"CUT LOOSE..."

"CUT LOOSE…"

...my core screamed as I heaved air out my labored throat, a guttural cry of anguish and desperation.  “Cut loose…”,  like a whispering ghost echoing heavy in my mind.  Heed the warning else fail…in a fraction of a second the imminent became easier to accept.  Slowly like a warp machine coming out of hyperspace my feet came off.  The air became suffused with a loud thundering crack that almost broke the barriers of time and space.  It was impossible to contain the expansive swell of energy that spewed out my lungs.  A torrential gush of sharp pain pierced the edges of the last remnants of skin that held me hanging in mid-air.  The fragile edge bit deeper in to my consciousness, kept me from falling into the void of despair.  My feet groped for a small hope of relief.  It found its mark only to help me realize a profound empty comfort.

Creases formed hard on my forehead forcing my brows to form one strong crooked line. Sharp arrowhead tips on the edges of my eyes felt like the devil’s horns, intently evil.  My eyes reduced to slits, filtered  the insignificant details wrapped around me.  An invisible glowing orb formed a foot right in front of my eyes as I effortly conjured a focus.  The warm glow radiated, the pain faded away and the standstill shattered like glass to a hammer’s strike.  My face shot forward towards the invisible orb.  It parted, gave way, half resisting, like mercury being pierced by a blunt point.  On the other side, the reflections vanish as a new vision became clear.   My hands pierced through the thin layer of air to reach for the miniscule edge that shouted pain from it’s comfort.  A quick solid transition shuddered through my core. No longer than a sudden thought, the entire length of my arm, from fingers to my chest, to the back of my shoulders, down to my lower back , even down further to my foot solidified into one.  Concrete, no, steel, no, not even steel.  It became one strong, living, breathing connection hardened by a deep longing urge to claw into a renewed  existence.  To fail would mean another seamless struggle, to succeed would mean a temporary victory that would comfort the soul.

My fingers dug deep into the crimp.  A quick sigh of relief filled the empty hollow left by the one swift, guttural, throaty, agonizing plea for reprieve.  As quick as it came, it vanishes.  The crimp suddenly felt like a sharp blade fresh out of a furnace.  “Let it bite…”   It was a soft comforting tone that guided my other hand to match on the precarious  little edge.  I followed willingly, almost a trance, an acceptance that could spell either disaster or success.  Yet, I trusted.  Breath faded fast from my body, depleted it to a shell, hollow and brittle.  My throat became parched, my tongue felt like sandpaper scratching deep for moisture.  All six fingers, three from each hand, met on the edge only millimeters  thick.  Color faded from each knuckle as I felt another swelling brew inside my stomach.  A protest surged inside…but I held on…for dear life…I gnashed my teeth to almost powder them to dust.  Another cycle continues…such is climbing…silence pervades…such is life…

Pitching for life...

Pitching for life…

Well, it's another fine day.  Raining, but still fine.  I'm now looking forward to some other things left undone.  Another visit to the new crag near Antipolo, maybe a short trip to China, and maybe think of something to follow-up on the recent exhibit.  Whatever will be good, I think.

Sometimes I reflect on these things and figure out what's with them.  It's kind of cool to see them as milestones but to think like that sometimes just boosts ego, so I try to not delve into that so much.  I'm just looking forward and forward.  People sometimes think what makes you are the things you've done, but I like to disagree.  It's what you want to go after that makes you.  The past becomes distant and will drown in the void soon enough.  It's what's ahead that should be left in the focus.

Right now there are still so many options.  Whichever to choose?  All roads leads to the same place I think.  It's this place called absolute realization, or the absolute truth.  It sounds blurry, but I guess everything is.   The point is to keep moving.  Pause, but keep the music runnin', then keep pitching until you got nothing left.  

1 week off climbing + 16oz. coffee

1 week off climbing + 16oz. coffee

In a cyclone of words and stirring, passionate expressions that I, by and large, want to express, I try to imply the craziness of what boils unfathomably deep.  It’s immensely uncalled for or might even be just musings of a deranged, simply, distant mind.  It’s just plain insanity. How in the world do I find myself in such situations that sometimes deprive me of the little quiet I need?  It’s almost impossible to think about anything else.   The many things that go on, the unrelenting social sparkle, political junk and the occasional devilish impulses do try to derail a perfectly flawed persona.

No matter the thought, it’s always impossible to recall everything that goes on in a span of a few minutes and try to remember what it that got me so neurotic in the first place.  Maybe it’s an exercise or maybe it might be that I’m trying harder than usual to just run out of energy.   The whole effort comes to no fruition and seldom becomes something useful anyways.

I can’t wait for tomorrow when I get back on those crimps and slopers and long reaches, or the occasional dyno.  Thoughts would fade and marginal sanity is restored.  My batteries get charged and once again I’m able to capitalize on some fine good moments to reload my whole spectrum a further.  Centering becomes so easier when I’m out climbing.  There is a solitary mindful approach and that relieves me of the relatively hasty multi-tasking environment I’m drenched in.

