Localmotion: Hitting Reset on Frustrations

I was on top of the world after sending Tin Man. After a summer of not climbing due to injury, and two years since my last 5.13 send, I was back. I’d had an eye-opening experience on Tin Man and I was ready to attack more hard climbs, to throw those doubts and limitations away and see what I could do.

But progress isn’t always linear. Knowing that I limit myself with doubt and frustration is a good first step to changing things, but you don’t just wake up one day and say, “Okay, from now on I’m not going to limit myself,” and carry on your merry way crushing life goals. It takes practice. It takes being frustrated, recognizing you’re frustrated, and acting to change those thoughts while you’re having them.

And the thing is, I wasn’t quite back yet. Somehow, in all the psych, I forgot about that. My finger strength was still lacking and I needed to be careful not to tweak my healing finger. But it was easy to forget I’d only been climbing hard again for a few weeks, because, hey, I’d sent a 13! In my psych-induced amnesia, I started inadvertently setting expectations for myself again. And that led to some seriously frustrated days at the crag.

An early attempt on Localmotion figuring out the beta for the bulge.
Photo: Chris Dallarosa

The first thing I had my eye on after sending Tin Man was Localmotion, a 5.13a at Waimea that was perfectly my style. It started off well. It was a foggy morning, due to rain later in the afternoon, and Waimea was empty—something that doesn’t happen on a fall weekend. No, the rock wasn’t prime, but having the crag to ourselves was refreshing and gave me an openness to try and flail as much as I wanted without anyone watching. Plus, bad condies take away a lot of the seriousness. There’s not a lot of pressure to perform when you’re climbing inside a cloud.

I unlocked all the moves but one on that first, damp attempt. I decided pretty quickly that I couldn’t do the classic beta for that single remaining move because it involved a violent stab into a tiny right hand gaston crimp—exactly the sort of move I was avoiding on my healing finger pulley. I figured out a beta that almost worked. Instead of thrutching into the gaston crimp, I kept bumping my right hand up the mantle corner into a shoulder-intensive thumbdercling way above my head. I almost struck it that way, but not quite. It was close enough though that I felt confident it would work—even if the shoulder-tweakiness of it scared me. Overall, I felt really encouraged. I’d done (almost) all the moves on a 13 super quickly. I was psyched. I thought I’d send the climb fast. In fact, I expected to.

(Above) Chris showing us how it's done, sticking the gaston move.
(Below) Chris sending Localmotion with some super powerful, strong beta for the crux!

The next weekend, I was back at it. Better conditions and knowing my beta meant surely I’d progress. Except, I didn’t. I still struggled through the bulge at the start of the climb, and worse, the upper crux felt impossible. My thumbdercling beta felt straight-up whack. What on earth was I thinking? I must have hung up there for an hour, in the sun, trying to find a new beta again. I came up with nothing. I still hadn’t solved the crux.

Another week went by and I was at it again. This time Chris was busy on his climb, so I headed over to Localmotion with Jessica so we could both try the climb. It felt relaxed. We were just working beta. I hangdogged my way through to the upper crux. It’d been three weeks since I first tried the climb and my finger was feeling better, so I went for the more traditional gaston crimp beta that I’d been too afraid to try before. After a few tries I stuck the move and my finger tendon didn’t snap. I was psyched! Finally, I’d gotten the missing piece. I’d done all the moves.

From that point on, I was in redpoint mode. The climb breaks down into three parts: the powerful intro bulge, to a rest, to a tough crimpy section, to another rest, finishing with the looming crux at the very top of the cliff. I never fell on the first two thirds of the route again. Every try, I would climb all the way to the top, only to fall again on that damn gaston crimp move. I was frustrated because I thought I should be able to do it. And, as anyone who’s ever projected can tell you, falling on the same move over and over is really irritating. I was forgetting how much progress I’d made in the past month. I was forgetting to enjoy the process.

Getting a high-point! This was the one and only time I struck the gaston move from the ground.

After a few weekends of falling in the same spot, I got very, VERY frustrated. Embarrassingly frustrated. So frustrated I didn’t even climb on Sunday. The next day, I knew I had to fix my attitude. Sometimes it takes getting really low, really frustrated, for me to turn shit around and be positive again. It was time to get my head back on straight.

Falling!

And that’s what I did. All week I didn’t stress about the climb. I didn’t rehearse the beta over and over and over in my head, as I usually do with projects, because I know that just makes me too obsessive and nervous. I focused instead on being happy and positive and confident. I told myself I could do the climb. I’d fallen two moves from the top, so of course I would send it next time I got my hands on it. I reminded myself that this climb was actually really fun and it wasn’t a chore to climb all the way to the top even if I did fall off.

There was only one thing I needed to do: try harder. That was all.

That weekend, Chris and I took Friday off from work to enjoy an extra fall climbing day, and man, was it perfect. The leaves were peaking, the temps were gorgeous, and being there on a Friday made me so much more relaxed. Waiting all week to have a short two-day window to send can be stressful. Like, “Okay, this is my one shot to get this done, it has to go now.” But that one extra day, and the happiness I felt to be outside taking advantage of those fleeting, magical fall days, on a day I would have otherwise been glued to my computer working, was enough to relieve all of that pressure. I just felt joy to be there, to be outside, to get to witness the beauty of the falling leaves. I was happy. I was strong. Training had gone well that week, and I felt ready and confident. I could do it.

My warm-ups went perfectly and I got on Local. I tried really hard… but fell on the same bump move into the gaston crimp.

Sticking the big move to the rest jug before the crux.

