Stronger Than Ever

Before and after my ankle enhancement surgery.

Someone I have never met before, told me he heard about me breaking my leg on Moonlight Buttress through the "blogosphere". This moment of celebrity caught me by surprise and I nearly went along with it. In the Bellingham climbing community I had reached the equivalent of one of the lesser Kardashians. I realized that this blog, which I started as a reflective writing exercise to share my stories with friends and family, had inflated me into an internet persona and had obscured my real life.

I did break my leg. Though, not while performing an epic ascent of a stunning climbing test-piece. Nope, I was in my friend's garage, climbing three feet off the ground, and fell wrong. It is a pretty uninspiring story. The realization of how fragile I am is sobering, to say the least. I have always fantasized about being a martial arts master kicking my way through walls, and shattering bricks with my head. In real life, I didn't stand a chance against 3/4 inch OSB sub-flooring.

The moment is still so sharp in my memory. My foot slipped and I snapped my leg. Social media and some creative thinking allowed people to rewrite this story and perpetuate an internet identity that was much cooler and interesting than me.

I have written a number of blogs since then, but have not published anything. I wanted to continue the momentum, but didn't have a story that had the same heroic or inspiring plotline. I had a broken leg, a broken heart, was unemployed, and was sleeping/living on my friend's living room floor. I was not feeling like a winner. I was, and am just Calvin...

Climbing had risk and fear and unknown, but it was emotionally safe. I knew what I could do, and had a history of success. Life without climbing left me completely vulnerable.

My internet reputation had inflated my ego, and the subsequent fall from grace was bigger than any climbing fall. I was lower than I had ever been. I was reminded by a dear friend, that "the upside to being at your personal worst, is that things can only get better." In the short term, carpentry and guiding were out of the question, and it was torture to think about the climbing I wasn't doing. I needed something that I could pursue with all that built up energy, but did not require walking. In between watching kung fu movies, and trying to shower without breaking my other leg, I worked on job applications and did lots of push ups. For all the things I couldn't do, I learned to appreciate what I could do. A month after "the fall", I experienced a wave of joy more powerful than the celebration of onsighting 5.12. I was offered a desk job at an environmental education facility in one of my favorite places in the world. This was an opportunity to push myself, to learn and grow, and begin something that was more intimidating than any big wall... a career. Two months after the metal plate, screws and wire ligament were installed in my right ankle, I celebrated my 30th birthday, and made my first steps without crutches. My life was changing at breakneck speed as I hobbled to my office every morning, and learned to move my right foot again.

My world had been turned upside down. As the dust settled, I found that life as just Calvin, may be as good or better than my internet identity. My ankle hurt (and continues to hurt) everyday, but by leaning into the pain and approaching my physical therapy with the same determination I had to climb the Moonlight Buttress, I have made remarkable gains. My strength and range of motion slowly returned. After 3 months, I was almost normal looking when I walked across campus and was elated to start climbing again. Learning to walk and climb again was just a small part of how I was changing.

First day back on the rock. my new backyard crag in Newhalem

I always admired those who are passionate about their pursuits, but struggled to see how they could maintain the enthusiasm. Climbing is such an emotionally and physically stimulating activity that it seems obvious that it can take over someone's life. People getting fired up about poetry or gardening, didn't make sense to me. The combination of a deep dark depression, and new job, helped me to know why my friends light up when they talk about parenting or photography. Getting back up out of my hole meant learning and growing.

Now, six months later, people around me have all but forgotten about my special ankle. It was a major benchmark to climb the “Grand Wall” last month. It is flattering for my buddy to egg me on during a hard lead climb yelling, “Yeah right! You were never injured!" It has been a long road. It feels so good to be moving across rock again, in control and smooth. The inspiration to write still springs from climbing, but climbing feels different. I had to be completely broken, before I could understand that there is more to life than climbing. I am learning the joy of working with a team to serve, and improve the lives of others. Long free climbs are exciting, but there is nothing like teaching kids science in the middle of the national park, and pushing myself as a professional.

Back in the mountains with my new improved ankle.

Those who find and embrace their passion, in whatever form, hold something that inspires people. It is a reason, to improve, to overcome, and to live. Is it too presumptuous to suggest that it has driven our success as a human race?

