Tin Man: No Expectations

To say this season exceeded all expectations would be a massive understatement. Now that it’s winding to a close and I’ve had some time to soak it in and reflect, I’ve been trying to put my finger on what exactly was key to all the success. Was it the hang boarding? Or all those reverse curls? Or the dumbbell exercises I filled the summer with while I was injured? I want to nail it down, because whatever it was, I want to replicate it next season! But the more I think about it, the more I think that it was none of that. Sure, I felt strong physically, but that’s not what got me to the top of all those climbs. That’s not what made the difference.

Taking a ride off Tin Man 5.13a at Rumney in early June
Photo: Chris Dallarosa

Now, I say this season exceeded expectations, but honestly there weren’t a whole lot of expectations coming into this season to exceed. I had an all right spring season, though I’d set the expectations there pretty high after a winter of dedicated training and so I grew frustrated when I wasn’t meeting those expectations. Just when I thought I was finally creeping into 5.13 territory (with a one-hang of Tin Man in early June), the season came to an abrupt end with a partial pulley tear on my right ring finger.

It was a bummer for sure, but I refused to be devastated about it. I’ve been injured enough times now to have learned that injuries are part of the game. If you’re an athlete and you’re pushing yourself to your limits, you’re probably going to get injured at some point. I’ve spent enough injured months in the past being miserable and feeling sorry for myself. And for what reason? Being sad isn’t going to help me heal faster, so I might as well enjoy my life in the meantime. There is— shocking though it may sound— a world outside of rock climbing. So, I went kayaking, learned French, and took a solo hiking trip to Washington.

And I had a blast. It was an amazing summer. All the while I diligently worked to rehab my finger and any time the dejected thoughts tried to creep in, I pushed them away forcefully and kept busy in the sunshine.

Living it up in Washington on a 10 mile solo hike to Thornton Lake in the North Cascades National Park

By mid-August, my finger wasn’t hurting anymore, but it was very weak and vulnerable to being tweaked easily, and I still couldn’t crimp hard on it. I was gradually trying harder climbs, but my fingers just felt weak, and by this point Sendtember was mere weeks away. My summer dreams of getting back in shape for fall faded away. I thought, at most, I could continue training through the fall months and maybe, MAYBE, be in shape enough by the very end of the season to squeak out a 5.13 send.

And so it happened, the first weekend in September, that I found myself tying in to try Tin Man with no expectations whatsoever. Not for the climb. Not for the season. I wasn’t even sure I’d go to the top of the climb. I’d planned to bail from the crux if it seemed like it was going to be too much for my finger. I was getting on the climb on a total whim. I’d come to try its neighbor, Flying Monkeys, but didn’t find myself too psyched on that climb that day, and after staring up at Tin Man the previous few weeks, I was dying to get back on it, just to see…

Working Flying Monkeys 5.12c in Rumney
Photo: Amanda Griffin

I climbed up it without a care, taking all over the place because, whatever, I was just trying the moves again. And though I hangdogged up the whole route, I’d fired the crux first try… easily. Whoa, okay… Wasn’t expecting that. I’d done it a tiny bit differently too. Instead of a tenuous, core-intensive foot move, I just cut feet and stabbed the foot back on. It was a beta I hadn’t given much merit to when I was projecting it before because it was riskier, felt less in control. Now, climbing with abandon, not caring or expecting any particular outcome, I’d left myself free to fool around, to not be so serious and in control.

I came down from the climb and I was psyched. It had gone far better than I’d imagined and I was feeling really encouraged by my effort. We’d been planning to head over to Waimea, but I decided I’d like to get on the climb again. “You gonna send it?” Chris asked, jokingly. “Maybe,” I said. My response surprised him, but he’s always psyched for me to try hard, so he was all for it.

Next go, wearing a pair of shorts Chris lent me and his kneebar pad, I climbed up to the side pull jug at the base of the crux. I remember chattering nonsense the whole way up, the sort of thing you do on an easy climb, or a throwaway beta burn. Not on a serious redpoint attempt. And it wasn’t serious. Not yet anyway. I said something like, “Well, here goes,” before stabbing up into the undercling tooth and getting into the crux sequence.

Finishing the crux sequence on Tin Man
on the send

I was feeling pumped, but as soon as I made the cross off the tooth everyone started cheering me on. And there were a lot of people up at Orange Crush that day. A lot of friends. A lot of fun, psyched climbers. So when the doubts started filling my head and I thought I probably wouldn’t make the next move, the cheers filled my head instead and replaced my own thoughts. I tried a little harder, spurred on by the encouragement and wanting to perform for everyone watching. I inched my hands up the holds, then cut my feet just like I had on the previous burn and got into the kneebar rest.

