Proudly Introducing:
U.S. National Rock Climbing Champion, Tiff Hensley, 16
The inside-out of a Journey through a Comp...
4th of July
Sometimes you sit somewhere and you just want to keel over and fall asleep on your face. Sometimes you can imagine in your head what it would feel like to just curl up where you are and let the exhaustion take over. Some coaches just passed. They don't have to worry about being tired, they just kick the kids out the door and drive them to the gym after getting their load of coffee.
The air-conditioners in this state are useless. Heck, I'm sitting right below a giant monster of one fixed in the ceiling and it feels the same as outside. I can't sleep. Finals, finals, finals. Sponsors to make happy, sponsors to impress, parents and friends and heroes to live up to, judges to surprise, crowds to excite, mother's to mollify, large expectations and size 14 shoes to fill. Does stress really effect us negatively in a comp? Or does it eradicate all other worries, making it easier to focus? Is it the heat, the constant drinking of water that makes us fall short?
What if I just fell asleep right now, on this couch, in my soccer shorts and Madrock shirt?
Oh why, why can't I just put my head down here and rest?
Because couches are meant for sitting on, not sleeping. Even though, they are so comfortable...
This morning will be finals. Six hours from now this point in time I'll be in iso or previewing the route, thinking about where the crux is and where I'll fall. If I win, HURRAH. And if I lose, then whatever...I'm Buddhist...I can deal...I know I'll be on the team...Junior Worlds in Ecuador will be fun...
Day's overview:
Ate smallest Belgian waffle in the world, walked to the gym, slept in the shade of a tree with a dog after turned away from the registration two hours early. Bought finger board and made bet with Dave Chancellor, co-owner of SoiLL, that I would bag a first (this may be the start of a beautiful sponsorship).
Flashed both routes today.
Ate Ethiopian food.
Tip: Iso is a place you do not want to dive into because it is a swamp of climbers; i.e. shoe smell, a ground littered with water cups and 109 degree temps. No windows.
Day 2:
Recent entries first. Yeah, that's how I roll. :)
Time zones, bah! I woke up in the afternoon today. In a search for human food we ended up at Classic Cup Cafe, which was ACTUALLY a family restaurant (quite sneaky of them to call it a cafe). At first I was mooning over the specials section of the menu until I caught a look at the women in a table next to us. Let's just say, if they used her waistline for a pool size, it would fit a family of six. I tried hard not to stare and ordered the cup of soup.
According to our pimped out rental car, it was 94 degrees when we first ran out for lunch. Then when we ran over to the Barnes and Noble bookstore where I bought Einstein's Dreams (by Alan Lightman,) it was 90. By the time we came out of the whole foods store ten minutes later, the partly sunny clouds were replaced by thundering columns of fluffy darkness and heavy rain ran splattered the glass doors as we edged out from the safety of the produce section. I was soaked by the time I got to the car, and in the five minutes it took us to drive back to the hotel the parking lot was nearly dry again.
What crazy weather!
I love warm rain.
Last time nationals was here, there were thunderstorms every night.
So after getting back I did the routine things one does on every travel: pool, vending machines, and PAC MAN. Whoop. Rest days are awesome.
Oh, I bet you want to know more about the comp itself -
Tomorrow is qualifiers, the next is semi-finals, and finally...finals. Every day we walk in with our gear and bib numbers and register before they throw us in isolation. Isolation is best compared to an asylum, where it's mostly padded and the food is free. Crazies get to run around and stretch and send hard before they're carted off in small groups to do the routes, then they check out and come back the next day...if they're lucky.
The crazier you are, the more likely you come back. Remember that.
Top 20 or so make it to semis, top eight or so make it to finals. Always have your number on your person, always know where the bathroom is. One shows you're a competitor, the other shows you're human. Don't forget the harness and shoes, chalk and sanity are optional. And, as of last divisionals apparently, and unluckily for me, you CANNOT stuck your finger in the small bolt hole and rest on it (i.e. no monoing the horrible slopers). Good for the rest, bad for me. I will confirm this rule at the meeting.
By the way, I found these little packets of Belgian waffles at the health food store. Coolest thing I have ever bought. Ever.
Day 1
Sometimes people want to know what goes on in the life of a competitor, eh? So I'll try to be as honest and descriptive as I can.
