The rabbit move

The Baron, drinking coffee from on high and without the benefit of sound, seemed quite amused as the Simple Chick and I apparently embraced, undertook a short dance routine and started imitating rabbits between climbs. In reality, of course, we were discussing the moves of the Simple Chick's project, going through the sequence before she climbed again.

The rabbit move

A few weeks previously, I had belayed as she climbed her hardest lead. I was so proud of her breaking through another grade barrier, particularly as I knew that she was perfectly capable of climbing the route, but that she just didn't THINK that she could do it. Following this success, and the accompanying mini high that I think all climbers chase, she set her sights on the next grade and a lovely route on the same wall. We spent a few sessions working it, concentrating on the little traverse sequence at the top.

On her next attempt, as she neared the top, I think the man next to me was quite amused as I shouted 'it's the rabbit move' and watched her execute the sequence smoothly and easily. She smashed it!

The Simple Chick post crush

Later on, I think for the 5th time that night, having taken a proper fall from the hard move, another silly fall and having backed off twice, once due to the shock of actually doing the hard move(!), I gave my project one final try. The Simple Chick said we were not leaving until I had done it (and promised me a pint if I did), but in truth, I was getting tired and running out of chances.

Reinvigorated with high calorie tiffin and yet another coffee, before I knew it, I had clipped the 6th clip and faced the hard move, now slightly refined with the Simple Chick's help. There was no choice, I had to keep going this time. Stepping up, my hand landed solidly on the triangle and I tried hard to compose myself for the final sequence. I heard the Simple Chick cheer me on as I moved my right foot, clipped, brought my left foot in and right foot out, frogged, moved my body over, stepped up and reached up for the jug, letting out a rather loud 'YES!' as I clipped the anchor.

A very happy Long Legs

I was buzzing when I reached the ground - it was just such a rush to finally get a route clean that I had been working for a while and which at times had felt completely unachievable. And for me, the most interesting part was that the very first time I went near the route, I could barely get past the second clip on top rope - at that point I never believed I would ever lead a 6c.

Long Legs and the Simple Chick enjoy a very well earned celebratory beer

And so, this all made me start to think... Perhaps I can achieve what I want to achieve if I put the work in, maybe I really can climb harder, perhaps I haven't reached the limits of my abilities after all? Clearly training and trying harder routes each week has reaped rewards, my fingers are stronger and I feel that I am getting a little better at reading sequences. There is no doubt that Main Wall Monday has paid huge dividends, steep angles that a few months ago were exhausting, seem so much easier now. 

Dave MacLeod (my hero!) talks in his book about being open about your goals so I am now going to share mine - I would like to lead a 7a indoors and a 6b on the Main Wall before the end of 2016. In the past, I would have said there was no way I could do either of these things, but now I think, why not? If I plan my approach and train accordingly, I can certainly give both objectives a damn good try.

More than anything, I am really looking forward to the fun that the Simple Chick, and my other friends and I, are going to have, as we work our routes, get outdoors and train hard for the rest of this year.

Climbing is always a very, very serious business

A pictorial multi-pitch (mis)adventure

I think the highlight of my trip to Spain was our day of multi-pitching at Sierra de Toix. The routes were easy, but the whole situation of the climbs, the views we were afforded out across Costa Blanca and the Mediterranean, the abseil retreats and the inadvertent detour, made the whole experience pretty unforgettable. More than anything, it was damn good fun!

We started with Esplon Gris:

The Baron de las Bends at the first stance

Long legs ready to belay

Top of multi-pitch selfie.

Long Legs enjoying the second abseil retreat

Long Legs abseiling in an awesome location

After a walk(!) and our lunch we moved on to Chabito where I manned up and decided to lead the first pitch:

The Baron belays Long Legs as she leads her first sport multi-pitch pitch

Long Legs on the sharp end - the pitch was a bit run out but she was too busy singing to notice!