"Familia Manson" - Rodellar, Spain

A small gash

First layer of taping before trying again

Embrace the pain and take pleasure in the few seconds of immense effort.  With changing some words, fitting in the word “climbing”, I quote…"To be a climber is to be a student of pain....at climbing's core lies pain, hard and bitter as the pit inside a juicy peach...If you never confront pain, you're missing the essence of the sport. Without pain, there's no adversity. Without adversity, no challenge."  Ah, yes…someone whose view on singularity that refreshes mine.  There is indeed a vast, deep and intense focus related to pain.  In this confrontation there is peace and therein lies one of humanity’s greatest gift.  It’s frailty and weakness.  I am therefore weak and I have to admit that.  It’s a hard lesson learned with numerous failures and a small percentage of successes.  These victories, hard earned and shortly lived, fully restores you on a level equal to others.  It destroys ego.

Final product after trying again and again . . .

As anticipated this stroke of reflection ends and so does my caffeine high.  What’s next is to come around tomorrow, awaken to a new day that once again would try to re-administer several new vitamins and minerals to chew on.

High on the Edge

High on the Edge

There is no doubt that climbing has been a big part of my life.  Sometimes though I hear climbers say they’ve been climbing for more than half of their lifetime and this makes me feel like a baby.  I would love to find myself answering the unavoidable question, “How long have you been climbing,”  in the same manner someday.  11 years seem long but for me I haven’t even touched base of what I would consider the full immersion into climbing.

I’ve been out there hanging onto these edges  for a full 11 years and a half but I feel not much really has there been any full-on expression of what the experience is like.  At least not locally.  There are competitions and rock-trips but those are mostly appreciated only by“climbers”.  What meets the public eye is a thin layer of ice, never what’s beneath it.

It just occurred to me, maybe, maybe it won’t be too bad to publish some cutting edge climbing photos that would tell stories in single frames.  A lot of photos have been flying around in local web pages and it’s kind of like in a closed loop.  It might be good to share some of these experiences onto a bigger circle.

I guess that’s the whole point of having this kind of an event.  Photos are meant to be seen and to have each photo convey a feeling, solicit a reaction or deliver a sensation is an even bigger accomplishment. To see past beyond lighting, color and effect would be a great effort. It is much like being able to appreciate fine art and the whole package of emotions the painter puts in every stroke.

Micro Fractures

Micro Fractures

What?  No trip this week?  The words ring around my empty head.  It's as if it is the only thing that mattered and there is a feeling of uneasiness.  I grope around, pacing restlessly along the sun baiste floor of the living room.  Everything felt wrong and the air felt stifling.  I feel dizzy and a sort of energy hole drained the life out of me through this weakness.  What is wrong with me?  Micro fractures in my skull form as I try and figure out , but everything I come up with ends up making no sense.  The reasons I lay down before me fall short in fully explaining the severity of these emotions.

I sit down and try to rest.  I take a look at my fingers.  It felt as if I've lost something.  Yes, my empty hands feel weird.  They long for touch.  I trace the ridges of lines that run circles underneath the skin.  The creases that form every time I close my hands magnify as shadows form on my otherwise pale palms.  They need blood.  A rush of blood is what they need.  They are thirsty and hungry at the same time, like a vampire to blood and a werewolf to raw flesh.  The pain if feels upon the bite of sharpness and the desperate frictionless feeling it tries so hard to latch on to become food, a basic need that needs to be met.

My skin grows more sensitive.  My hands feel light, my fingers feel feathery.  I raise my hands onto a small edge on the archway that opens to the living room.  My feet slowly lifts from the glassy floor.  The uneven surface of the edge pierce the skin on my fingers.  Food.  A momentary sustenance.  It doesn't last long.  The  moment I let go, more of the hunger rattles my senses.  I'm going crazy, I feel I'm going nuts.  Again I try to fend off the rushing desperation.  I'm tempted to let out a shout to help me breathe.  I am beyond reason.

It's calling out to me.  It's need for me is as much as my own need for it.  I can't refuse it.  I have become part of something bigger.  To some, maybe it is trivial.  A passing expression of aesthetic kinesiology.  To others it may also seem foolish.  It doesn't matter.  Reckless passion drives me deeper into the depths of this journey.  I am discovering more and more of life, of pain, of temporary victories... It's humanity in it's full magnificence.  The shards have been truly, deeply  imbedded in me.  Rational thinking forms but a shadow behind me as I walk head-on.  Emotion and savagery dictate the steps I take. 

A Muerte!

A Muerte!

The recently concluded novice climbing competition was an inspiring one.  Though it was a battle to the death, “A Muerte”, it was amongst friends, some new and some old and no one got hurt.  Well at least physically. 

