DOLOMITES' BITES

 The rock bites the heavy climber. 

The heavy climber eats Kaiserschmarrn.

The heavy climber sees this landscape and he's happy. 

The heavy climber is glad he doesn't have to climb that mountain. 

The heavy climber gets heavier with eggs, speck and potatoes. They go in the biceps surely.

Basically, I didn't do much in the last weekend, apart what the captions describe.

The last time I'd seen those mountains was two years ago, and my life was completely different. I was about to leave Florence for Siena, to get back to my house, and to start commuting to work. This went on for two years, and is now over. I don't want to commute anymore, and luckily with the law practice going on and some other stuff, I can say a big "Fuck you" to the buses. 

My climbing was completely different also. 

I was a singleminded, obsessed punter with delusions of grandeur, who was easliy capable of going to Swiss for a basically one day round trip, or of going and putting laps on roofs with 37° in a Mediterran Summer. 

I was living mostly in isolation. 

Well, when I read back many of the posts here, I am ashamed by the amount of shit I've written in the past. The ego, the hypocrisy, the self-reference. 

But, I can see a thin line going through all this: I never never forgot that the only true joy is in sharing. Sharing everything. 

This weekend, as the last previous one in the Dolomites, was about sharing. Sharing the coffee that I usually drink on my own; sharing the boulders; sharing the thoughts; sharing the drive, the beer, the eggs. Sharing, sharing all. Spending hours with my friends trying to climb their first 6a. Then asking them to wait for me for a last go on something too hard. Then thanking them for their patience. 

A lot of time ago, I had a project. 

I climbed it in any possible condition, and despite reaching the final hold, I never toped it out. I think I've climbed it. I feel I've climbed it. My sponsors wouldn't be happy to hear about my indulgence towards myself, but given that I have no sponsors, it's all right. 

Why is it all right? 

First, because I say so. I climb for myself only, I am free at last, and if I feel that I've done something, I don't need to top out if I don't want to. 

Second, because when I first touched that final hold, I wasn't alone. I was with Andrea, my best friend, my brother and my climbing mentor. We were there, climbing together for the first time in years, and it seemed as if time had gone back to when we were in our 20's. 

It's not a coincidence that I climbed at my best that day. I was pushed forward by Andrea's presence, by the infinite power of brotherhood. Sharing. 

That's why, for me, I climbed the problem that day. Because I was with him and nothing can beat this, not even toping out on my own. 

There are moments that are uniques in our lives, and that was one of those: I eventually did my best effort on the project and that's enough. 

So, while I keep adding kilos to my deadhangs, and while my grades on real rock drop at a lightning fast rate, I say: share. 

 

IT'S RAD DUDE, I'M PSYCHED!!!

I am probably nothing more than an angry bastard at this stage, but since seeing it I've got to take this out. 

This is the reason to have a blog. 

Anyway, by "it" I mean the "Psicobloc Master Series in Utah" video. 

What utter bullshit. 

Ahh. Feeling better now. 

It's not epic. It's not defining the future of comps. It's not the greatest comp ever. It's just another American obsession for big things. What's the point? An 8a+ route for the girls and an 8c for the boyz (in da hood, da crew, my bruthaz): are you kidding me? They are the best in the world and to make them fall off all it takes is to raise a big board over a pool? 

Jesus fucking Christ: if you want to show your cajones, go to Pamplona the 7th of July and run with the bulls. 

I have to watch a modern climbing video from "big" productions or for "big" events, that I liked. 

I'd rather watch "Splinter" in a loop for every future session of my life, than watch the "Psicobloc" one another time. I didn't even manage to watch it full, I skipped through it. 

How, I ask, how can't they produce anythig better than that? Please, make some video of someone working hard on something, not just going for a dive in a pool: make it to show they're worth the sponsors, the money (not much I'm sure, but it's money for fucking climbing dammit!), the fame. 

Release a fucking video about Sasha on "Bellavista"! 

And please, please, please, tell them to try and speak as humans. There are many more, words in any language, than "epic", "rad", "a muerte", "venga", and the likes. There is an entire world of emotions that they must learn to express. I want to understand them as persons, more than just watch them as climbers. 

This is also why I can't read, for instance, Dave MacLeod's blog. It feels cold and distant to me. 

Then I bumped after a long time on Paul Robinson's blog. 

It was a long time since the last visit and will be even longer before a new one. Fuck me. Twenty words long posts, with half of the words being "psyched", "rad" and "crew". I get mad. Even more when they complain about bad weather on a trip. It never fucking rains under my board, you know?

They are transparent. 

You can see through them. 

Now I tell you what is really rad. It's the fucking 6 one armers I can still crank on my right arm, at 41 and half. 

It's not fucking over. God damn. 

 

SUMMER

Nothing can challenge your training motivation like a hot Summer. In winter, the bad weather does nothing but push you under the fingerboard, or to the gym, or to the wall to spend three hours on four moves, as I've done plenty of times. In Summer, training with over 30 degrees is really really hard for me: just a few dead hangs leave me worked, the holds on my board are rough and warm and they grate even the Antihydral sort of elephant skin. I do find some kind of fun with the weights. I don't do much, but I keep doing something: usually some climbing orientated work, like one armers (in various forms, with a pause between reps, or with some added weight, or trying to be as fast as possible, and so on), and then some core with front lever pulls (that made a freak of me in the gym, with a group of shameless guys that gather around to see and comment - I don't care much, it's somehow a sort of gratification, but I don't want to be showing off and it's generally quite embarassing, but I want to train as I want to train, no matter what happens around), and finally some snatch pulls (I love this excercise!). Then often there's not much time left, so I do some shoulders, triceps and biceps in sequence to try and burn some of the belly I've put up, then it's shower time. 

I am adding weights regularly and this is always good. I still haven't found the courage to properly test my one armers (last year in this period I was at my best level) but sooner or later I will. 

On the Beastmaker, I added 4 kilos to all my dead hangs, and this made me happy especially for ring monos. I sadly found out that my pinkies are incredibly weak, probably due to their length they don't get much activation unless crimped, and this makes the pinky monos front lever a very tough challenge. Also, they are so small that I can't keep them from sliding out of the holes, they get no friction or edge whatsoever. Hmm... We'll see. I removed the small bit of wood that I had put in the incut rung to make it smaller, because I found that it was too small to train half crimped and I always ended up almost openhanding: so now it's the normal rung but properly half crimped (or even a bit more than half). The major success came last Saturday, in the form of a repeated one armer on the small pocket, front2. I had one armed that hang years ago, for the essential 7c+ tick, but the one armer proved to be elusive. Saturday I just felt the hold bigger than ever and I just pulled. I checked if I had taken the wrong one but no. 

Being in the year with the least training, each progress is quite strange. I think that I just come from two ten years long cycles of training, and maybe I'll be overcompensating for a few years to come. I stroke my chin though. 

Rock. Rock. What was that? 

I finally put my hands on a route I'd been wanting to do for a few years, and I started thinking back to my projects. Rock climbing is very far from dangling from a wooden hold (not that I dangle at all, when I dead hang, I am solid as a motherfucker), so I fear the rock. 

Speaking about more important things, I am still deep into my two jobs schedule, with mornings in Florence and evenings in Siena. Being full Summer though, I can take it more easily. I have lots to study and two very big exams in Autumn: soon enough the long days will be here again! 

I have become so politically correct, in this blog, that it's nauseating. Bah.