Long Legs feeling particularly pleased with her rope management skills!

The Enforcer waves from an adjacent single pitch

Sitting happily at my stance, the Baron seemed to have been gone for some time before there was any hint of him reaching a belay. Eventually following behind, it transpired that the 15m second pitch had somehow became nearer 50m...

View from the alternative top...

Still stunning despite the modern development

Long Legs watches as the Baron starts what was to become ab 1 of 3!

Reaching the top, we realised that we had had a bit of a misnavigation and set about deciding upon a plan of retreat - at the bottom of the second abseil, it was quite a relief when our bags, still some metres below, honed into view. Some time later, when finally reunited with my jumper(!), I felt like we had definitely got value for money on our day out - and of course, had most certainly had an adventure!

Climb it because you hate it

At the end of January, I was in such a low place about my climbing that I nearly cried in the middle of a session. My debilitating fear of falling had returned and I felt I wasn't getting anywhere, however dedicated I was to trying. Something had to change.

Although I am something of a climbing obsessive, I have come to realise that if I don't have goals and direction, I become very frustrated and unhappy that the hours I am willing to put in do not appear to be paying any dividends. I think though, sometimes (all the time!) my progress is actually hampered by my now famous 'can't do' attitude which stops me trying and when I do try, prepares me to fail.

And so it was, while stuck in the miserable climbing doldrums, that I became curious about the Enforcer's training plan, which as far as I could see, mainly involved warming up on what was pretty much my top grade! It transpired that the plan actually involved easy mileage and more difficult routes in decreasing frequency. I picked the place where it seemed wise to start and cracked on. 

Playing on the main wall at the end of a long, solid training session. Only counted as a 5 though!

Having now reached the end of month one, I think the biggest difference to my climbing has been mental. Because the training plan tells me I have to do a certain number of a certain grade of climb, then I do it. Because it tells me I have to do oodles of low grade routes, I am forced to climb the ones I don't even like, to the point that I now actively seek them out. It's like I am forcing myself to do things for the very reason that they make me uncomfortable. But more than anything, I think my perception of difficulty has changed, perhaps in part because I often climb with someone who is much, much better than me and I have come to realise that things that to me were once impossible, might actually be achievable, with a little effort.

The maximum grade of route I am willing to try has increased exponentially and strangely enough, when I try those routes, although they are most definitely absolutely nails, the whole thing is not the unmitigated disaster I would have previously assumed that it would be. But I am still scared of falling and probably still more scared of failing and I often second or top rope the harder stuff because I am wimp. I have a fear of missing the first clip and ground falling and, after the accident last year, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people I trust enough to belay me on my hardest leads.

Training works, Main Wall Monday works and pushing yourself outside your comfort zone can reap huge rewards, but until I overcome my fear of failure, deal with the two serious accidents I have witnessed and push myself on lead to the point of falling repeatedly, I'll never be the climber that I could be. Or perhaps more accurately, I'll never be the climber that I want to be.

Wonk the elephant

This is Wonk:

Wonk

Wonk was a present from my friend, and former lodger, Cat. She came in an envelope all the way from Orkney, it must a have been a long journey for such a tiny elephant... Mammoo, official tiny mammoth of Main Wall Monday, was quite taken aback when Wonk arrived - he had never seen such a lovely, colourful and sparkly Elephantidae as she, he was glad to have found a climbing partner his own size.

Mammoo gets a surprise...

Wonk, loves climbing, and Mammoo, even though he never says so, loves climbing with her. She's taken him up routes he never managed before and, under that dark, furry, brooding exterior, he's always really happy to see her achieve in the way he knows that she can. Sometimes he thinks her stuffing must be made from 'crush'. Wonk doesn't think she is very good climber, in much the same way she worries about her wonky trunk and slightly lopsided eyes, but when she climbs with Mammoo, she feels the confidence to try.

