What are you afraid of? My father once said he’s not afraid of heights – but that he does have an issue with edges.  If you are afraid of heights, multi-pitch is probably out, but you may still be able to pebble-wrestle

If you are reading this, I am assuming you’ve pushed down the fear of heights and got into climbing.  Now what are you afraid of?  If you are like me, being a gumby at the crag or in the gym can be intimidating.  That is, until you make a few friends, and realize that everyone else is too focused on their own objectives to have enough spare time to be judgmental of your (in)ability. 

That conquered, stepping into lead climbing usually opens the biggest fear. Falling. Chapters of books have been written about this subject. If you want to pick apart the climbing head game, I highly recommend The Rock Warriors Way.  If you are pushing yourself to your physical limits, falling is inevitable. Many people don’t get to their physical limits because the mental redline is set a few pegs lower, but there are ways to train and overcome.

I can’t say I’m not afraid of falling, but absent a good rest position, it rarely comes up mid-boulder. I spend my pre-climb session assessing potential fall trajectories, and place my pads and spotters accordingly.  If I have faith that someone or something is going to catch me, I can turn off that fear of falling to a point that can frustrate my spotters – sometimes I don’t even actively try and put my feet under myself on the way down. But it doesn’t make me fearless.

I am afraid of Quicksand.  No, not falling into a pit in the jungle.  For those of you who are scratching your head right now, let me share with you a great speech from an under-appreciated film, The Replacements. Also, stop scratching – you’re getting chalk in your hair, use a nut tool instead.

The sentiment is universal.  Viewed through a climbing lens, I know I have experienced it. I pull onto a project and in the easy terrain leading up to the crux I grip a hold wrong, missing a subtle edge that I thought I had wired to my muscle memory.  I tense involuntarily as I wiggle my fingers into just the right spot.  Distracted and out of my groove, I have to re-grip the next hold too, a pinch, twice before it feels just the way I like it to, a move that every other burn goes like clockwork. By the time I get to the big committing crux throw, my mind is too busy wondering if those little ‘mistakes’ are summing up in some cosmic ledger, surely having consumed extra effort from that one critical core muscle fiber, and that that cumulative effect will make me too weak to pull the actual crux.  Head no longer in it, I miss my mark. Having trudged deeper into the quicksand with each little mistake, I find myself sitting on the pad panting – I couldn’t breathe.

We’ve all been there, holding our breath for what seems like minutes as we recover from an unexpected foot cut, paddling at the little nothing our toe was supposed to be latched on, screaming at ourselves mentally.