Discussion Topic |
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maculated
Trad climber
San Luis Obispo, CA
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Topic Author's Original Post - Oct 29, 2008 - 01:25am PT
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I am posting this because I need a break from trying to revise this manuscript I have for a book . . . enjoy.
The day is July 6th and it's been 3.5 months since I had shoulder surgery to repair a torn labrum that I'd lived with for the past five years.
I still remember that day, with Art and Meg in Bishop. Because it was appropriately festive, I woke up in the Pit and blasted Outkast's "Happy Valentine's Day" to all the Cal Poly adventure club kids that happened to be there as well. Ahh, the day of Love. Love wasn't on my mind that particular year - just the climbing! Now we're down in the gorge - one of my favorite places to knock out a proud day's worth of routes. We've moved on from easier stuff and we're set up at the Health Club on "Bow Down to the Standard White Jesus."
That blasted sloper sidepull. The feeling of my humerus separating from its socket, only to pop back in again as I fell onto the rope. It was not proud, it was purely mundane: nothing a little vitamin IB couldn't cure.The saddest irony of all? When I took my friends back to it a few weeks before surgery, they decided the move was totally avoidable. I didn't HAVE to do it to pull it.
Homage to Johnny Cash in front of the route.
And yup, my shoulder hurt, but not so much that I didn't leave my partners the next day and drive into Lee Vining Canyon in full snow-regalia to catch a ride on an ice climb top rope that has been set up by friends from the college adventure club. Glissading down the slopes, laughing, driving back to the hotel singing the new Offspring album . . . I need more IB . . . but whatever.
The next few months are a series of frustrations - sending Froglands in Red Rocks trying not to use the arm, proctoring these huge humanities lectures with a 48" sling tied up to support my arm because gravity kills, lying on the cement outside my house stretching my arm so I can reach up again. Trying, and failing, at doing pull ups.
Then there was the temporary compartment syndrome thing at Red Rock Rendezvous - my arm would get tired immediately and intensely and leave me totally useless. Frustration in Eldo Canyon on 5.8s I just couldn't send . . . bouldering at the old SLO Op and never being able to get strong enough to reliably send V2.
The passion waned. I loved the people, but I slowly stopped leading, and then I slowly stopped following. I was always, always the weakest link. I took up mountain biking and road riding, but it's not the same. I tried surfing, but I was never strong enough to paddle fast enough . . . and finally, it just hurt sitting and typing at my computer.
Three doctors later, I am sitting in this little exam room with a window looking out to the parking lot for more than an hour. The Kerlan Jobe clinic. I walked into its fancy marble entrance, looked around and the enormous athletes hobbling on crutches, and spent my alone time rewinding in my head all the, "We won't do surgery on you." You're too heavy. You're not fit enough. Your joints are too lax. Try a different pastime. I was plumb-scared. I never get scared. Tears welled a bit in my eyes, and here I was in Los Angeles after a four hour drive, in this little cave of a room, and I honestly wanted my mommy.
The doctor walked in and smiled at me as I went through my whole speech. He did his tests, "Does this hurt? Does this hurt?" No, nothing ever hurt. It would hurt in an hour or two. Then he sat back easily and said, "We can fix this. Talk with my nurse to schedule surgery." That's it? No explanation, no excuses. "But, but, I'm too fat?" He smiles pathetically at me. "What's my success rate? Other doctors told me 40%." He smiles again: lips tight, eyes patronizing - "Oh, I'd say 90%." Oh. Well. Okay.
And here I am, calling the nurse and setting the date. March 21st. Coincidentally, this is the traditional first day of the astrological year. It's not lost on me, how people check the heavens and stars for clues and here I am . . . on the cusp of a radical life change that's going to affect me in so many ways, I don't even know.
People told me to get my hair cut, to buy industrial-wedding-day strapless bras, to prepare for months and months of pain and discomfort. I bought a myriad of button-down shirts because t-shirts weren't going to be an option. I stocked up on bromelaid, turmeric, glucosamine, MSM, and chondritin. I did push ups and weights every day. I did everything I possibly could because I wanted to be one of those amazing recoveries and success stories. No drinking, lots of protein, only the best.