Wonk is my lucky charm. But I suppose the moral of the story is this: every climber deserves their own Wonk or Mammoo - a climbing partner who you trust implicitly, who fills you with confidence and always encourages you to try. And when you find them, get out there and get crushing. But don't be like Mammoo, if you've got a Wonk, don't forget to let them know that they're awesome!

Having a well earned tea break

Logbooks and leg warmers

I have often written about the difficulty I have in quantifying whether I climb better now that I used to, but the other day, the curse that is the Facebook memory showed me a picture of my climbing leg warmers and old climbing shoes, and I became curious as to exactly what I had been doing one year ago.

21st January 2015

My logbook tells a story of fear. Easy routes rested on, panic attacks and a strong desire to vomit. There were no overhangs, grades were low and sessions were short. There was clearly not enough tea.

Logbook entry for 21st January 2015

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I also went climbing on the 21st January 2016. New routes had been set in the gully and my climbing partner and I, together with half the Leeds regulars, were on those routes like Winnie the Pooh round honey. Our session was long, there was lots of tea and I felt like I was climbing pretty well, but was there any demonstrable improvement?

I think I'll let you decide that for yourself.

Log from 21st January 2016

New beginnings

Leaving my life in Orkney behind in 2013 was more difficult than I think even I realised at the time. I went from being unable to shop in Tesco without meeting at least 3 people I knew, to knowing almost no one - my best friends all hundreds of miles away. There are no traffic lights in Orkney, no dual carriageways or motorways but suddenly, after 6 years on a wonderfully idiosyncratic island, I was thrust back into this alien urban environment. In my quest to adjust to a new home and a return to student life after 11 years as a commercial archaeologist, I didn't paddle, I didn't climb, I didn't run and I was miserable. It was as if I had lost myself.

By the end of 2014, things were improving but my boats were still in the garage and my box of climbing kit remained untouched beneath the coffee table. I felt sad and frustrated when I looked back at the photos from all the paddling and climbing I used to do. It felt like another lifetime. But then I met someone who made me see that despite this huge change in circumstances, I was still the same girl, with the same interests, the same dreams and passions. It was as if I was a broken boiler and my pilot light was suddenly reignited.

Perhaps things didn't take the course I expected, but through the shit, that pilot light stayed lit and I regained the drive to start making some changes. I found out a friend at uni did some climbing, I wrote a UKC post to find a regular partner and I started running again, with week 6 of Couch to 5K. And slowly but surely, I rebuilt a life. As a result of that post I met the wonderful Simple Chick and together we climbed, through good times and bad. I battled with a severe, vomit inducing fear of falling, wimping out of leading 4s and kept going until the grades kept increasing and the improvements were even noticed by others. At times my own health was far from good but through it all I kept climbing and I kept running until I could run 5K, then 10K and over 20K, ending up as a member of Queensbury Running Club. 

Witnessing a near fatal climbing accident was an obvious low, but paradoxically, it was climbing, and those that I climbed with, that helped me deal with that and everything else - it gave me a purpose and at times the only reason to get out of bed. Things got better, of course, and as they did, my climbing continued to improve. I found the climber that I had left behind in Orkney and then I overtook her.

On a local paddle, in another lifetime...

In my other life, sea kayaking was a huge component, I lived 5 minutes from the sea in two directions and at one point I seriously considered starting a summer kayak guiding business for visitors to the island. Although for various reasons that never happened, I did obtain my coaching qualifications and coached extensively for both local clubs. So as I climbed more, it made sense to me to also qualify as a climbing instructor. So I did. And of course, the more I shadowed, the more instructors I met and with that another part of life was rebuilt, as I made friends and climbed with these new people.

So, although it is a cliché to look back at the past year, 2015, for me was somewhat pivotal. I still miss my friends desperately, and the network of climbers and paddlers that I left behind, but at least things are now going in the right direction. I wish I had a 'go to' friend who would greet my mad cap ideas with even better suggestions for summer and winter mountaineering, camping, fell running, climbing and anything else in between; there are so many things I want to do that I can't, merely because they are the sorts of things that need two.

