Chapter 1: Before the Send

You know what Jams My Cams? Being able to do something.

Now before you break out the magnifying glass to find the World’s Tiniest Violin so you can saw out “Woe is You”, re-read that. Surely, it sucks when you can’t do a climb.  When you’re not even close.  Individual moves still haven’t gone, and the send is a far-off dream.  But you know what really sucks?  Being able to do a climb. Note the verb.

This whole thing is a bit tongue in cheek, but I think its worth taking a beat and recognizing the pressure and anxiety that arises when something that was outside your grasp is suddenly within reach.  You’ve done all the moves.  You’ve even done overlapping links.  On a route, you may have silenced the ghost of Bob Camps and done it in “one hang” (how dare you not lower!).  The conditions are in.  The stage is perfectly set for you to do the thing.

But instead of joy, you feel dread.  Instead of the anticipatory delight, like going to bed the night before your trip to Disney, you’re burdened by a haunting thought.  What if all the pieces are in place; the weather, the fitness, the homies, the phase of the moon (low gravity, baby!) and then despite this confluence of good fortune, you still chuff?  What then?  Not only did you disappoint yourself, but also the homies, and the Gods that kept the humidity down.  Who knows when it’ll ever click again?

Sending in that moment is like the pressure relief valve dumping open. Chuffing is the stuff of nightmares.  Both end in tears, and I think this entire journey is beautifully captured in the Reel Rock segment with Ethan Pringle on Jumbo Love. This anxiety is something I have recognized in myself not infrequently, and seeing it put to film with a professional acknowledging the darker side of expectation was a comfort. Sharma faced a similar meltdown on the same route in the film Progression, emotionally proclaiming “I feel like everyone is just hanging around waiting for me to do the thing”.

Chapter 2: After the Send

You sent a thing! It’s hard to say which is more satisfying at the end of the day.  Sometimes you stumble into a send, getting all the joy with none of the crushing pressure – perhaps, even, the send came as a result of shedding the weight of expectation, from letting go, or never having held on. Other times, all that huge build-up and training pays off, and you get the additional pride of having moved through the anxiety. The focus, the obsession, it was worth it.

While there is an incredible elation that comes with sending something that you’ve spent days, months, even years stressing over, be forewarned of the other side. If you’ve made your entire existence about this one send for any length of time – route specific training, plane tickets, PTO for multiple seasons, the satisfaction of the realization of your effort can be quickly followed by an odd…hollowness.  You’ve stood atop the pebble or the cliff, you’ve drank the send-beer you’ve been saving and then a few more, and then, that’s it.  It’s over.  You post it to the Insta, get a handful of likes and comments and then you need to either find something else to fill that space, or step away for a bit. Much like the above Pringle clip, this thought was finally crystalized by a bit of media, in this case Molly Mitchell talking about her experiences with a ground fall, the recovery, a bipolar diagnosis, and the send. Ironically, while I respect and admire her openness about her mental health, she mentions that once she was open about her challenges, she felt the burden of expectation that she be open continuously. And so, the cycle continues, just in another fashion.

Epilogue

I could have just as easily called this post “A Treatise on Anxiety and Depression as it Relates to Sending”, but we here live on snark and spite and all sorts of other perfectly healthy coping mechanisms, so the outrage inducing title stays.

The real truth is, so very many of us struggle, with all nature of -isms, transient and permanent, and while we don’t all need to talk about it all the time and make it our personality (that’s what climbing is for, duh), it’s worth sending up a flag now and then to remind others that they’re not alone. Consider this a flag for those who share my -isms.

Crank is a safe space for this sort of wave. If you see yourself in this, I hope you feel seen. If you don’t, but feel like you have something adjacent to get off your chest, the floor is yours, and we’d be happy to use our space to hoist your flag, even if you want to remain anonymous, but let others know they aren’t alone.

If Justin Meserve ignores you at the gym, or especially at the crag, its not personal, he’s just psyching himself out of sending, or on the comedown from a project.