Oh wow. I was through the crux for the first time ever. I continued chattering the whole time I was in the rest. “I wasn’t expecting to get here”, “I’m not ready for this”, “Now I have to try hard”, “I wasn’t supposed to get here.” Blah, blah, blah. Voicing the nervousness and disbelief to the crag. The shouts I got back filled me again with reassurances, hype, motivation. I tilted my head all the way back and looked at Predator upside-down. I thought, relax and do it. And above all, try super f-ing hard.

Trying to relax in the kneebar rest
Photo: Bridget Roell

Now things got serious. I came out of the kneebar rest, ready to attack the ramp section, and immediately screwed up. The first foot moves out of the rest are scrunchy and strenuous and have always felt hard to me. And I’d only done the ramp once in the previous three months (thirty minutes earlier) and didn’t quite remember the subtilties of the sequences. I put my feet in the wrong place and wrestled with the rock to get the next holds, pumping myself out pretty instantaneously. I did a couple micro-shakes and managed to get the clip. I set my feet again and started to move upward, only to realize my feet were too low for the next move. I scrabbled around for a few seconds before deciding, what the hell, just huck for it.

To my complete surprise, I stuck the next hold. But I was so debilitatingly pumped there was no way I was going to last much longer. I kicked my right foot up into a good, stemmy stance and suddenly saw this mantle on the ramp I’d never seen before in any of my beta burns. I stuck my left arm out and locked my elbow straight. Fireworks went off in my brain. It was an excellent rest. Breathe. Get your heart rate down. Holy crap, I’m getting it back. Can you believe this mantle? Focus, Kim.

I could breathe, shake out, recompose after the mess I’d made of the last sequence. The moment I stuck my arm into that mantle, I knew I would do the climb.

The lifesaving mantle

I shakily, but definitively, polished off the remaining hard moves and pulled into the corner a short and easy traverse from the anchors. I leaned my forehead against the wall, eyes open and staring at the rock an inch away, thrilled, but in utter disbelief. Tears filled my eyes and the crag filled with cheers. It was unbelievable. I’d sent my first 5.13 two years earlier and for the next two years struggled to find my way back to the grade. It was ridiculous that it would happen now, just when I’d stopped trying, when I was still coming back from injury, on an attempt when I didn’t really care about sending at all.

Seth hushed the cheers with a: “Wait, she’s not done! No cheering until the chains are clipped!” (And he’s right, folks, no early celebrating unless you want to be a punter!) I—VERY CAREFULLY—made the final easy traverse and clipped the anchors. The cheers came again and so did the tears. It was one of those moments that make all the brutal hours of training worth it. I was overcome with such a rush of positive emotions, pride and relief and pure happiness. It’s a moment I won’t soon forget.

My takeaways from this climb were plenty. The power of no expectations being very high on that list. Allowing myself to be free to climb in a riskier, cut-loose style. Not building up the send in my head as a live-or-die, self-worth-defining achievement. Being free to just have fun. Everything allowed me to be relaxed and just climb like I know how and to finally, FINALLY tick that second 5.13 that I’d waited two years for. And despite the agony and frustration of the wait, it certainly made the moment sweeter to have worked so long for it to come true.

Trying hard on the scrunchy moves after the kneebar rest

Takeaway number two was trying really, really hard through the pump. I fought tooth and nail to get up that ramp section and never, ever gave up. I kept throwing for moves I thought I wouldn’t stick and just battled my way through. Everyone was watching and cheering me on and they all wanted so badly for me to do it. The psych at the crag is infectious like that. They helped me try harder than I could have on my own. In the weeks that followed, on the rock and training in the gym, I felt a new head-space had opened up, a place I could dig deep down into to keep fighting when I was hopelessly pumped. It was like a light bulb had turned on and I was now just a little tougher, could now grit my teeth that bit harder to make it to the top.

Doesn't get much better than this.
Photo: Bridget Roell

The last thing I’ll say before I finish is the final—and probably most important—takeaway from this climb. This was something that dawned on me days after the send. The try-hards, the expectation-free climbing—that was all obvious. But what I realized later was what this climb really meant in terms of my potential. I’d worked so hard to get back to “5.13 strength”, but the time it finally all came together was a time when I wasn’t feeling especially strong. It stood to reason, if I was capable of sending at that level when I wasn’t in peak shape, then the limits I’d imposed on myself were, honestly, BS. (Not to mention, I’d probably had it in me to send 5.13 for the entirely of that two-year drought…). It was an exciting idea that drove the rest of the season, as well as my outlook on climbing for future seasons. It made me push aside that limit-ceiling we all imagine for ourselves and see a different future. If I could climb 13a somewhat out-of-shape, but with the power of psych and the mind on my side, then that was definitely not my limit. And I couldn’t think of anything more motivating than going out there and trying to find where my limits truly lay. 🙜

Staying psyched on life while injured in Washington on the Sahale Arm hike.
Highly recommend you check out that hike if you're in the North Cascades. It's amazing.