This year, I have to finish my PhD and I suppose I have to decide where my life is headed, but I like it here and I like the life I have started to build. What I do know is that in 2016 I will climb more mountains, strive hard to make my own adventures, continue to build a network of friends, jump at all opportunities to get outdoors that come my way and most importantly, I am going to run my bloody stove on petrol. Gas is expensive and I am now an adoptive Yorkshire woman...

New Years Day - starting 2016 in the right way...

Work your weaknesses

The Simple Chick and I have made milling around at the wall, drinking tea and updating each other on life's ups and downs into such an art form that sometimes climbing becomes secondary to the experience. These very sociable sessions are great fun and often progress is made, but I sometimes find myself climbing the same old 10 vertical routes and shying away from anything that might be remotely challenging. I suppose I convince myself that I won't be able to do anything harder and on occasion, would rather drink more tea than actually try. Ultimately though, such an approach just leads to frustration and those horrible plateaux during which gains just seem never to be made and confidence begins to wane. 

The process of CWA consolidation did more than prepare me for assessment, those five months of hard work also, rather unexpectedly, resulted in many new friendships with people who climb far harder than perhaps I ever will. These people inspire me, but because they also happen to be climbing instructors, they have the innate ability to draw the very best out of me. The fact that Fantastyczna Cooka also feeds me healthy pizza, cake and ginger biscuits is a welcome added bonus! It was through these friends that I became inveigled into Main Wall Monday, a brilliantly simple idea which may very well result in my imminent death and judging by the full body pain as I hobbled about this Tuesday, I wouldn't be surprised if the Grim Reaper turned up and asked me for a belay next Monday night.

Views of the Main Wall

The Greater Main Wall (similar to Greater Manchester but with less hipster beards), is pretty much entirely overhanging, the premise of Main Wall Monday, to only climb the routes on it. I hate overhangs, I have no stamina and my technique is still pretty embryonic, for me, Main Wall Monday is like some kind of pump-filled torture, punctuated with cups of tea I can barely pick up. But, if it wasn't a challenge, it wouldn't be fun and although possibly still in the realms of Sir David Brailsford and his 'marginal gains', I think, some progress has been made, not least because after a full-on wrestle up the Main Wall, nothing else in the centre seems half as intimidating as it did before. 

Main Wall Monday, together with its younger siblings Training Tuesday, Weakness Wednesday and Features Friday, forces me to address a huge and gaping weakness in my climbing and try as I might, I simply can't do that while gossiping in the cafe - if only we could work out what to do on a Thursday...

Spot the Long Legs

The boots in the loo

In the late 50s my father, an analytical chemist, went to work at the BACO plant in Kinlochleven. I once asked him what he did there but he claims not to remember. I bet you though, that he could still outline in great detail the days that he and his mates spent in those mountains, even if it was 55 years ago. I imagine in the heyday of the works, he and his contemporaries never dreamed that one day the smelter would stop smelting and that ultimately their place of work would become The Ice Factor, in fact, the very concept of climbing indoors remains totally alien to him.

My dad - judging by my rucksack, sometime in the early 2000s

When I was young there was a pair of hobnail boots next to the 'end' loo. I presume these belonged to my father. Back in the day, so he once told me, your only option for mountaineering boots was to draw round your feet and send the templates to a man somewhere in London; at least by the time my mother was climbing in the early 1960s, Graham Tiso had opened his shop in Leith. One of her favourite stories involves sneaking a pair of boots in diabolical condition into the secondhand boot display and going past the shop every day to see if they had sold!

