Montag

 

Der Wecker klingelt früh. Zu früh, wenn man bedenkt, dass ich gestern Abend erst spät nach Hause gekommen bin, nur schnell geduscht habe, um den Staub und Dreck des Wochenendes loszuwerden, und die wenigen Stunden Schlaf im ungemachten Bett kaum ausgereicht haben. Ich stehe auf und stolpere fast über die mit Magnesit befleckte Hose, die ich gestern auf den Boden fallen lassen habe. Sie ist zerknittert und geflickt, aber meine Lieblingshose. Wenn ich sie trage, fühle ich mich frei und stark. Heute werde ich aber etwas anderes anziehen, denn heute sind andere Seiten von mir gefragt.

 

Während ich auf der Tastatur herumtippe, spüre ich, wie das Blut in meinen Fingerspitzen pulsiert. Meine Fingerkuppen sind rot und rau; dort, wo die Haut sich ablöst, nässen sie leicht – man könnte fast meinen, sie wöllten sich dem Kontakt mit dem glatten Kunststoff der Tastatur widersetzen.
Aber sie schmerzen nicht, ganz im Gegenteil. Vielmehr erinnern sie mich daran, wer ich bin.

 

Ich spüre, wie die Muskeln in meinen Schultern brennen. Ich lächle, während ich meine Gedanken zu den Erinnerungen an die unbeschwerten Tage schweifen lasse, die ich gerade hinter mir habe. Wenn ich meine Augen schließe, kann ich die Bäume sehen, die sich langsam wieder grün färben, und höre das Lachen meiner Freunde. Ich erinnere mich an das Keuchen meines Atems und das Gefühl meiner vor Anstrengung zusammengebissenen Zähne. An die Maserung des Gesteins unter meiner Haut. Ich versuche, meinen beschleunigten Puls zu beruhigen, während ich den Griff einer Hand löse und sie ausschüttle, bevor ich sie in den Beutel tauche und anschließend zu meinem Mund führe, um das Zuviel an Magnesit wegzupusten. Ich habe alles gegeben, um diese Seillänge zu sichern – aber es hat nicht gereicht. Doch wenn ich an gestern zurückdenke, muss ich lächeln und fühle mich wie elektrisiert. Es ist, als ob die Erlebnisse dieser beiden Tage einen Einfluss auf all das hätten, was während der gesamten übrigen Woche passiert. Es fühlt sich an wie pure Energie. Wie ein Motor.

 

Ich frage mich, welches Wetter das nächste Wochenende wohl bringt. Wer dabei sein wird. Vielleicht sollte ich ein paar Nachrichten verschicken, nur um die Lage zu peilen. Nein, besser nicht. Bis Freitag ist es noch lang hin.

Wo war ich gerade? Ich sollte mich wohl besser auf meine Arbeit konzentrieren.

 

 

This is precisely what I found when I stepped onto the route. After the initial (6c) pitch, I put my hands on what I discovered to be a 40-meter, full endurance (8b) on tuffas. This pitch is varied, technical, and pumpy. After working the moves, I knew right away I was lucky to have chosen such a beautiful route; this single pitch at any crag would be a must-do, 5-star. As I took in the rope with a smile, I could hear my second’s agreement as he worked the moves with exclamations of delight! The (7b) pitch is a long stunning colonnette, and then there are the two magnificent (8a)’s on tuffas. The easier traverse and top pitch might not deserve too much celebration, but they allow you to link between four incredible pitches. 

 

Working on Une Jolie and figuring out every detail, I couldn’t help but remember my adventure on the Voie Petit (500m, 8b max) back in 2016. At altitude, above a glacier, and on granite, these two routes have little in common, but my process was just the same. Negotiating with my fear 300 meters up a new wall is always an intimidating position, especially my fear of failing. I had to refocus on the pleasure and enjoy it. After all, I was abandoning my kid for a full day, so I had better make it a worthwhile success. 

 

 

My achievement wouldn’t come through a grade, though; for a long time, I have realized grades are all relative. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if it is a 9c or 7c; no one cares! It’s only climbing. It can only be for MY pleasure that I decide to put myself through fear, tiredness, and then, hope, and belief, which all turn into a passion. Of course, over the two days that I worked the route, I had quite a few moments where I despaired in figuring out a method. I also went to bed those nights, asking myself why I was doing this. But then, waking up at 5 am to beat the afternoon sun, I itched to put my hands on the rock, savored the idea that I could only rely on myself to get the rope up; this project reawakened the climber that I am.

