Sometimes I get stuck in a loop of going back and watching videos from back in the day, especially of my prouder FAs. It’s hard to explain the feeling it gives me. Some kind of nostalgia… not for the era, or for my form, but for that person I was. So wholly earnest and psyched. Reveling in the challenge of each day.
I think part of why I became a coach is I sensed that spark sputtering in myself.
I have no misconceptions about the climbing I’m doing these days. I am still strong and doing my best and having good outcomes and I know I will for some time. I climb outside over 100 days most years, more than almost everyone I know. That probably puts me in the top percentile – a result of commitment, but also privilege.
I have never been confused about the primary source of my success, such as it is, whether measured by fulfillment or, just hedonically, the number of things I’ve sent. It’s not talent (whatever that is), or strength, or beta wizardry that played the largest role in my results. It’s enthusiasm for climbing, a willingness to set aside things other people aren’t, and a healthy dose of metaphysical luck to have been born as the person I am.
Every time I talk about age, someone chimes in to tell me I’m not that old. I respect that – though to be fair, if you’ll permit me a Yogi-Berra-ism, I’ve been worrying about getting old since I was young.
Still, when I watch these videos I feel a fading feeling of power over my environment. How could you feel much else when you see your past writ large? You can never recapture those moments, only a voyeuristic shadow of them on the cave wall. I’m relieved that I have recordings – but as disconcerted as I am motivated when I watch them. Their very existence is a double-edged sword.
I wonder how many people making extensive video libraries of themselves climbing know the feelings that might arise 15 years hence?
More than anything, when I watch these videos I feel a deep sense of longing. Not to be anyone else or anywhere else, but to embody the chaotic joy of my younger self, to make him proud. It’s not getting any easier to do, but I can’t imagine a life I would trade it for.
I’m older, yes, but not that old. Wiser maybe – probably not as much as I think. Overburdened, with my fair share of challenges and setbacks. And tired, surely. But still reveling in the challenge nonetheless.
The season is right around the corner. Here’s to 100 days out this year.