Being willing to take falls was part of my approach to climbing. There were no sport routes in the 1970s; it was all just climbing. There were plenty of natural lines of weakness—cracks, series of flakes, and thin cracks on faces—that protected with traditional chocks and later cams.
    Climbing trad routes, that sometimes can be runout, pushing beyond what you perceive is your limit, assessing fall consequences, taking falls, responding to falls—all these facets of climbing involved engaging risk situations. By engaging risk, I was forced to deal with fear. By dealing with the fear I clarified what the true consequences were and eliminated or reduced illusory fears.
    In 1978 I received a BA in Geology from the University of Colorado, but geology was never my passion. What I really loved was climbing. After a tour of duty in the Army, I moved to Wyoming to work in the oil fields. In 1982 the price of oil dropped precipitously and I, along with the majority of oil-field workers, lost my job. I was lost. What do I do now? It seemed that everything had been laid out for me up to this point. After high school I went to college, then I went in the Army to fulfill my obligation, and then I worked as a geologist in the oil field because that’s what I studied in college. But what now?
    I was forced to look at what I was doing and look at myself.