This morning was the last day of my training for nats. After three weeks of gym-hopping and cardio, my manager/coach/friend Jean-Michel drove me to the LAX airport for my flight to San Francisco. While I carried the bags (exercising my part as the humble intern) he pushed the my unicycle through the crowd of passengers as we made our way to the security check-in. Then we said our adieus and I was off, stumbling sleepily between the gates and snatching a bagel for the flight out. After landing in San Francisco I was snapped back into home life by the sound of my mother's voice, calling my name. At first, standing before the escalators that ran to the baggage claim, it came to me like a semi-conscious nightmare...like a cane hooked around my neck, pulling me back to the normal world.
Luckly, I was not ready to be sucked back into the normal life of an unemployed teen with hacked hair and far-away friends. My next flight, this time accompanying my mother, transported me to the city of Chicago - gangster central. Hopping into a Chevy (a free upgrade from the crappy little compacts for once) we high-tailed it to Hwy 94 into Ann Arbor and finally managed dinner around 11, the first food since a meager breakfast. Stuffed and tottering from lack of sleep we moved into the hotel room we had reserved and now I've ended up here, spitting out a powdered vitamin drink of raspberry fizz and waiting for my turn in the shower.
As to how I feel, I still have tomorrow to think things over before qualifiers. To be starkly honest, I know I'm going to at least make it on the team...no brag, it's just how things have gone for the past half-dozen years or so...unless it's my time to take the dreaded foot-slip, which has claimed so many of my friends before.
But the reason for this competition isn't to get the title, it's for the traveling. My family has kinda sensed this, but I don't think they realize my INTENSE and DRIVING need to travel.
WITHOUT CHANGE I WOULD BE DUST, and what better way to than to explore a different country or hack your hair short.
Missed the fireworks since I was on the plane...damn...and being on the east coast now, it's technically the fifth. 1:32am.
1:55PM Monday, July 9th
"I can't believe they subject kids to this."
We're watching TV - the brainwashing activity we dive into when we're really tired or just disinterestingly bored. I'm both: sore as hell from the comp and experiencing what we call "post-comp depression".
Yeah, I'm depressed as hell because the comp is over. Everyone leaves, all my friends and fellow competitors, and I'm stuck back into my normal life after the plane flight home. And plane flights are depressing too.
God I hate plane flights.
But I still have today - I fly home tomorrow - and I refuse to let the next twelve hours completely go to waste. In ten minutes I'm going to push my mom out the door and play a few games of pool, then go out to do something crazy with my hair, then...who knows. But here's a play by play of yesterday, which is what I was supposed to be starting on several paragraphs ago.
THE FINALS
Prologue:
I'm sitting on the couch in the middle of the hotel, inches from dropping off to sleep. I type the last few words to the blog and see the door to my room open and my mum stepping out. She walks around the railing towards me and I add another two sentences before quickly submitting my blog and closing my laptop. My mum reaches the couch. She looks tired - her shirt clings to her arms, damp with sweat. It's a more humid night than I've ever had the misfortune of experiencing, an easy 80 degrees. Hotter than Richmond. She tells me to go to sleep, it's 3am and that I'm supposed to be up at 7. She walks away and I flip the laptop open again, rereading what I've posted and wondering why I write better sleep-deprived than fully awake. It has something to do with chemical imbalance. Lots of weird things happen with chemical imbalance.
Act 1, Scene 1
Morning. I arrive at the hot spot, checking in with a sleepy look on my face and only four hours of sleep tucked away. Another 100 degree day, possibly hotter than before. I stumble around, leaving my stuff in a corner and my chalk near the wall, pulling out my shoes and changing my mind - I warm up barefoot. After a few minutes I just lay down and sleep.
Act 1, Scene 2
I wake up and watch some of the coaches work with the kids. They pull them aside and give them advice, they tell them where to go and what to do, how to think and what to eat. Some even have their kids draw the route during preview. If a coach tried to force me to do that, I would brush him off and train on my own without a second thought. Some people feel they need to be told what to do, but the best get around on their own - it's good to be the individual, to know how it works and motivate yourself to do it.
If you want someone to rule over you, that's fine...it's your life.
I go to sleep again.
Act 1, Scene 3
Preview. For the moment we're all excited, distracted from our anxiety. Some of us have our gear in hand while the rest of us walk out empty-minded and relaxed...we keep our heads drooped as we trudge to the base of our route...Marah whispers, "Did you see that route, it goes through the stalagtite! Oh my God, I SO hope we get that route...pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-"...we turn away from the wall as we're told to, and the volunteer says "You are at the base of your route." (Marah sqeals happily.)