Surgery came and went, and my father accompanied me through it. When we got home and I took photos of my eyes all dilated from the nerve block and settled into my massive DVD collection, my dad looked at me and said, "Clearly, I am more in your way than a help" and drove home to the Bay Area. Yes, not four hours after surgery, I was going to be just fine.
Don't get all excited. I'm wearing a tube top. Check out my mismatched dilated eyes from the nerve block.
The recovery story isn't that good. It didn't hurt much, and I came to appreciate little things like being able to shave my armpits and put my hair up in a pony tail. T-shirt donning was a red-letter day. Getting on a bike and riding a mile pain free was a blessing. I even went for a run (even though I am no longer advised to thanks to multiple past dislocations and hard core cartilage damage) just to feel the distinct lack of discomfort. Suddenly I was able to carry the laundry basket, or reach for something on the top shelf. It just felt good.
My physical therapy has just been weight training, mainly. My PT says I'm a shark bumper: one of those people who get their legs bit off while surfing and don't even notice. I thank my lucky stars. My doctor tells me for months that he is "worried" about my lack of restricted range of motion and pain, but on my last visit, that little tight smile was there again, and this time he said I was healing nicely and looked better than 99.9% of the people he's seen.
A month after.
I started up a weight training program shortly after that, tentatively playing with barbells and inclined push ups, steadily pushing it and recording it until I realized that trying a little climbing wasn't anything more than I already was. I visited the SLO Op, put on my shoes, and grabbed onto a V0 in the back corner, grinning like a kid off his Ritalin in a candy store themed with dinosaurs and pictures of Fergie bending over. The passion, it was still there! I felt as good as the first day I tried my hand at the slippery fake walls at the Crux climbing gym.
First there was the trip to Pine Mountain - and mounting a V0 seemed a little too daunting as I perched near the top. Yammering about my arm, I down climbed and left a bit of my dignity there, but luckily it was only my good friends around to see it and promptly forget the spectacle.
Then there was the advice to build a traverse in the gym, so that my freak out would not occur again. I met Austin for an afternoon and constructed a fairly easy, but fun, traverse across the SLO Op. If you have ever set a route, you'll know that it can be just as tough as working a problem, if not more so. No shoulder unhappiness, and this was duly appreciated. As much as the reports that everyone who tried it, liked it.
I decided that I would have to make a return to easy trad sometime in June and the invite came from Yishai, who wanted to do some bouldering at Pine Mountain. Well, I thought, bouldering is stupid for me right now, but there is Sespe Gorge, just down the way - and before I know it, I had a cadre of guys sardined into my 4Runner on a Sunday afternoon on the first weekend in July.
As everyone piled out to drop Yishai off, comments about how tempting it would be to stay had me put the brakes on that plan and nearly threaten to leave them all there. As we careened down the side of the mountain on the pitted road, my sense of excitement grew to near-candy-store proportions. Not wanting to be obnoxious, I kept it to myself and assumed the "Kristin teaching position" in which I get a touch bossy and far more serious than usual.
The Sespe Gorge crew was a bit of a mish-mash:
Of course, we had the Fury. Can't leave the ultimate crag dog behind, can we? I parked her in the shade and readied the gear - half surprised it wasn't rusty and ugly since I really hadn't had to use it for months. The Fury is a pretty good dog to take climbing. She'll amuse herself by digging and chewing sticks, making all kinds of funny-dog noises and generally staying out of the way. Can't ask for much more.
There's Owen, who I've gotten to know over the years through Yishai and Josh both as a bike shop kid and as a reliable crew member when putting on adventure races. He is always begging me to teach him to climb, and though his 6'6" frame works against him, he is always enthusiastic, laid back, and good natured about everything. I'm definitely going to take him on some long alpine climbs. Everytime I hang out with Owen, I appreciate him that much more.
Owen had invited Justin, who was the youngest of the group, but gives me this impression of being much older. His girlfriend and he run a dog care service. I mean, what's not to like? Climbing AND dogs? My GOD! Anyway, I don't know much about Justin except that everytime I'm at the SLO Op, he's there, and he's always got a smile on his face.
And I'd invited Chris, whom I've had the good fortune of getting to know recently. Fellow grammar aficianado, energetic, passionate, adventurous. He's been sport climbing, but not really trad climbing and he wanted to try it. Actually, I didn't know how much experience he had except I'd seen photos of him all over the country on rock so I figure that, paired with the fact he has a good head on his shoulders, had to mean something. I already knew he'd be good company either way.
