As recently as five years ago, I was cycloptically focused on programming. I looked hard at rest days, session design, and yearly cycles, but mostly left everything else up to the athlete I was coaching. I paid attention to that “stuff” in my own development, so I assumed everyone else would, too. It wasn’t until I had the opportunity to climb with some of my athletes and to begin reviewing video, that I realized how little the program mattered when the other facets weren’t being addressed. Doing a part of the coaching job well doesn’t count. Instead of looking at it like a pie with three slices where I was doing a great job in one third of the program, I really needed to look at it like a tripod with just one leg - fundamentally useless.
A perfect strength and conditioning plan- developing high finger strength, endurance, and power- means nothing if the climber has terrible movement and economy and is terrified each time he leaves the ground. The double-damage I was allowing was this: my fearful or under-practiced athletes did not want to work on the areas of greatest need in their performance, found someone (me) that advocated training hard and getting very strong, and dove deeper into hard gym-based fitness. They didn’t get better. It was the classic, “new tires on a car with a bad motor.”
It seems obvious that one should address weaknesses, but in practice we rarely do. Personally, I would rather log a hundred hours on a treadwall than visit with a therapist about fear for 30 minutes. Would way rather spend time hanging from my fingertips than consider that my body positioning is poor and I just need to go practice moving. Almost all of us would. Even when we’ve topped out our mental powers, are relatively fearless, can move like a leopard, and are the envy of everyone at the crag, guess what? We still need to work on it. I’m sorry, but all of it is a lifelong endeavor.
There is a zen koan about a young swordsman whose father had disowned him because he lacked the abilities of a great fighter. To regain his honor, the young man sought out the greatest master he could find to teach him. This master, the great swordsman Banzo looked the young man over and told him he did not have what it took. He would not train the young man.
"I am willing to work hard. I will do whatever you tell me to do."
Banzo considered for a moment, and agreed.
"How long will it take for me to become a master?"
"Ten years."
"But master, I will do anything you say. I will work very hard. If I doubled my efforts, how long would it take?"
"Thirty years."
"Master, I said I'd work hard. I don't have thirty years! If I worked both day and night and focused everything I had into the effort, how long might it take?"
"If you give everything to the effort...seventy years. A man in such a hurry seldom learns quickly."
Let’s talk about strength for a minute. We’re all aware that hanging by our fingers on small edges regularly makes that task easier. We know that pushing weights makes our muscles adapt. But eventually we reach some limits. These, we assume, are just the natural end of the road, but there is a lot more to it. We have to understand that the curve of improvement levels out so profoundly that progress comes in months once you're strong. And getting strong, well, that takes a lot out of you.
The number one limiter in getting stronger is deciding it can’t be done. Powerlifting legend Dave Tate commented, “Just because something feels very heavy, doesn’t mean you can’t lift it.”
Too often, we let our beliefs and judgements stop us from even trying. Consider this: professional climber Jonathan Siegrist once casually mentioned that he often can’t even do the moves on a project the first few days he’s trying it. The first few days! I know almost no climbers who will tolerate that much effort. If a 5.12 climber can’t do the moves on a climb the first time up, he usually just moves on and places a judgement on the route. Too hard. Not my style. Felt like it was chossy. What if he promised himself 5 days of good tries, no matter what? What if he gave himself enough time to really give it an honest effort rather than judging it at first glance?
What if all of us approached climbing performance free of expectation, but instead with a genuine desire to be better? What if instead of seeking out routes that were easy for us (or entire crags where the grades are soft), we looked for climbs and exercises that exposed our weaknesses so that we could work to overcome them?
What if, instead of trying to add one more pound to an edge hang we're already very good on, we really did figure out how to keep our hips in...even if it took the next few years?
Where could one go if we didn’t decide the path ahead of time?
"If a 5.12 climber can’t do the moves on a climb the first time up, he usually just moves on and places a judgement on the route. Too hard. Not my style. Felt like it was chossy. What if he promised himself 5 days of good tries, no matter what?"
Or she. This was like a slap in the face! In a good way...