These two problems, that together pack in the mindblowing amount of nine moves, are snatchy and painful, and overall hard. I have some grades in my mind, but due to the particular nature of the problems, I will keep them in my mind for a while.
They don't count anyway: they could also be Font 6a, the fact is that I found them hard, I tried them without doing them for a while, and then I did them. That's a personal progress with no doubt.
So, what's the point?
As you do know, I am a bit obsessed by the power aspect of climbing. I know I'm not exactly weak, but for sure I don't feel strong, when I compare myself to the true strong ones.
So, right now, I am in a precarious situation: I feel weak but I know I have ticked. Hmm... should I resist the call of the sirens flattering my ego, chanting that I am a strong one, and inducing me to go straight to my projects; or shouldn't I?
You already know. I will resist.
Between "to Malc" or "not to Malc" I will always choose "to Malc". Because Malc not only is a beast and a lifetime hero of mine, but because he is always ticking, also.
So, he embodies the two aspects. Not only he's the creator of "Malc's One Armer", a footless one armer on a non existant hold - a feat that some may dismiss as trivial - but he's also the one that tore Cresciano apart. He's the one who chalked up mid-crux on "Hubble". He's the one. Full stop.
As for the one armer, it's a matter of potential: being able to perform one single move at Font 8a, opens up a new world of opportunities, and if you don't understand this, close this blog and don't come back, because you won't find anything for you here.
The world has a limited number of problems. The current grading scale stops at around Font 8c. But our own possibilities, in our minds, are endless. So, I don't want to simply climb the hardest boulder on Earth (Keith, you bastard made me change my mind, do you still remember our conversation in Font?), I want to endlessly progress. And progress can be infinite if we understand it as a goal in itself, rather than a mean to reach a certain grade. That’s why, despite being happy, very happy for the last lines I climbed, I want to concentrate on how weak I feel, on how bad I climb, and on how far away from my goals I am. Because my goals are very hard. But my goals push me forward, bring me under the fingerboard, or in the gym, or doing laps on a toprope. My goals drive me to progress, and my progresses, physical or even just mental ones, take me closer and closer to my goals: so close that at a given point my progresses will cross their path with the path of my goals and I will reach those goals. Luckily, at that moment, my breathing will slow down again, my yells will disappear, and I will picture in my mind a new target, a new goal. This new goal will be the same as ever, the only true goal that I have: progressing.