I think the first place I went wrong was inviting more than one person with no trad experience on this trip. I mean, if I really wanted to get back in it, I probably should have led, and that means my natural choice would have been to leave it at Owen. The thing is, what if my shoulder sucked and we went all that way and we couldn't do anything? No, we needed a leader. I instantly thought of Chris, since I had pretty good faith in his ability to suck it up and lead all day should we need to, but when I made it to SLO Op later in the day, Owen'd already invited Justin.
And, well, I am one heck of a stupidly accomodating person. The more the merrier! Logistics be damned.
Which, of course, brings me back to the five of us smashed into the 4Runner, limping up the grades at 35 mph (hey, what do you want from a 4-banger 4WD?). It was not so painful for me as a driver, nor as a passenger in the "bitch" position (one I'm very accustomed to, ha ha), but I understand the slight queasiness of three boys all smooshed together for a long period of time, especially when they don't know eachother (I think Owen and Yishai could have happily sat on eachother's laps, but that's just a hunch).
So here we all are, trad gear displayed, and I ask, "Okay, so, do you want me to start from the beginning, or what?" They agree that the beginning is right - so I take out all the gear and announce its use and racking strategy and dole out gear. Chris has got his own lovely C4s (to my Camalot Jrs and whatever the BD cams can be called pre-C4 . . .), so shiny and new, so I give him the interesting stuff like hybrid Aliens and Trango Max cams. "Hie thee to cracks," I announce, "And plug at will." I think I said that. Something like that.
And they diligently set off, battling angry fire ants and lizards for crack real estate as I followed along behind making comments and instructing about the importance of opposing nuts and multidirectional first placements. And now the time has begun.
See, there's always a catch. I've been to this particular part of Sespe Gorge before, but, well . . . I never remember beta. And my guidebook has been snatched from the library by my super shoulder buddy, Dan, who will not be climbing for a long, long time. So, no guidebook, and no memory of past beta . . .
But! A quick glance at RC.com the night before confirmed that no line on the wall was over 5.7 and both my leaders (that's Chris and Justin) claim at least 5.10s on sport in the past. They'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
So, who's up? Both the guys look at eachother. Justin, the eager one (and possibly this is more because of youth and inexperience, but I like to think of it as chutzpah), finally steps up to the plate and picks his line. "You can make an anchor, yes?" "Yes." Okay then. And away he goes. He gets to this big tree with bolts on it and here's another "but" - but the tree looks like it's not that far and i tell him to keep going. Hey, Kristin, you dummy, that's the end of pitch one . . . of a three-pitch climb.
By the time I realize my mistake, Justin is still chugging up the side of this thing, not a peep out of him that i can tell. The rope gets shorter and shorter. I'm almost at the end. Now, here's the dilemma - do you TELL a new leader this and panic him when he can't do anything, or do you . . . yup, I did it . . . simulclimb. It's 5.7, remember? So, there I am, following him up this wall, not saying a thing until we get past that first pitch and I realize now why there were some rocks coming off, and also why he wasn't shouting "rock"- because he didn't know to.
Justin, not having done much leading or following, simply didn't know how to route find and was leading through virgin choss. And, ladies and gentlemen, this is sandstone - his gear is behind loose, expanding flakes, and I am slowly progressing upward holding my breath that things don't break and I don't fall and drag him onto his pieces.
Let me tell you that simulclimbing behind a new leader making questionable placements on virgin rock - it's mentally exhausting. There were angry thoughts running through my head about how I should have known better, I should have asked more questions, how I was too experienced to get into these stupid positions, how this is what I get for taking people I don't know climbing. It was the delerium of "Return to Climbing" what did it. It still doesn't make it right.
I get to this one place where I can't really go anywhere and I think he's at a place to make an anchor. "Justin!" I shout across the canyon to the other wall to make it echo back to him, "Am I on belay?" "OH!" he shouts. It could have been "oh." Also, "yo." Or, "No." Or . . . yeah. I realize this is pointless and that if I just basically freesoloed two pitches, I can freesolo the next one. I commit, cursing under my breath and keep slogging.