 

I came home with precise sequences in my head and the knowledge that if I trained, visualized, and prepared, I had a chance to link it all. I knew training would be challenging, especially motivating for another endurance lap through the summer heat. But I was finding myself again, finding my space to be a climber and a good mum. 

 

I returned to the route with James a month later while the grandparents took care of Arthur. Part of me wondered why we were leaving our baby, and we both felt a bit empty without him jumping around the van. But then in the early morning, I put my game face on, James transformed into Mr. Perfect Belayer, and the fun began. In the (8b), I had no idea if I had the necessary endurance, but in a month’s training, I had noticed that it was all coming back quickly. I climbed precisely without a single mistake. I have no idea how it happened–maybe being a parent and having little time forced me to improve my efficiency. The (7b), the first (8a), the (5c) it all went smoothly. Then, in the last (8a), I made a few mistakes. I forgot a few methods, and there was a moment at the very end, where I realized I had to make the right decision very fast, or I would be off, and maybe not have the energy to try the pitch again.

 

 

It is here that I faced my old friend, the fear of failing; every climber has to find a way of dealing with this. When I was a competition climber, I used to tell myself to focus closer on the pleasure of the movements. This time, with my forearms about to explode, and while I was struggling to slow my breathing on a relatively restful tuffa, I could see in my mind Arthur dancing to his favorite music. With that, I realized that falling would be ok; failing was indeed not that sad. Accepting the possibility of not doing it gave me the energy to finish the pitch and scrape my way to the belay. One more (6b), and I had done it, I was again the climber I wanted to be! I had proven to myself that there was a balance between being a mum and a climber. That even the joy of my little one could give me strength for climbing that I hadn’t had before.

 

I'd love to tell you James and I drove back home playing Une Jolie, but that would be too whimsically poetic. After all, ticking the climb for its name or notoriety is not the experience I was after. Plus, James hates the song, but James's story of understanding French poetry, and as I say, “truly” becoming French, is another story altogether.

 

 

Geschrieben von Eva Toschi

Fotos von unseren Weekend Warriors

 

 

Stage 6- Buoux

We stayed four days at the "Auberge des Seguins," which is a perfect location to go to the crags on foot. They even let us take our dinners outside by the bedroom while the baby was already in Bed. Buoux doesn't need any publicity. It is a unique, incredible crag, and there is a reason for its Fame. Buoux is a Must visit". No matter what your level is, you will find a gem to climb!

 

Stage 7- Mouries

Mouries is a long way from Buoux, and we had initially planned some extra stops. But the heatwave had begun, and the other planned spots were not as exciting. So, instead of climbing stops, we biked for two days, visited an abandoned troglodyte village (les grottes de cales), and loved it!

 

Mouries again is an old lady, and if you can get away from requiring extremely tough grades and enjoy the technical climbing, you will love it. Mouries is a climbing lesson in itself.

 

 

Stage 8- Fontvieille secret crag

I can't tell you the secret crags, as they are secret because they aren't technically allowed. To find them you have to ask as you meet climbers on your previous days and if you are lucky they may tell you the secrets! France is full of them, and sometimes these are the best crags!

 

We arrived back home after 25 days of traveling and climbing. It wasn't always restful, but then living with a baby is never restful! Every day brought us load of discoveries, from a wild tortoise to incredible pains au chocolates, to meeting an old friend. Baby Arthur loved it. The minute we stepped back in the house, he was pointing again at the window, asking, "where next?" For James and me, we finish this adventure delighted to have realized that we still have so much left to explore, and it is all less than 100km from our home. This bike and climb trip is only the first!

 

 

Mittwoch

 

The weather forecast should be more reliable now. Things are looking good both for Saturday and Sunday. I was counting on that: I couldn’t even fit in a midweek session. I couldn’t take a day off. I’ll write to the group. They’re all over the moon. Someone has a family commitment on Saturday, but they’ll make it on Sunday. Others, like me, want to climb both days.

