There’s a scale that people use when recreating to describe the amount of pain that will accompany their fun.
Type 1 describes activities that are awesome in the moment and enjoyable to think about after. Type 2 is for those that suck but leave you thinking, “Maybe that wasn’t too bad. When should I go again?” And Type 3 is reserved for recreation that is terrible during, after, and far in the future, generally combined with the “what was I thinking?” reaction.
Here, on the North Ridge of the Pfeifferhorn, located in the Wasatch Range, I was experiencing an acute case of Type 3.
It began like this. Nate Furman, co-coordinator of U-Explore, took me along on an attempt at summiting the peak via the more technical side. We left at 3 p.m. because Nate “loves climbing when the sun is setting.” We planned to sleep on the summit and then descend in the morning. He opted for skis, while I condemned myself to waddling behind in snowshoes.
I began with high spirits, but the four-mile approach quickly proved humbling. Every turn or gradual bump I would find Nate lunging further ahead. He was a powerhouse; I was an out–of–shape 19–year-old with too many late nights and fast food meals under my belt. When I finally arrived at the base of the North Ridge, Nate was casually sitting there, his skis already stashed and his camera out. He was in his element, and I was in pain.
Grunting heavily, I ditched my snowshoes and stumbled upwards to the top of the ridge.
This was it. We were here at the best part of the climb — the reason I had agreed to do the trip — and I was stopping every five feet to catch my breath and bury my face in my hands. My head felt light. My gait was unsteady. I felt nauseous. But I had to keep going. What’s the point of being outside if you don’t reach the objective?
My body was revolting against me, but I would not allow myself to stop, even though the route was getting more exposed and my gait was becoming more unsteady. It was at this point that Nate turned around to me, crushing my hopes with the dreaded: “We should bail. You’re obviously not doing well.”
Suddenly, exhaustion overpowered pride and I ceded. I just wanted to go into a month-long coma to escape the pure discomfort and exasperation I was feeling (or at least be home in my nice, warm, comfortable bed).
Nate belayed me down off of a horn, and we began the jaunt back in the dark.
On the way down, my thoughts wandered to my experiences climbing. I like to call myself a rock climber, but I have a definite fear of heights and an even more definite fear of falling. I often find myself too easily bailing at the crag. It’s easy for me to get scared and quit, to stay at the bottom of the wall and say “No thanks. Today’s just not my day.”
As such, I really haven’t progressed as a climber in a long time. I think about my idols, people like Chris Sharma, Alex Honnold, or Ueli Steck, and they always look fearless, crushing new revolutionary routes. Am I just not destined to be a climber?
On the other hand, I was reckless tonight. I was in no position to be climbing on such sketchy terrain, but I would not have turned around if it wouldn’t have been for Nate. It is too easy to rush on, oblivious to the hazards.
Maybe the secret to adventure is a happy medium between the two. Perhaps every outing is about slowly picking away at our fears, getting more bold and attacking more obstacles along the way. If things don’t work out, that’s fine. But make sure it’s because of the weather, or avoiding injury, or danger, and not your own irrational anxiety.
It’s easy to get complacent in our day–to–day lives. Routine is comfortable, and so are easy meals and a big, warm bed. It’s easy to look at a towering pitch and think, “Oh, I’ll climb it when I’m better.” But perhaps that day is today. A good climber tries, gives it his/her all, and wins.
It’s taken me this long to realize that being fit isn’t just about physical toughness. It’s about mental fitness, too. It’s about being able to make the right decisions, whether that be pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone or cashing in for the day so that you may live to see another.
I told myself this as I caught up to Nate on the trailhead. I’ll try again, and next time I’ll be better — mentally and physically.
@thatDickinson