Climbing gives us the opportunity to prove we can do something extraordinary and push ourselves to our limits.
–––
I was inspired to write this first article in a short series on the subject of climbing because of the recent “Why We Run” pieces that various writers have contributed to the Good Men Project. I’m writing about rock climbing here, not because I am especially good at it or have any type of authority on the subject, but rather because it has changed the way the world looks for me, and I’d like to share that change with you.
The other night a friend and I were walking into a honky tonk bar in Colorado Springs when the bouncer, a guy in his twenties who looked absolutely at ease in his complete cowboy regalia, stopped me. He looked me up and down and then, meeting my gaze, said, “Dude, what the hell is with those sandals? You know I can’t let you in wearing those.”
This was a significant moment for me not just in its hilarity, but for its unwavering existence as a mile marker of sorts in terms of personal transformation.
|
I explained that the only other option was my climbing shoes which were in the car, at which point he explained, “Look man, I know you’re going for the au natural granola-Colorado-climber look, but you just can’t wear those things in here…” There was a pause in the dialogue here where I was sincerely trying to figure out if I was seriously being profiled for wearing Chaco sandals in a cowboy bar and, if said profiling was going to prevent me from having an awesome night line-dancing with my friends. The bouncer continued, though, saying, “… and it’s a sexy look, man. I mean really I’m positive you’re going to get screwed tonight for sure. Just wear boots next time you come here, okay?” And I was waved through.
This was a significant moment for me not just in its hilarity, but for its unwavering existence as a mile marker of sorts in terms of personal transformation. Almost a year ago from this encounter with the bouncer, I was commuting an hour and a half to Manhattan from my dumpy Bushwick apartment to a nonprofit job where I dressed in business casual attire and gelled my hair into a Don Draper-esque quaff. Fast forward through that summer and I had bottomed out in New York City and decided to take a job as an instructor at an outdoor education center in the mountains of Colorado for a complete life change.
As a guy who never really fit with the team sports crowd nor prided himself on a certain level of athleticism I was apprehensive, but went out anyway.
|
At this outdoor ed. center, I met my first “dirtbags.” Contrary to popular parlance of the term, this type of “dirtbag” climber is defined as someone who lives on the cheap, works for almost nothing, and lives to get outdoors and have experiences in the natural world. The level of climbing proficiency varied between all of the folks I met in Colorado but they all had an intense passion for climbing and for not taking themselves too seriously. As a guy who never really fit with the team sports crowd nor prided himself on a certain level of athleticism I was apprehensive, but went out anyway. I bought a harness and had some of my new compatriots teach me the basics.
Fast forward to the bouncer episode day at the bar: I haven’t showered in five days, non-ironically long beard (I literally can’t remember to shave this monstrosity), stained khaki pants, a denim shirt with a picture of Dilbert stitched onto the breast pocket, and a Tibetan rubber bracelet a friend got from a Lama and gave to me. A buddy and I had gone out earlier that afternoon to a local climbing spot with 70% chance of wintery mix be damned and got a couple of good climbs in. So yeah, I can’t entirely blame the guy for giving me a hard time. I had literally eaten granola for breakfast that morning, so he wasn’t all that far off.
I am now a teacher, dirt poor, don’t live anywhere for more than two months, Buddhist, and just plain unreasonably happy. Grinning from ear to ear. And while there are a number of complex factors that have brought me to where I am today, I credit climbing with giving me a new lease on life.
When I’m hanging on by two fingers and the slick dust of the red sandstone is giving out beneath my feet, I become utterly convinced that we were made to be human for a reason.
|
When asked why people climb mountains, famous adventurer George Mallory merely explained, “Because they’re there.” In his explanation of why we as people pursue exciting, dangerous, and sometimes downright dumb adventures, Mallory eludes to the implicit challenge or opportunity that a mountain represents merely by existing. The mountain presents the chance for us, as people, to prove we can do something truly extraordinary; we can push ourselves to the limit of our capacity. And I tend to agree.
When climbing a face, another purer reality presents itself that trumps the suburban-consumer materialist trajectory of our traditional “professional lives” in its primordial simplicity. When I’m hanging on by two fingers and the slick dust of the red sandstone is giving out beneath my feet, I become utterly convinced that we were made to be human for a reason. In that time, even if only for a moment, I am positive that there is meaning and value in this existence. I am probably scared as hell, positive I will fall whether it be five or twenty-five feet, and freaking out. But then a wave of elation always come over me, because I realize I have this incredible gift, this option of pushing myself to this level.
I don’t think that climbing imbibes a certain lifestyle or intensity over any other sport, I just know it does that for me. It has been an avenue for realizing there is another option other than the traditional move-to-a-city-work-for-a-non-profit millennial experience. That a simpler life in the woods is not just an idealistic irony hipsters talk over at bars while sipping microbrews. The bums and madmen and dirtbags are not praised in our society, but maybe they should be. We indeed climb because “it’s there,” but also because it sets us free, never mind if we fall or have a bad day on the crag. Regardless we’ll fall asleep at the end of the day smiling.
–––