Up to this point we are sheep, herded around as they please...but when The Man says,"Okay, you can all turn around now" our minds spark and the engine turns over. We smile and gasp and murmur amongst ourselves about the route, mostly about the move from the wall to the stalagtite. Will we have to dyno? How can we clip so far up? Are the features good enough to use? Do I have to hug that thing? At the base is the sign "FYJ / FYA Final", meaning this was the hardest route for the female catagory, the final...the very last...route of the national ropes comp. It's designed to spit us off one at a time, to make us suffer for it, to suffer for a spot on the national team. Out of 35 of the greatest of our group, only four make it.
Of course, not all the best compete in USAC competitions...I'm not going to try to fool you...there are girls who kick ass and take names without bothering to put themselves in the spotlight...but still.
It's the national team.
It's Ecuador.
So we studied that route pretty damn hard.
And eight minutes later, they shoveled us back into iso.
Act 2, Scene 1
Our running order is ALWAYS the same - the better you did in semis, the further down your name is on THE LIST. So if you killed it yesterday, today you were the icing on the cake for the crowd. The FINALE. The best for last. They expect to cheer you a couple holds above the last girl...if you get that far.
This is what everyone was thinking as THE LIST was slowly overtaken with crossed-out names. Within an hour, five from every catagory were milling within the confines of the tarp, either doing their best to zone out or get psyched. I remember when the very last few were left and I stood behind Grady Bagwell, watching one of the Ecuador competitors (Esteban) do his final lap on the boulder. He climbed fluidly, shaking out his arm and fitting a heel hook on a jug near his head and leaning out around a slight corner. I was wondering what was going on in the mind of Mr Bagwell, a consistent top-three placer watching his competition get ready to beat him. I was about to ask him about Esteban when someone called my name from below.
Shittake!
I grabbed my things and sat in the chair.
Then I remembered my shoes and ran to get it.
I remembered the chalk bag and ran to get it too.
The noise from outside iso sounded more like a nightclub than a competition.
Eventually, Alex Johnson, legendary boulderer in disguise as a volunteer, leads me out of the holding cage and to...THE CHAIR.
Act 2, Scene 2
This reinactment is getting long, don't you think? And I'm getting tired. So here it is:
Everyone climbed great. Despite the heat, a lot of the climbers fought their way up and the crowd had a great time screaming and yelling (as they always do). Mike "the mike" kept up a barrage of commentary over the microphone, offering an avalanche of encourangement and cheering on the climbers as they struggled to pull themselves across overhung surfaces.
The staff were awesome and the routes were the best ones set in years, possibly the best ever.
And no, I'm not just saying that. They really were.
One of the guys wore a shirt that said "I strip and screw for a living".
Outside, Northface held a set-up-the-tent-the-fastest-and-you-win-it sort of thing. Fastest time was just over a minute.
The Northwest region didn't kick ass, but we did have people like Master Levin to uphold our honor and race with the speed of lightening. Cicada placed third and Scott Cory was barely cut from finals when he placed 12 on the second day. In speed, I think I can only say everyone was shocked when they first saw Esteban #2 (Both guys from Ecuador were named Esteban. Hm!) race up the 30-foot wall in 5.32 seconds. Yeah, freakin' amazing.
So the Ecuadorians gave us a peek at what we should expect with our next worlds. It's not going to be easy - high elevation and hot temps will battle us as we struggle to put USA on the podium - but hopefully there'll be less pick-pocketing and more sends this August.
Speaking of August (which reminded me of the band Mid-August Nights for some reason), I have a bet to take up with Dave Chancellor, one of the brothers from SoiLL. Remember that small talk I had with him before the comp started? "Climb your little heart out and if you get first I'll see what I can do." We'll see what he can do.
And finally, I won first. Marah and I tied for the FOURTH TIME in a national competition after flashing our final route and they gave us the FYB's final, which I pulled just ahead of Marah. She was way more psyched about the whole thing and she is really amazing about this sort of thing, not competitive at all. We agreed that if our first route sucked, we would plan a tie so we could do the second...but it was not to be. And today I paid for that win...went back but couldn't so much as finish a V0.
My, how the mighty fall. My body hates me, I can't wait until it feels satisfied enough to forgive me. My elbows especially...they won't talk to me anymore. And my fingers...I think they took the beating personally.
Badash, Ashley...and everyone else...
I've run out of creative ways to give encouragement.
Just know you've done your most and there are years more of this stuff to go through.
More to come, and stay tuned for...
Sendfest!
Closely followed by...
ECUADOR!
I'm so tired. Believe me, I swore a lot (to myself mostly) at that comp.
Life is crazy.
Climbers are crazy.
I'm crazy.
Crazy is fun.
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