My parents have endless tales of mountain, climbing club and bothy antics and it transpires that they were acquainted with folk like Robin Smith and Dougie Haston, now firmly in the annals of Scottish mountaineering history. (Said of the former: "He used to down-climb things in his wellies that I could hardly climb up in my climbing shoes"). There was the guy known as 'Bogtrotter', who moved so fast that he failed to sink in the bogs that trapped the following group, and the tale of a Rag Week scaling of Castle Rock in Edinburgh, dressed as a baby, with ropes hidden from the police in a pram. 

But the more I hear about what they did and the more I am able to equate their experiences with my own, the more impressed I become. Earlier in the year I told my mother about a winter trip to the Highlands, she consulted the encyclopedia that is my father and reported back that they too had done those routes. In the 1960s. With crap clothing, no harnesses, long axes and probably a hemp rope... She then digressed into a range of winter tales: inadvertently descending some (Grade II) gully in the dark, the time my dad dropped a small cornice on her head and the piece de resistance, when a girl fell past my father on a winter climb and he pulled off her trousers trying to arrest her fall. 

State of the art gear found in the cupboard!

Mountains brought my parents together too. The male mountaineering house claimed to have an additional housemate who was always 'in Switzerland, in Italy, in the Alps, in Norway', the female mountaineering house, increasingly sceptical of his very existence, began to devise reasons to visit at odd times of day... On one such foray they found a dark haired, blue eyed, tanned stranger in the front room, just returned from the Italian Alps...

My father went to the Lofoten Islands long before there were causeways between every island and my mother's comedy stories extend to Norway, the Alps and the Pyrenees, her favourite involving my father firing up his petrol stove in an Alpine hut, while a cowering Frenchman exclaimed "Il sera un grand explosion!"

More than anything, when I hear these stories and look at their, often black and white, photographs, I am envious of my parents and the adventures they have had, experiences I long for but never seem to have the opportunity to partake in. Rock climbing, scrambling, hill walking, winter climbing or Alpinism, they seemed to have done it all, almost in another life time. And I like the fact that they did these things together; mountains have played a pivotal role in their relationship and I am envious too, that their deep rooted love of these places is something that they have always shared.

I suppose it comes as no surprise to anyone that I love mountains too.

Zen

It was the 11th route of the night but I knew, at that precise moment, that I was doing the best climbing I have ever done in my life. I had tried the route once before, months and months ago on a top rope and remembered thinking it was tricky. Now, on lead, everything felt so smooth and effortless, my head so uncharacteristically in the game that I reached a previously unknown state of zen, the moves just flowing as I floated over the lip and through the crux. As I stood up and shook out, I was so psyched that internally I was screaming an expletive ridden monologue of joy and it was hard to stop myself from bursting forth out loud. Clipping the chains, inside I was doing cartwheels and fist pumps, I may even have let off some fireworks. I was still buzzing as the Simple Chick lowered me to the ground, and, when a passing Campusman asked how our session had been, his eyes turned to saucers as he was hit by an unexpectedly excited, and enthusiastic, potttymouthed reply!

Having clearly reached the peak of climbing, I briefly went into retirement, however, this only lasted the weekend, before a good, solid session last night. On a new and ungraded orange, where there was huge gap to get over the lip, a similar, but lesser, zen state seemed to wash over me and I pulled some shapes and just went for it. There is no way I would have done that 6 months ago.

It is hard to explain what has happened to me or how I feel about climbing at the moment. I know I have worked really hard at it all through the year and I should be getting better, but I don't think this is really about technique, or power, or weight, I think it is about confidence. The people I climb with seem to have faith in me, they tell me things are 'comfortably within my grade', they encourage me to try that little bit harder. Last night my climbing partner, absent for 6 months, said it was as if I was a different climber now. 

Two years ago I gave up everything to move from an island in the North Sea to somewhere near Bradford. This year, climbing has helped me rebuild my life and to find the girl I felt I had left behind - it has made me happy. And because I am happy, my climbing is better and when I climb better I am happier still. Yes, I am a different climber now, but I think the change also goes deeper than that.