At some point, Justin makes the target tree (the off-route target tree, but I told him to go there and that's my fault, too) and sets up a belay. I feel marginally better, but I'm maybe forty feet under him and mentally exhausted. I just want to get down now. The arm, however, is great. I have been pulling hero moves on it, trying to avoid the munge and flakes and little bushes while towing another rope (because that is one piece of beta I remember, you need two ropes to get down). But hey, guess what, you lame-o - you gotta go up to go down. So I sit there for a bit and steel myself for the final thing, and maybe I take it out a bit on poor Justin, telling him honestly and hopefully not too harshly that what he pulled was just plain dangerous.
And then, ever the optimist, I realize that what he pulled was also brave and successful and I know that if we both survived that, he's going to be a good partner and an excellent climber in the future. We both learned, eh? (But later, in the car, we fight over who is more sorry about what happened and Chris suggests a bar fight. Of course, that doesn't work because when I declare that I would likely fall on the ground, clutching my broken bottle, and cry, Justin, too, would do the same. And we'd just have a big cry fest. So, I guess we both better get over it.)
Rapping down was fairly simple aside from the massive rope clusterf*#k that's not to be avoided when you're throwing it through munge. I was happy to get down so it was no deal. Of course, no rest for the weary, I still had an enthusiastic and patient aspiring leader in Chris and a follower in Owen waiting for their fearless leader.
So, without much hesitation, I tell Chris to get himself ready. "You sure?" "I'm sure." No, I wasn't sure. But he had picked the most aesthetic line on the rock and I wanted to sink my hands into some jams and forget the horrors of loose sandstone flakes and moss I had just endured (and some of which had found its way into my bra and eyes making the rest of the day fairly uncomfortable - boob debris is the worst).
Here's the photo Chris took from the first pitch's belay.
This climb goes without trouble, but we also only pulled off a pitch because, well, the munge-fest took something like two hours to complete. His placements were perfect (and poor Justin kept saying, "Well, he had places to PUT THEM!") and his anchor was kinda funny for a sport climber, but we're not going to point fingers, now, are we? We rapped down and set up a top rope so Owen could get his climb on.
As we were coming down, Yishai arrived by Jeep and we convinced him to lead Owen up a multipitch, as the gentle giant was really amped on the whole idea. He'd patiently waited hours and hours all day for some action and Yishai, knowing he was getting himself into something rather interesting, agreed to do it anyway - my hero. I didn't really want to go for another epic and the sun was setting.
They got up the climb with no problem, but when it came time to rap . . . it was dark. "Kristin!" I could hear Yishai calling, "Where am I going?" By then, he was just a slightly lighter patch on the black wall. We got out headlights and ate avalanche bark (you really should try some) and watched the drama ensue from the car up on the road for a bit. The guys thought they could better help by going back down to the base and I turned the car onto the road and pointed the lights at the wall. It was interesting, sitting there in the car as oncoming traffic first detected the situation and then - only at the last minute, mind you - swerved away from my truck's tail-end. Visions of getting hit and knocked into the little gorge danced in my head.
But, in the end, nobody was the worse for wear, but it was pitch black, some of us were hungry (Yishai), some of us had grading to do (me), and the rest of them seemed to be pretty happy with the whole ordeal. It ain't a day climbing with Kristin if it ain't an epic, I guess. Why did I expect anything different?
And that's what's so funny about this full-circle episode. I'm back, mostly. I am already pulling down on 5.10s, and soon I'll surpass where I once was. Riding a bike is fun, I can do a couple pull ups, and in the course of a year, I've really found myself and who I'm about. It was poetic for me to be able to share all of that with a bunch of people with positive attitudes, some who I've known no more than a week or two, and some for five years, and how we all put faith in eachother when we climb. There is no other pastime, I'm sure, that creates such a bond. We choose to risk ourselves to a high degree at times (trad climbing, ice climbing, and mountaineering especially), and it's the people we spend that time with that really test our mettle and constitution. As someone who is slow to put faith in individuals, sharing a rope and working as a team seems to short-cut that process for me.
From this weekend, after doing a "5.11" that we think was more like a 10.
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Lynne Leichtfuss
Social climber
valley center, ca
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Oct 29, 2008 - 01:38am PT
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Great Story, Good Send and really nice Pictures...hope to meet ya someday...Lynne (kinda new here at the Taco Stand : ))
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Fluoride
Trad climber
Hollywood, CA
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Oct 29, 2008 - 01:43am PT
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Glad to hear you're back on the stone Kristin! Sounds like quite the journey. Congrats and climb on.
