Try Dying
“Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted.” ~ Aldous Huxley
The following is a copy of the Climbstrong November 2022 Newsletter. I didn't ask permission to republish it, but I'll take my chances since "it's the most wonderful time of the year." While consumerism consumes us, remember that the winter solstice (the longest night of the year) is oft co-opted but remains a symbol of death, the end; and from that chaos beauty and life (a new year) are birthed.
My friend Travis died at the end of October.
To say that she was my friend is a stretch. In fact, we never met face-to-face. Our interactions were no more than a few Zoom calls and emails, but my time with her was profound. Early this year, a mutual friend introduced us, hoping to get Travis a bit of coaching. She was out of shape and wanted to get back into running. She wanted to get some ab strength back. What she wanted, most of all, was to “finish strong.”
When Sarah, introduced us, Travis had already been fighting cancer for several years. It was coming back in a big way, and she had decided not to undergo the terrible strain of treatment again. When we met, she knew she had almost no time left, and she told me she wanted to feel like an athlete again.
We started with what she described as “ridiculously easy” exercises, and walks interspersed with moments of jogging. She sometimes felt like shit and didn’t do anything for a week. Sometimes I’d get an email about a “great ‘run.’” with a follow up that it seemed silly to celebrate a run she wouldn’t have even considered a walk 10 years ago.
She got stronger and stronger for a few weeks, and then she didn’t.
The weeks that were good were not so good, and she frequently felt tired and sore. But the runs made her feel great. The Bhagavad Gita reminds us, “You have the right to work, but for the work's sake only. You have no right to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working.” The training is its own reward, and is sometimes the only reward.
The fact that one of her greatest desires was to work hard again means a lot to me. It wasn’t about relaxing. About sitting on a beach. About eating and drinking too much. About spending a bunch of money. About seeking out entertainment. She wanted only to finish strong and to spend her remaining time with her family.
And then there was the Powerball discussion. Ellen and I were driving home from Las Vegas last month with the kids (after a great weekend climbing and learning with the CS coaching team), and the subject of the $2 billion Powerball jackpot came up. My son, Sam, had great ideas on what he might do with that kind of cash. We talked a bit about what an amazing windfall it might be, but inside I couldn’t help but think that it could only end in a colossal clusterfuck. Who really thinks that getting that much money all at once won’t totally hose them in the long run? Within a minute, I realized I was terrified of that kind of money.
What would it bring me that I valued? Would it help me learn faster? Work harder? Recover better? Would it buy me more minutes? Would it get me back to climbing my hardest? Would it help me be a better person?
Or would it destroy my friendships, kill my work ethic, create rifts in my family, and cause me all kinds of problems? Would Alex secretly be pissed I didn’t buy him a new truck?
Would having a cool billion in the bank help me feel the value in hard work? I don’t think so. Which brings me back to a few thoughts I carry with me. The first is a quote from the OG crusher Rob Robinson. When I was a very young climber and griping to a mentor about a friend who didn’t have to work, got to climb all the time, etc., he told me what Rob had said: “You can’t buy 5.13.” The wealthiest dude at the crag is not the best climber. Sure, everyone and their dog climbs 5.13 now, but the sentiment is this: the things we value are independent of income. In fact, work ethic is hard to come by if you don’t have to struggle to make ends meet.
And then you have this:
“Mo money mo problems.” - The Notorious BIG
And what good would that billion do us if we had only months to live? The sad fact of life is that we all only have months to live. This month, right now, is it. This is lifetime. Spending even a moment wishing things were different and hoping someone else will take care of your shit for you is a crime against yourself. We hold right now the greatest gift of our lives, yet we waste it.
Marcus Aurelius chided himself, “You could be good today, but instead you choose tomorrow.”
We complain: We don’t have time for training.
We’re not in shape for our hardest sends so the day is “meh.”
It might rain so we stay home and look at a phone.
We think that somehow continuing to do the same preparations over and over again will bring us to some other level. It’s not about finding the ability to do some crazy hard session. It’s more about doing the same, somewhat boring training, regularly, long enough to see a result. It’s about going out when it might be a little cold. It’s about going up something that is uncomfortable, that you might not have wired, and that will pull you ever-so-slightly out of your comfort zone.
I think this is what we all truly value. Touching the edge of our ability. Seeing how good we can be. Making sacrifices in order to have experiences. Having to actually fight for something, rather than to let sloth take over.
I know people who have “self cared” themselves to the brink of death. Taking a rest day because of an ache. Over-sleeping. Trying to “be smart” by not trying too hard. Overeating. Over hydrating. Filling their schedules with massages and time in the hot tub and naps. These are not the healthiest, nor happiest people I have known.
If you’ve ever redpointed a lifetime goal project, you’ll know what I mean when I say that the luster fades too quickly. The high we got from the send goes away, and we’re stuck once again looking for the next super hard thing. Understand that it is the labor, the uncertainty, the call to be better that we value, and not the success itself. The labor, not the fruit.
To feel like an athlete, one more time.
Hold Fast,
Steve