I don't know how it happened, nor have I actually accepted it. I sent Immaculate Deception (5.12a) yesterday. Someone needs explain this to me so that I'll understand how it happened. All I can explain is the conditions for why it should not have come to pass.
Saturday, I got outside for the first time in a week to climb. I was worried that I lost some strength and technique (and blah blah blah). It turns out that I was still where I was a week ago. I onsited a 5.10d followed by sending a 5.11a. Cool. The exact thing that I pulled off a week prior.
I then went to work second shift at the Shell (3pm-11pm).
11:30pm: I returned to Miguel's and made friends with some beer, whiskey (thanks, Ducekie!), and moonshine.
2:00am: I went to bed more than inebriated.
6:00am: I got up to go to work for a 7am-3pm shift. I didn't wake up blind from that moonshine.
The day wore on. I was tired, my wrist hurt if I put weight on it when leaning on the counter. I took some Ibuprofen. I was sure that the sheer volume of gas-station coffee I guzzled, my piss was made of Dark Roast Beantown Coffee.
Finally, exhausted and dehydrated, I took off to Miguel's. I accidentally locked my keys in my car, and with some amazing squirreling with a coat hanger, I unlocked it. I grabbed my keys, filled my water bottles, grabbed a cliff bar and took off to Muir Valley, with the intent to go to the Solarium and climb.
I got a phone call from Eric saying that the group was still at The Sanctuary. That's fine. I figured that would be where I'd go first.
AND THEN THE SOLARIUM.
But it didn't happen. I was so psyched on the Solarium that I just wanted to get over there.
As I came down the approach trail, I saw Al hanging from Jesus Wept (5.12d).
I asked "what is easy around here for me to warm up?" I had never been to The Sanctuary.
"You should get on Immaculate Deception," Eric had instructed. It was a 5.12a and I decided that I was going to bolt-to-bolt it for a warm up before heading over to the Solarium.
I was given this Beta for Immaculate via Eric: It's a hard V3/V4 boulder problem :: sit-down rest :: 5.11a/b climbing :: shake :: 5.10c/d climbing :: anchors.
That's all.
Okay. I'll bolt to bolt it, get some sequence-beta, then give it another burn, I said to myself. I was in poor condition. My wrist was swollen, I was dehydrated, I had eaten little more than some bread and a Pbj or two, was running on 4 hours of drunken sleep (no REMs when you're drunk), had some other heavy family issues running through my mind, and I had to hang the draws.
And I wasn't warmed up!
I got to the start, two shitty undercling crimps. I must have felt around for five minutes looking for better holds before throwing a heel-hook up onto the ledge near my waist. Then I stretched long for a two or three finger pocket (I think I mashed three fingers in there). And quickly enough I moved through all the pockets to a jug, clipped bolt #2, moved up some more, hung the draw on bolt #3, moved a little higher to a sketchy sloping side-pull. Clipped.
Threw for some jug, pulled myself up to a ledge, sat down and shook out for 20 minutes. Flash pumped.
Then I moved, got to the next bolt, then the next. Hanging draws. Down climbed a bit to fix the sequence. Got around a beautiful arete, shook out briefly, climbed back around the face, and with shaking legs, pumped arms, I moved to the next bolt. Then the next. I tried to shake out. Drop knee here, then there. Nothing came back. Still pumped. Keep moving.
Holy shit, I was pumped.
I was sure I was going to tear off.
"No, you fucking don't," says that wonderful voice in my head. I should name him. How about Arnold? I was pretty pumped. I'm sure he would approve.
The anchors were right there, in my face. I got some sketchy hold for my left hand. There wasn't even chalk on it. It was a crimp, a jug, or something worse, I can't recall.
"Fuck it, just clip the anchors!" belted Arnold in my mind.
Sure enough, I reached up, put the draw in. Keep breathing.
A drop knee, and Elvis shook himself out of my leg.
I held my breath, clipped the one draw.
"Wooo!" I yelled.
"That's it man, you only need one!" I head Al say, and then Eric soon say something similar. One for the Send, two for safety. But:
"I want two," I said under my heavy breathing.
I didn't want to just send it, I wanted to dominate that son of a bitch.
I clipped the second.
"That's two! Fuck yes!" I dropped and yawped my barbaric yawp. Fuck Arnold, now it was Whitman.
I threw my hat to the ground. Being lowered, I noticed the desert in my mouth. On the ground, I went for a walk. Taking it all in, draining a liter of water into my body, and doing my best not to vomit.
I never understood why some people lose their stomachs after running three miles. When I was still taking karate, I remember seeing my peers throwing up after the 3 mile Saturday morning runs. I didn't understand why they did.
But it almost happened to me. Talk about pushing your body to it's limits. I haven't been so pumped in months, nor so exhausted, excited, or sick. But it was worth it.
To wrap up the tale: I had to clean the route. So I went up the backside, top-rope, and the climb kicked my ass. I had to pull on the draws to get up through some of the moves. I was destroyed. And ironcially enough, 'Bama Joe and Sean showed up and saw me flailing on top-rope. They were probably thinking "what a gumby." I was also giggling like a school-girl the entire time I grabbed a draw or just hung there.
It was my first 5.12a, and I flashed it. Go figure.
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