 

I float the idea: “does anyone feel like going back to the crag from last weekend?”. It’s our regular crag. The one that we all started climbing on, but have turned our noses up at over the last few years, in favour of more prestigious destinations. I’d like to attempt my old project again. I was so close to sending it the other day. Maybe this time...who knows. Anyway, if we go there, great, but I’m good with whatever. As long as we climb. As long as we’re together. I want to bring a few beers to drink with the others when the sun goes down. Maybe I’ll have reason to celebrate. Maybe I won’t. It doesn’t matter. It’s best that I leave the beers by the front door, close to my backpack when I get home. That way, I won’t run the risk of leaving them behind amidst the rush to set off.

 

I feel like I’ve already bounced back from Monday’s tiredness. My skin is replenished, my muscle fibres are mended, and my muscles are now relaxed and toned. I could do with a little workout...The gym is closed. Maybe I’ll manage to fit in a session on the fingerboard when I get home. But I shouldn’t go overboard, otherwise I’ll be back to where I started. I’ll make it a short session: just to give my body an artificial taste of the sensations that await it this weekend.

 

SHARE ON

 

The route is a 7-pitch (8b), and 6-months after having a baby, the idea of achieving this was going to be my “I am back” diploma. When I chose it, I knew I was on my way back to fitness, and I had just figured out a rhythm where baby let me train and sleep a bit. Fitness isn’t everything, though I also needed focus, dedication, and the will to finish such a route. What I experienced as a young mum was a total shift of focus in my life. Every second of the day, part of my mind was on my little one – Does he need anything? Is he in danger? When baby Arthur was 6-months old, I couldn’t write a full text, read a book, or focus. I willingly disappeared behind “the veil of mum.” But I was hoping I would find my fully functional brain again, on top of my late abdominals.

 

 

Freitag

 

Seit ich von meiner Mittagspause zurück bin, streikt mein Gehirn. Es fällt mir schwer, mich zu konzentrieren. Auf das, was um mich herum passiert, meine ich. Ich sitze an meinem Schreibtisch, aber es ist, als wäre mein Körper schon ganz woanders. 

 

Ich stehe am Fuß der Wand, ziehe den Klettergurt aus dem Rucksack und mache mich bereit für die übliche Aufwärmseillänge. Ich stehe am Fuß der Wand und sichere meinen Partner, der in der warmen Morgensonne in aller Ruhe nach oben steigt. Ich bin auf halber Höhe der Wand und kämpfe dagegen an, dass meine Hände sich öffnen und mein Kopf rebelliert, um der Anstrengung ein Ende zu setzen. Ich stelle mir vor, wie ich mich selbst zähme und es endlich schaffe, das Seil zu sichern. Und dabei die unzähligen Rechtfertigungen von mir abschüttle, die ich anführen könnte, wenn ich diese 30 Meter Fels nicht bezwinge. Die Müdigkeit, die eine ganze Woche Arbeit mit sich bringt und immer wieder dafür sorgt, dass ich es nicht schaffe, am Abend noch zu trainieren. Das unregelmäßige Essen und die zu vielen Biere. Der Ellbogen, der mir Probleme macht. Der unzureichende Schlaf in zu vielen aufeinander folgenden Nächten.

 

Nein. Nichts davon erwähne ich den anderen gegenüber, denn ihnen wird es kaum anders gehen. Und ich verscheuche jeden Gedanken daran. Jetzt kann mich nichts mehr aufhalten; nichts steht mir mehr im Weg. Ich steige die Seillänge zu Ende, und als ich wieder unten bin, könnte ich platzen vor Glück. Und zwar gar nicht so sehr, weil ich mein Ziel erreicht habe, sondern weil ich in die lächelnden Gesichter meiner Freunde blicke – an einem vertrauten und wunderschönen Ort. Weil ich mich auf das Bier und das Geplauder freue, das uns heute Abend am Feuer erwartet.

 

Doch vor allem, weil ich alle Ausreden über Bord geworfen habe und – wenn auch nur für zwei Tage – ganz ich selbst war: ein Krieger der Vertikalen.

 

 

Schließe dich unserer Weekend Warrior-Reise für Insider-Tipps und Geschichten aus aller Welt an. Den ganzen Sommer lang bieten wir dir wöchentlich neue Episoden und spannende Reiseziele.

 

 

 

BEKENNTNISSE EINES ANONYMEN WEEKEND WARRIORS

 von Eva Toschi

 

4.0 Minuten Lesezeit

 

 

BEKENNTNISSE EINES ANONYMEN WEEKEND WARRIORS

 von Eva Toschi

 

4.0 Minuten Lesezeit