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The Perfectionist

‘Polished, unprotected AND balancy. Am I masochistic or am I masochistic?’ I say to no one in particular as I sit at the belay, surveying the sweeping summer view of the Brecons from a wide ledge

I’m stuck. Progression to HS seems a distant hill at the moment, never mind a mountain in Spain.

My confidence is like a slippery piece of polish on Avon Gorge limestone. Impatience and over-ambition are probably to blame, but something else isn’t helping.

I had a weird moment at Symonds Yat a few weeks ago. As I made the first moves on a route I had an overwhelming feeling of ‘I can’t be bothered’. All afternoon I felt completely uninspired- to put gear in, even to get to the top. I did, after a fashion, and then went home and took a break.

When I ventured out again, enthusiasm rekindled if not relit, I discovered I'd become a perfectionist – not a healthy thing for an amateur. Faced with decisions about gear placement, I turned into a neurotic mess, trying out most of the bits of metal on my harness before being satisfied. I put in wires, took them out and turned them round, again and again, before settling on the first one I'd tried. It was a bit like buying shoes. Belays were a protracted torture as I couldn’t decide which would be the best placements, changing, remaking and starting again, all the while muttering under my breath and becoming increasingly agitated. My partner was patient.

I blame my choice of partner to an extent. I’m lucky enough to be climbing with some very experienced people for whom climbing is their career. They have to get it spot on, and they can because they’ve been doing it for years. They casually look at a crack, pluck the right wire or cam off their harness and place it perfectly first time .It sits there snug as a smug thing. I’m impatient. I’ve been trad climbing for 2 years; they’ve been doing it for at least 15. I feel I’ll never catch up, so why even bother?

But I also climb with another novice and that’s brought back a kind of balance. This weekend I climbed with him and found myself relaxing a bit. We went to Morlais Quarry near the lost and forgotten town of Merthyr Tydfil. It promised a good range of low grade climb- and a breeze. It came true on its promise but with an added dash of polish and interesting selection of local behaviour.

I tried to resist the urge to get 10 out of 10 for each piece of gear placed and didn’t spend half an hour putting together a belay, but a voice kept saying: ‘Could do better’. It was getting boring so, with a perversity that was definitely masochistic, I decided to face off the lack of confidence with an act of bravado. I chose a route not decorated with useful cracks of useful size, or any other interesting features (well, maybe a couple)(S.T.E.P: Severe 4a). As I climbed I also found thousands had been there before me – the quarry is a magnet for groups on top ropes-and had made it a smooth and glossy place.

I didn’t fall off, and I didn’t scare myself stupid but I didn’t enjoy it. My partner then chose a V Diff lead (Grease Monkey) with acres of protection and amounts of polish that made my lead look like a walk up grit stone. Although unnerved by the glass at his toes there was the comforting knowledge that the gear was never far away and it was going to stay in place. I could see his approach held a far better logic to it than mine and its effect was that he took over a Severe I backed off, and made clean work of an unexpectedly nasty crux move.

It’s good to share learning curves. It‘s sometimes more productive than the wisdom spread by the experienced… Or maybe a dash of healthy competition can bring us to our senses. And I’ve been reminded just in time that I’m not a masochist and this is meant to be enjoyable.

(Local behaviour-I’m still not sure what the 3 men with the air rifle, beer cans and mysteriously heavy plastic bag were going to do. It must be a Merthyr Tydfil Sunday afternoon thing.)

Posted by fishinwater