BACK TO THE FUTURE

Time stopped and then started going backwards. From the 21st century I find myself catapulted back into the early '90s again.
At the time, all I could do to move up in the sport climbing scale, was to hang and pull small bits of wood in my parents' house cellar, surrounded by spiderwebs covering old and precious wine bottles, while listening to heavy metal audio tapes.
On friday, when at the phone with my climbing friends to arrange the weekend, each one of us would ask the others the same question: "did you train this week?" and each one of us, each time, would give the same answer: "not at all. I was too busy.".
The following day, you could see people lock down small crimps to the hips with a huge grin.
This went on for 8 years. 8 years of fingerboarding in a cellar. Then came the campus board, and it felt like having the greatest training facility in the world. Then, three years ago, I finally knew what's like to have a climbing wall in your own town, when I moved to Florence.
Now I am back to 1993.
The wall is no longer there and what is available for the moment is not enough to satisfy my Wille Zur Macht. Slightly overhanging walls with big holds are NOT the way forward.
So it's back to the future for me: back to the fingerboard to get to the future of my climbing. And I fucking love it. I really do love this shit. The harder it gets to move forward, the harder I push, the stronger I get, both physically and mentally. The more I put into it, the more I get back. So, each one of you, please, take a look into yourselves, see your future and do everything you can to get there. You'll love it.

BEAST MAKING!

Years ago, during a dinner with climbing friends, I said that "some training session have given me more pleasure than some fucks". It's not a phrase I'm particularly proud of; for sure I'm very proud of the session in which I did this.

35 degrees from lorenzo frusteri on Vimeo.

THE ACTION

Yesterday I went to Amiata new sector, where I climbed "Islero sit start". I had a plan, and that was the result.
It's been no gimmie. I was sure I was going to do it, but I must admit that at times doubt creeped into my fragile mind.
I also made a few schoolboy errors. I decided to warm up on easy problems, and that's what I did, but that warm up turned to be many problems long. I also managed to get me a microscopic but incredibly deep slice in my right ring finger; the idea of having to tape it up wasn't very appealing, given that "Islero" only offers slopers to be compressed, but I had to. Then, somehow in Chironico I managed to lose both my brushes, and I didn't have my brush stick. My friend neither, so I didn't know how to brush the holds from the patina of humidity first, and from the excess chalk later. I resolved firstly to brush them using a chestnut shell but it proved to be painful, so I used my metal brushes with all the needed delicacy. I can be delicate at times.
Anyway, it was time. I had the sequence in my mind, and I executed. I felt strong on all the moves up to the last tricky move, where I missed the hold and fell. Then I fell again on the following try, but on the fucking second move. I had gone from almost doing the problem first go, to being unable to stick two moves in a row. "This shit is hard!" I thought.
In just two goes the problem had take its toll out of me. I tried again the second move and was able to do it in isolation, but not on every go. Shocking. Doubts. Fear. I wanted to get it done on that session.
I found out a slightly different option for my left foot, and there I went again. And again I fell on the high move of the first try. "This shit is definitely hard".
This move is a bit precarious: you have a good hold on the arete for your right hand, and a decent pinch for the left hand; you have a left drop knee, right foot on a bad foothold, and you have to bump again your left hand to a higher pinch, but you have to get into it, precisely, you can't overshoot and fall onto it.
I decided to see if I could skip this tricky move, moving out from a hold that is easily 20 cm below with a harder but less tricky move. It worked. It was on, but the phantom of the second move was hanging around.
I set off, and the moves started coming. I flew past the second move not without a serious effort, and I found myself at the higher part; I had my new sequence and despite feeling a bit of grease on a hold (I can't even recall which one), I kept going and found myself with my right hand on the jug. I matched, and then I decided to cut loose: for a nanosecond I though about the possibility of falling off, but when I realized my though I was already good on the jug, and at that moment, I don't know why instead of heelhooking again on the arete with my right foot, I just campused to the final jugs and toped out.
My friend told me that when I held the (minimal, to be honest) swing, a huge smile appeared on my face, and I believe him.
I let go a scream of joy and a horrible swear, then I got down. It was done. I had a plan and I had stuck to it.
On the way home, we found a terrible queue to get into Florence, so I got a bit angry on the phone with the girl, and she told me "Hey don't spoil your great day, think about the problem!" and time passed easily while I was reliving those moments.
Minutes later, I saw a beautiful girl at the wheel of a car to our right in the queue. I smiled at her when we moved forward, and when they caught us I was surprised to see her smile back to me. So this nice flirt went on for a few times as we moved forward and then she followed, until we got to the motorway and she disappeared. It's been very very nice.
Today I stuck to the second part of the plan, with a good Beastmaker session on one armed dead hangs.
KEEEP THAT FUCKING FAITH.