The metaphors in my work life coordinating weaving or yoga retreats may be slightly less thrilling than big wall climbing, but I love it. I look forward to gleaning new life lessons from my experience and writing from this new perspective.


… and climbing alpine routes again.

Try Hard

Lunch break part way up Moonlight Buttress

Working as a carpenter I swing a hammer all day, move lumber, run heavy equipment, and generally abuse my body. On a big wall climb, I mangle my hands and feet, get roasted by the sun, and generally work real hard against gravity. My body gets wrecked in either scenario. At the end of the day, however, the way I feel about myself is very different. After a long day building a roof, I can barely bring myself to take a shower, eat dinner, and watch an episode of Parks and Recreation before going to bed. After a full day of climbing at my limit, I feel energized, and can't wait to plan my next trip. The source of my energy is not a sum of calories consumed and level of fitness. The ability to keep going has more to do with an energy that is outside the physical body. Tapping into this wellspring allows us to push beyond fatigue and redefine our limits. There is an emotional vessel that holds more power than we can understand. When I am engaged in the things I love, my physical energy expands to meet new demands.

My favorite cartoon is a Japanese series called Dragon Ball Z. The story line deals with the idea of finding hidden energy as the heroes fight to save Planet Earth from evil forces. Now this analogy may seem like a stretch, but bear with me. The main character Goku, is a pure hearted warrior who always manages to overcome impossible odds to defeat aliens, cyborgs, and magic creatures for the sake of the people he loves. What makes Goku special (besides having a tail and being able to transform into a giant ape) is that every time he is beaten to within an inch of his life, he thinks of his wife, child, friends, and family and his power grows. Obviously, this is a cartoon, and not a source of great spiritual insight. However, the message of personal growth, plays off an archetype that resonates with any quest to overcome impossible odds. When we are emotionally engaged in a challenge and go beyond what we thought was possible, our power grows to meet the demands.

150ft finger crack on Moonlight Buttress

The true power of ultra-marathon runners, explorers, climbers, and cartoon warriors is rooted in the belief that their goal is worth fighting for. It is the motivation to try hard, to train, to take risk, and to accept the possibility of failure. On my 29th birthday I was asked what my goals for the year were. Without hesitation, I said "I want to climb El Capitan, free climb Moonlight Buttress, and send a 5.13." These are all climbing goals. Saving for a home, having kids, or traveling to Mongolia didn't make the list this year. It is not that I don't want other things, but it is not where my heart is. If I try to pursue goals that I am not passionate about, it will simply drain my energy. I thought long and hard about enrolling in a graduate school program, but if it kept me from climbing 1,000 foot sandstone walls, I would not have the drive to be successful right now.

Last fall, I completed the first item on my list, and overcame significant challenges to climb El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. This winter, I left Bellingham and moved back to Utah to live and work near Zion National Park, where I am setting my sights on the second goal. To free climb (climbing with a rope to arrest a fall, using only my hands and feet to move up) the Moonlight Buttress would be the most difficult climb I have ever done. It is a special climb, because when I first moved to Zion it was the route that inspired me to begin big wall climbing. That year, Alex Honnold free-soloed Moonlight buttress in 1 hour and 23 minutes (climbing without a rope, using only his hands and feet to move up). In comparison, I aid climbed the route during my second season in about 15 hours (using equipment and rope ladders to move up the route). Now, 6 years later Moonlight Buttress is a benchmark to measure my progress. This climb pushes me to be stronger and more fearless than I ever thought possible.

High point on day 3, 2/3 of the way to the top

This project has consumed a great deal of my thought time, and excites me in a way that borders on obsessive. I have spent three days in the past two weeks on Moonlight Buttress trying to unlock the sequences and progressing slowly up the wall. On each attempt I reach a high point, fatigued, bloodied, and outclassed, and decide to go back down to the ground. On the one hand it feels like a defeat, but on the other it is exciting to see an opportunity to grow stronger. It wouldn't be nearly as gratifying if I simply went up, sent the route, and ticked it off my list. The way climbing El Capitan expanded my limits of durability, this climb is training my endurance and ability to overcome fear. There is a very real possibility that I may not complete this climb in good style. I willingly take that risk, because regardless of the outcome, my vessel of energy is growing, it is overflowing, and fueling me to try harder.