The night before the competition, we set the routes that would challenge these saplings.  We tried our best to conjure up creative routes that would test physical fitness and problem solving might.  It was a long night and we truly hoped to have done a great job. 

The competition started half past 11 of the next day.  The isolation zone got full and slowly the heat and humidity within the small make shiftroom escalated to a level that could rival a sauna. Well, that’s the reality of climbing in a tropical weather country. And true, the initiation to a formal competition format really does include the excruciating pain and agony of the wait in an isolation zone.  While filling up the iso area, it had become apparent that some tweaking had to be done on last night’s routes.  It seemed that some of the routes were a bit too harsh. It’s a problem easily rectified but could have been avoided with proper pre-registration.  Log in your height, weight, sex, years climbing etc. days before the comp.  Yes, I also feel that’s too much to ask but proper routes come from well anticipated pool of participants.  It’s either that or vote for a bunch of soft-hearted, kind, and peaceful route setters. 

“A Muerte!”  The competition was tough.  Multiple top-outs in the women’s category forced Gale Roque, Chesca Galang, Mhick Tejares and Ken Banzon into a four-way superfinal. Gale’s pragmatic climbing took her to match Chesca’s high point.  Mhick cruised the early stages of the route to fall from a burly dead point to a pocket but it was Ken, powering her way into a campus move on the roof, that out matched Mhick’s high point.  Ken took top podium followed by Mhick and tied for 3^rd are Gale and Chesca. 

In the men’s category, one by one the finalists took their attempt. The route started with a sketchy balancey gaston eliminating some climbers early. It leads to a corner that allows for a body tensing left cross from a slopey under cut further cutting down the pack.   Moving into the roof section found some climbers failing on the dynamic crux.  A series of momentum laced moves had climbers cutting loose from the feet and some falling off totally.  Emerging from this section is Ronald Halili in 3^rd  falling slightly behind Hiro Mashida in 2^nd.   Ferdinand Mansibang moved fast and strong early on the route. He powered his way through the cruxes.  Keeping to the edge of their seats, the crowd watched Ferdinand cruise the evil sections that gave problems to previous attempts.  From almost falling to quickly recovering and then almost falling again to quickly recovering again, the roller coaster ride kept the audience watching.  It was a spectacular show.  He finished 1^st on the podium. 

The competition ended with a slideshow by Miel Pahati and Marco Malacca.  Thanks to all the participants and sponsors.  We’ll be seeing all of you soon again.  Keep climbing - “A Muerte!”

A Bouldering Sensation

A Bouldering Sensation

My eyes trail a small bead of sweat as it drops from my forehead…..  It falls for an eternity….. an eternity that lasts short of a second.  Its perfect globule hovers over the thick humid air, hits the floor and makes a loud spattering sound, sending waves that echo to my ear.  It is the only sound audible to me.  More beads of sweat trickle down my face.  Each breath I take continues to warm the air around me.  Vapors escape my collar and streams of sweat run down my neck and down my torso.  I could feel each rivulet running down like rivers of fresh water that seem to wash off some heat and leave subtle sensations that partially cool my skin.  I feel the pounding of my pulse from my finger tips, down through my veins and through my ears.  I could hear my heartbeat without effort.  My fingers look steady but I feel them expanding with each rhythmic pulse.  I stare blankly upon my fingers, scanning, but not knowing what to look for. It could perhaps be a clue that could tell me to stop climbing….. There’s none to see.  All I see are white fingers, dry and heavily callused.  I trace each thumb across my finger tips.  What remains unseen surely is felt by my raw sensitive skin.  Each tap felt piercing.  Even the softest touch left sharp impressions that collapse my morale.  The boulder problem comes into focus as I sink my hands into my chalk bag.  More of the white powder flies into the air forming a foreground that I walk through to the base of the boulder.  I clap the excess chalk off my hands and sit down slowly whilst looking up for the first holds. The touch of the holds triggers subsonic electric impulses that send warning signals across my brain.  The pain spirals up as I bear down and lift my feet off the ground.  The holds light up.  They become vivid and seem to present themselves in crystal clarity.  They grow bigger as I continue to move towards each one.  My arms cut through the air like hot knife over butter.  Each cut parts air and produces an inaudible sound that can be felt.  Short powerful burst of air heaves out from my lungs.  Breathing becomes heavy and each breath become primal screams for continued existence.  Each powerful move numbs my senses for a while. I’m moving and I’m suddenly lost in the flurry of unending energy.  The last hold comes into view…..  A last full effort consolidates.  My feet dig in, my fingers resolve to the pain and an inner core of energy mounts for one more huge move.   The mind and the body unwind.  Like a spring uncoiled, both feet lets loose, both hands move towards it’s intended destination….. I float into the air,  it feels like an eternity….. an eternity that lasts short of a second…..  the end doesn’t matter.