Good times on the island

A change in focus

Way back in June I completed my Climbing Wall Award training, but the weeks immediately following were taken up with preparing for the big Saltburn race, together with the small matter of a full time PhD, and it was not until July that I finally plucked up the courage to ask the nice man at the wall if I could come in and observe some sessions. Following a hiatus in September, during which time I spoke about field systems to an international conference in Glasgow and taught a local society how to collect and process geophysical survey data, I finally had time to get back to what really matters - climbing.

When I was a paddler, on a small island off the north coast of Scotland, I became both a 4* sea leader and UKCC L2 paddlesports coach within the local club(s), so when I started climbing, it seemed quite natural for me to want to get involved with the instructional side of things. Something in the recesses of my mind reminds me that one of the impetuses for taking up climbing was my desire to work towards my SPA, as a complement to my water based qualifications (the other reason being because I had broken a finger about a month previously!). 

The Orcadian L2 coaches, looking very wet and bedraggled after a long journey to obtaining their awards

In real life I often teach students and local groups about archaeological survey and geophysics and I have come to realise that I get a great deal of enjoyment from teaching people practical skills - it is very satisfying to watch them begin the day asking lots of questions and seeking your input, to finishing the day being able to undertake the tasks independently. To me, it does not matter if I am teaching them to use an RM15, perform a sculling draw or belay correctly, there are many approaches that are directly applicable to teaching any practical skill. Certainly, I have often felt that the things I learned about teaching and learning styles in my very thorough L2 training have been incredibly useful in the other areas in which I also work.

Explaining archaeological survey with a GNSS system

After the Simple Chick and the One on the Island took a metaphorical stick to me, I finally manned up and booked to undertake my CWA assessment in November - this gave me around 8 weeks to prepare and meant I well and truly had to shift my focus back to climbing and engage in what I have come to term as 'binge observation'. For the last couple of weeks I have also been permitted to assist at the wall, looking after one line and 4 people under the watchful eye of a fully qualified instructor and this has been a brilliant way to learn the ropes (boom boom).

I have found, to my surprise and contrary to my own preconceptions, that I actually really enjoy working with young children, particularly when they have huge smiles on their faces and are so excited about getting the chance to climb for the first time. I have also found that my own confidence is increasing, partly because I have to have 'instructor front' when I am working, but also because I am continuously being pushed slightly outside my comfort zone and am learning an immense amount from every instructor I work with and from every different session I see. Watching people being introduced to climbing for the first time and gaining obvious enjoyment from the experience takes me back to when I first started to climb and reminds of why I love this sport and everything related to it. It may sound rather clichéd, but climbing is not just a hobby, for me it is a real passion.

Doing what I love

First Aid

Although I have held a First Aid qualification for the best part of 10 years, I had never, ever, had to use it. Perhaps I had just been very lucky, but holding the qualification seemed to me to be more about ticking a box on the Risk Assessments for working on archaeological sites, or the requirements of my paddling qualifications, as much as anything. But then, as has been previously mentioned in this blog, I found myself involved in a life threatening climbing incident. 

https://www.thestudentsunion.co.uk/pageassets/opportunities/howto/Firstaidsafetysign.png

A few years ago, I distinctly remember doing a standard First Aid at Work course and saying, 'But where I work [in a field] there is no mobile signal or anyone nearby, what do I do?!' and so, when my current qualification needed to be renewed, I realised that I wanted to ensure the course I chose was more relevant to being in the outdoors; after all, even my PhD involves working in an area 2 km from the nearest road, at an elevation of 330 m O.D.. No longer living on a small island has its benefits and I was easily able to find a 16 hour Outdoor Incident Management First Aid Course based only 20 miles away in Leeds. This was offered by Underwood Training and was taught by Brian, an active Cave Rescue Organisation member and Helen, who had previously worked in intensive care and paediatrics but who is also a qualified outdoor instructor. 