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Mighty Hiker
Social climber
Vancouver, B.C.
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Oct 29, 2008 - 01:43am PT
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Thanks for the nice report, and good grammer!
Glad that you've weathered a few bumps successfully, and are back adventuring. Life does tend to throw these things at us on occasion.
All that, and then if I remember rightly a bike crash two years where you broke your helmet and were unconscious. Wow!
ps You spell it "Kristin". Do you pronounce it "kris-ten", or "kris-teen"? Cousins and friends in Norway with your name pronouce it as the latter.
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HighDesertDJ
Trad climber
Arid-zona
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Oct 29, 2008 - 01:44am PT
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Woot!
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maculated
Trad climber
San Luis Obispo, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Oct 29, 2008 - 01:49am PT
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"Kris-tin." Like the foil. :)
MH, totally impressed you remember the bike crash. :)
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Jaybro
Social climber
wuz real!
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Oct 29, 2008 - 02:13am PT
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Congratulations and thanks for the TR, Kristin.
The next logical step, Would be to you to drive North tomorrow for a return engagement on Gary's crack in Sunol.
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Phil_B
Social climber
Hercules, CA
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Oct 29, 2008 - 02:14am PT
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Cool! Thanks for sharing. I enjoyed the read.
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Mungeclimber
Trad climber
sorry, just posting out loud.
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Oct 29, 2008 - 02:22am PT
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hah! a big welcome back...
YUR GUNNA DIE!
seems appropriate
lol
cheers,
M
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Oct 29, 2008 - 02:24am PT
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welcome back KMac!
don't forget to be gentle on that shoulder and break it in for the first 3000 miles (or so).
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up2top
Big Wall climber
Phoenix, AZ
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Oct 29, 2008 - 02:44am PT
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God, I've missed you.
Congrats on the return! I know you had a miserable couple of years battling the shoulder problems. My gear is dustier and rattier than yours, but I've been working on a come back, myself, the past six months. Maybe I'll catch you out there next spring.
Kick the Fury for me. ;-)
Ed
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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Oct 29, 2008 - 02:47am PT
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hey there maculated... kristin... say, i dont know you, but that was one heck of a good report, about life, friends, rocks of the past and present... (well, mabey not the damage, of course, that is never good, or at least not until it is FIXED proper)...
say, welcome back to the rocks, and back to your life being on track again... say, perhaps my life will someday get back on track again.... though my difficulties are no where near the same as yours were... you DID great, there, krisin!
god bless!
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perswig
climber
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Oct 29, 2008 - 07:27am PT
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Excellent "Firestarter" pic post-op.
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vegastradguy
Trad climber
Las Vegas, NV
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Oct 29, 2008 - 09:08am PT
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welcome back, mac- glad to hear you're recovering well!
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MisterE
Trad climber
My Inner Nut
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Oct 29, 2008 - 09:24am PT
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Welcome back to the climbing world, Kristen! Yay!
Erik
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Anastasia
climber
Not there
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Oct 29, 2008 - 09:52am PT
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Maculated,
I love your writing, I love what you did and... You are super human cool!
Plus, that picture during the climb shows that you are a real beauty. The kind that will always look good, even when you become old and gray. So, if you are ever near Northridge, CA. please look me up! It would be nice to hang out with such a great inspirational soul.
Smiles,
Anastasia
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GOclimb
Trad climber
Boston, MA
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Oct 29, 2008 - 10:36am PT
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Thanks for the TR - it's fun to read! And congrats on your recovery. It really sounds like a best-case scenario.
GO
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looking sketchy there...
Social climber
Latitute 33
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Oct 29, 2008 - 12:08pm PT
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Congratulations on your successful surgery and coming full circle (and maybe even a bit further).
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HighDesertDJ
Trad climber
Arid-zona
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Oct 29, 2008 - 12:16pm PT
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What happened to the creepy dry humping thread?
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maculated
Trad climber
San Luis Obispo, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Oct 29, 2008 - 12:19pm PT
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I decided the demographic for said book was not SuperTopo, and I had been away long enough to remember how people like to pick ad nauseum at things that didn't need picking at. :)
I missed you guys, too!
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