Climbing as counseling

Over the weekend, our climbing gym had hosted a bouldering competition, so when JG and I walked in on Monday, there was a brand-new expanse of untried problems, or specific climbing paths. Bouldering is not really my climbing style; the problems are relatively short in terms of height, but they usually require big spurts of power. I am better at climbing longer routes that require precision, balance, and endurance, and I can usually figure out a way to complete a route, even if I have to make up something. I stay away from bouldering because I waste all of my energy before I get to climb what I want, but this week, the new material was irresistible.

Bouldering problems are rated for difficulty, where V0 is the easiest, and an increasing numeral indicates greater difficulty. I made a modest goal to finish out all of the V0 and V1 problems, and I felt pretty confident after I ran right up the first four that I tried. Then, I attempted a V0 problem that other climbers had pegged as awkward and poorly composed. After the fourth or fifth attempt, when my fatigue resulted in backward progress, I slapped the crash pad in frustration, leaving a chalky hand print. What was wrong with me? A zero should be a ladder, not a struggle! I grabbed my shoes and dropped down on the floor to take a break.

JG came up to me presently and asked what I was working on.

“That one,” I said sullenly, pointing.

JG tried to be encouraging. “It’s awkward. It’s not a V0, but it’s probably a V1.”

I should be able to do a V1! “Well, whatever it is, I can’t do it. I got to the second-to-last hold, but I couldn’t finish it.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“That’s because you can do it,” I snapped.

“Sorry.” He walked away.

Great. First, I was just a sloppy climber, but I had progressed to a sloppy climber who was also a jerk.

JG and I like to say that climbing was our first form of marriage counseling. We were brand-new climbers in the free rock gym at college, and our 15-inch height difference resulted a loss in translation:

JG: There’s a red hand hold right there!
RA: I can’t reach it!
JG: Are you sure?
RA: See where my hand is? That’s as high as it goes!
JG: There’s a blue one, too. Go for the blue one! Go, go, go!
RA: I can’t reach that one, either!
JG: Come on, just go for it! Go!
RA: Stop yelling at me!

Even though I could intellectually understand that JG was simply pointing out what was available to me, his encouragement voice, honed from years of team sports, hit me like a barrage of hail. At the same time, my sniping seemed unprovoked, because wasn’t he just trying to be helpful? Over the years, we’ve gotten better at the climbing-talk (”There’s a yellow foot chip, if you want it!”), but sometimes, the default natures emerge, like at the foot of that frustrating problem. JG instinctively pushes me along, but I take his words like insensitive commentary on my inability.

What to do? Usually, the best thing is to stop talking and keep climbing. Despite the frustration, we both know that the other has good intentions, but it doesn’t come out the right way. Eventually, that temporary sticking point fades, and it’s not as hard to see that we’re supposed to be having fun. In the case of Monday’s problem, JG went off to climb on his own while I tried out other things. We reconnected at the end of the night after respective successes, and we left on a good note. It’s not often that therapy and a workout can be combined for a low monthly fee, but we’ll take it.

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