The 8 attendees all had previously done a First Aid qualification so the information came at us at a fast and furious pace. However, there was lots of active learning thrown in, involving lying on the floor, progressively adding learning points with each roll play. Later in the morning we moved outdoors and had a go at assessing an unresponsive casualty in a slightly more realistic environment, beginning also to think more about terrain and access to help. Later in the afternoon we had to treat poor old Rescusi Anne who had yet again collapsed unconscious on the floor and was in need of CPR.... The next day started with some theory but we were soon back outside, dealing with more and more complex problems and casualties and discussing aspects such as group safety, group use, duty of care and access to help.  Could we walk the casualty out? Would it be safer to stay put? To whom did we have the greatest duty of care? 

Although there was a lot of information to take in, the scenarios proposed and discussed were all those that could easily happen to any of us or one of our groups and this made everything feel really relevant and directly applicable to all the outdoor activities I do (work, climbing, hill-walking, paddling, off-road running etc etc). Sometimes there were no right or wrong answers to our questions but it was really useful being able to discuss these aspects with people who had actually been in such situations themselves. I think the main thing I took away from the discussion was trying to recognise and be aware of developing situations (such as hypothermia or hypoglycaemia), the importance of insulating the casualty, the use and potential dangers of slopes and above all, that keeping them breathing until other help arrived had to take priority above all else. 

I really enjoyed the course and I hope, if faced with another serious accident, I will be able to draw upon this added training and again help someone in real need.

Wood and trees

My climbing partner, who I had not seen for several months, asked, quite legitimately, what grade I now climb. I remained evasive. Of course there is an answer, but there are so many caveats to it (is it vertical but technical? Sustained or featuring an overhang?), that it would have taken too long to give a full and thorough reply. I responded with some unconvincing muttering, but I suppose the main reason I didn't want to answer was because I didn't want to (quite literally) set myself up for a fall.

Week in, week out, the Simple Chick and I are down the wall. Sometimes we climb better than others, during some periods we are frustrated, at other times we feel like we are making real progress, but twice a week we are there, climbing routes, doing pull-ups, drinking 'one tea and one coffee' and indulging in rather a lot of gossiping. I don't blog about these sessions for no other reason than I have no photographs of us climbing (or eating Chia Charge bars). 

When I watch the Simple Chick and her excellent use of smears and screw ons, I am so proud of her. For months she wouldn't lead at all and it took a long period of steady progression for her to get where she is now. I often watch her on the sharp end and I know that 6 months ago, she wouldn't have even attempted routes she now looks so smooth and confident on; to me, the improvement in her climbing is obvious. But in my own head I am still the same climber I always was and perhaps that is why it was so difficult for me to answer that initial question. It's hard for me to stand back far enough to know if anything is changing, I am particularly good at convincing myself that 'I can't' or even that parts of the wall 'are not for me'. And I don't know why I think like this, because, as Coach Emma pointed out the other day, that's not at all the way I think about running races. 

Coach Emma's overhang aversion therapy.

My coached session earlier in the week had looked at overhangs and so yesterday, when it was very quickly clocked that I appeared to have become blind to the overhanging routes behind me, I thought I better HTFU and get back on the first route I had worked with Emma. I was pleased, on reaching the crossover, to find myself placing my foot correctly and twisting right to reach the next hold with ease. And for the first time in a long time, I realised that, although I was aware of the overhang being there, this fact did not really bother me, I was far too focused on what I was doing. Back on the ground, my climbing partner said, 'You bossed that route!', elaborating with a (slightly uncharitable) impression of me whimpering on the same overhang 5 months previously, 'Today,' he said, 'you just did it, without hesitation.'

I continued the session with my first clean lead of a very steep and sustained 6a; 5 months ago, I wouldn't have even attempted it. Perhaps, sometimes, you just need that view from outside, to help you obtain perspective on yourself and all those things you didn't even realise that you have achieved.