Only this time, I wasn’t mad. I kept an open mind about it. Instead of thinking I botched it and wasted another attempt, I thought, I’m not punting… This move is actually just very hard for me… maybe too hard. Maybe there’s another way. The move wasn’t high-percentage enough for redpointing. Raising the cloak of frustration and staying open-minded led me to search for other options.

And funnily enough, I went back to my original beta: that shoulder-killing thumbdercling method. And this time I stuck the move. It was the first time I’d actually made that beta work. It still felt tweaky on my shoulder, but it wasn’t low-percentage like the gaston beta. The thumbdercling was just HARD. Which meant I could do it if I bared down. And I only had to do it once, so my shoulder would be fine...

Before I set off up the climb, Chris asked me, “What’s stopping you from sending this?” And I replied with a resounding, “Nothing!” and started climbing.

I climbed up the easy opening section to the ledge and sat down. Despite the perfect atmosphere, I felt the nerves kick in. But then I saw this guy on another ledge across from me, wearing a silly tank top with his dog’s face floating on a background of cartoon tacos. I made a comment to him, he made a joke, and I laughed. The laughter dissolved all my nervousness. I thought, Okay, now’s the time. I don’t feel nervous. Let’s do this while I’m still relaxed.

I launched into the bulge section and almost blew it. I felt good, but my heel hook popped off the arete. I struggled for a moment with my feet swinging in the air, but clung on, and wrestled my way through to the rest, thinking, Did I use too much energy there? Should I just come down and have another go?” I shook it off. I was up here anyway, I might as well give it my best and try hard. I cruised through the crimp section, feeling stronger and more secure on the moves than ever. Before I knew it, I was hanging off the final rest jug looking up at the crux that guarded the anchors once again.

You’re here again. You climbed all the way up here. Don’t waste it. Don’t come down from another attempt thinking you could have tried harder, wishing you HAD tried harder. Don’t spend another week waiting to try this climb again. Try hard NOW.

I didn't end up getting a video of the send, but this video from an earlier attempt shows the meat of the climb.

I launched into the first few moves of the crux, slapped into the mantle press, threw my left heel up, bumped my right foot up, gingerly eased into the razorblade undercling, then bumped straight into the thumbdercling above my head. I stuck it! Barely. I caught it closer to the edge than I would have liked, but I was still on. I gave a shout of effort to hold the move. Game on. Time to give everything I had. I tried to do the beta I’d figured out on the previous hangdog attempt: grab the left downpull foot chip to switch the left heel hook to a toe in order to stand up into the next hold… except, I couldn’t. I was maxed out just trying to hold that thumbdercling. The heel was in there real good and I was too gassed to get it out. So I bared down on the crimp and flexed my shoulder against the thumbdercling. I screamed to force myself to try as hard as possible, and stood up on the heel.

And I latched the next hold! Once I stuck that next hold, I growled with a sort of ferocity I’ve never tapped into on a climb before. An anger, almost, to not let the climb get the better of me again. I grabbed the right hand intermediate, skipped the last draw, and set my feet up for the slam dunk sweep to the top. It was a big, wild, dynamic move to the lip of the cliff and it would be a big fall without that last draw clipped if I missed it. But that wasn’t in my head. I wasn’t afraid, only focused on the move. I reminded myself that of all the times I’d attempted it on beta burns and redpoint attempts, I had never once dropped this move. Ever.

Setting up for the final big move to the top of the cliff.

I launched for the top, springing up wrong-leg, pogo-style, making sure to pull in hard with my left arm, and I latched the top of the wall! It was possibly the least securely I’d ever stuck the move, but I’d done it. And I’d sent the route.

I shouted and swore in celebration—in a release of all the frustrations I’d felt over the previous month. I clipped the anchors and leaped off the wall and took my victory whip. The guy with the dog-taco shirt congratulated me. I lowered down and ran over to Chris with tears in my eyes. He’d been super nervous as usual watching me send and was so psyched for me. The grin on his face said it all. I was thrilled. Another 13! And it didn’t take two years between sends this time.

Latching the top of the cliff.

The process of putting myself through a hard challenge always teaches me so much, and this time was no different. I learned how to try hard on this climb. I thought I was pretty good at bearing down and trying hard before, but it turns out I had no idea. I tapped into a whole new level of try-hard on this one. Falling repeatedly on the top made me realize I could do the climb. I knew I was strong enough, so the question became: why wasn’t I doing it? What it took was a resolve to get up to the top again and try really f-ing hard. To not hold anything back. In the past, I’ve power screamed sort of unintentionally on big deadpoints, but never intentionally screamed to make myself try harder. Turns out it works. Adam Ondra must be on to something. It sounds silly, but it was kind of revolutionary for me. Screaming, or growling, or whatever you want to call the funny noises I was making, unleashed this ferocious determination I haven’t felt before.

After I sent, I felt so much lighter and just happy to be out climbing. I have no doubt that I’ll still continue to struggle with frustration from time to time, but as long I keep working to overcome it and improve on it, I can be happy. It’ll always be a work in progress. As I sit here writing this, now that winter had rolled in and closed the doors on the sport climbing season, these lessons feel especially relevant. My tendonitis has crept back in and my fitness has waned, but my desire to perform at nothing less than my peak at all times has not. It’s helpful to look back at times like this, when I won out over my frustrations, to remind myself that I can overcome them again now.

It’s good to remember to hit the reset button every now and then. Give yourself the moment to be frustrated, then take a deep breath and look at how you can move on, how you can change your outlook. See what helpful things your frustration is shining light onto so that you can learn from them and work them out. Remembering why I do all this is important. It’s fun. It’s rewarding. It’s challenging. If it wasn’t hard, if I didn’t struggle, it would mean nothing. Frustrations are all part of the process. 🙜

All smiles after sending!