- Matthew Paul
- Oct 15, 2019
- 4 min read
This past weekend I sent my hardest sport climb to date: Cat's Demise 5.13b at the Red River Gorge. While this isn't a groundbreaking achievement on anything other than a personal level, I still found myself motivated to ruminate on the experience. Instagram deemed my reflections too wordy, so here is what amounts to an unsolicited, extended Instagram post about my experience on the route. Enjoy!
While it would be easy to dismiss rock climbing as simply a really cool hobby that we do sometimes, for me there is no doubt that it means more than that. I couldn’t tell you exactly why, but climbing captures our commitment and imagination in a way that few things do. Somehow, getting to the top of a piece of rock without falling can morph into much more than an athletic achievement. And with each “important” (or at least personally meaningful) send, I’ve learned something valuable. On this one, the most pertinent lessons are related to expectations and presence.
Cat’s Demise is one of the many spectacular 5.13b's in the Red River Gorge (it could be argued that 13b is the best grade at the Red, and Cat's is at or near the top of that list). Located on a unique section of wall, which it shares only with its big sister Eternal Fire, Cat's climbs through some of the highest-quality and most-interesting rock in the whole region, complete with pinches, slopers, sculpted pockets and (depending on what method you use at the top) one of the worst crimps you'll ever grab.
The route breaks down into 7 bolts (around 50 feet) of power endurance climbing, to a huge rest, to a final boulder problem that, while difficult, is fairly high percentage for me. Previously, I’d never come close to arriving at the rest on-point, but I knew that when I did eventually get there, it would be the ultimate opportunity for my mind to work against me: a long rest with nothing to do besides think about the doable-but-messupable boulder between me and my hardest redpoint to date. In preparation for this moment, I started thinking about ways to train my mind as well as my body.
David Tieri on Cat's Demise in November 2018 (photo by Sky Splitter Photography)
Two main influences played a role in this process. The first was something Dave MacLeod said in one of his recent vlogs: that it’s impossible to eliminate the weight of expectation on a big send, but that we can acknowledge that we care about the result of the climb while also letting go of this expectation before we execute. This was a big shift in mindset for me, as I had in the past basically tried to completely ignore expectation (the hope for success, the fear of failure), only for it to rise back up at the least opportune moment. It was important that I not minimize a goal that had been working toward for almost a year; I wanted to acknowledge that this climb mattered to me. But if we are going to allow expectation to enter our mind, how do we then proceed to let go of that expectation?
Inspiration for this came from the book Blink by Malcolm Gladwell, which I had just finished reading. In the book, Gladwell cites a study conducted by several social scientists that concluded that our facial expressions are not only indications of our emotions, but that making a certain face can in fact work in the other direction, triggering the emotions associated with that expression. This idea reminded me of something I had heard from my friend Sarah, who mentioned a strategy for calming down before a climb by smiling at the wall before pulling on. But what if this strategy were used mid-route? I tried to visualize the experience of being at the rest on Cat's Demise, on-point and with only the final boulder problem left. Even the thought of this scenario brought on a certain level of anxiety. But when I actively forced my face into a smile, I was amazed at how the stress almost immediately evaporated. It seems hokey, but I think that the action of smiling for a moment breaks our anxiety; it is so incongruous with the stress of expectation that we are feeling, that for a moment everything calms down.
Pushing through the lower crux and sticking the jug on Cat's Demise (photo by Rob Walker)
So on Saturday afternoon, on my second attempt of the day, I got to the rest on-point for the first time. I took a breath and thought about the weight of that moment, arriving at this point for the first time after two seasons of trying. I accepted the fact that I did care about sending this climb, and that while I had gotten further than ever before, there was still a difficult section left before I could claim success. And yet, instead of this expectation weighing me down with dread about the possibility of failure, I let it wash over me, and then let it fall away with a smile as I left the rest. In that moment I found a flow state where I was completely present and executed the move more perfectly than I ever had before. Maybe this strategy was a way to trick my mind into forgetting the stress of the moment, but I think that more than this, what I did was to physically remind myself that climbing is something that I do for fun, and that the mere opportunity to have a chance to send a climb as difficult and amazing as Cat's Demise was already something pretty fantastic.
Accepting (and shedding) expectation before firing the upper crux (photo by Rob Walker)