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URBAN CLIMBER MAGAZINE - FINISH HOLD
Got something to say that we can close the book on? Send it over to
finishhold@urbanclimbermag.com.
If we like it, you’ll see it here, and you’ll get a
CHOICE PRIZE and bragging rights.
PHOTO: Tommy Caldwell walked nine miles for this FA: Spread Eagle (V11), Box Lake, RMNP. Photo: Andy Mann / andymann.com |
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 Train as Hard as This Kid!
I live in Tanzania, East Africa. I’m a Peace Corps volunteer here, and I live in a village called Ihanja. My house is near the local primary school and kids pass it on their way home. One day they caught me on my rock rings and, enthralled, asked to try them out. Soon they were crowded around seeing who could do the most pullups. This picture is of a kid named Ben who wanted to win the contest…bad.  FINISH HOLD - #37 - IRRATIONAL FEARS
My name is Arnold, and I am a sport climber. Ergo, I eat celery by the bushel, I have an 8a.nu scorecard, my harness has one gear loop on each side, it takes me 45 minutes to onsight a 50 foot 5.9 trad route, and I haven’t used an ATC or similar manual belay device in five years.  FINISH HOLD - #36 - TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY
The error of our ways is only that we climb too much. With three hours to complete four hours of studying, we climb and do not study. Only the man who climbs six days a week can call himself obsessed. Only when you have callus so thick you can no longer straighten your fingers are you at peace with yourself.  FINISH HOLD - #35 - IT COULD BE…
It could be about . . . . . . one small move being big progress. . . . ripped flesh, broken bones, and broken hearts. . . . falling over and over again, to later realize that the failures showed us more about who we are than the successes ever did. . . . people breathing life into us, inspiring us, showing us a better way to live in the world. . . . us breathing life into other people, inspiring them, showing them a better way to live in the world.  FINISH HOLD - #34 - THE CLIMBING SHOE
Behold, the climbing shoe: so rough and tattered from use; memories of blood, sweat, and tears fused deep into its worn rubber — rubber torn bit by bit by all those times it saved your ass … from a bad hand placement, or that time you tried to clip, pumped with fear. . . . The rubber was the lifeline. Sure, you can climb barefoot, and ropes and pads are important, too  FINISH HOLD - #33 - NEVER QUIT
“You could lose your leg, your foot.” “You’re lucky to be alive.” “You’re out for the season.” “You might never climb again.” NEVER QUIT. For some, it takes only telling them; for others, being close to death — to get back to the basics, appreciate every day, know who’s always been there and want to love them well, to climb for more than grades, to live purely, without fears.  FINISH HOLD - #31 - LOVE, PAIN, AND CLIMBING
Last summer, I broke the first metacarpal in my right hand, chipping the ball clean off in a fall. A few months later, I saw an orthopedic surgeon. A two-hour surgery left me with three pins, an artificial tendon, a gigantic cast, and bottle of painkillers . . . and something else — fear. Fear of not climbing, and of not achieving my goals. My doctor said, “Your hand might not work quite as well as before. And there’s a minuscule chance that the artifi cial tendon might tear.” In short, climbing could undo everything I’d gone through to fix my hand.  FINISH HOLD - #30 - ONE LAST CLIMB
It's all about those last four feet on your final climb of the day, when you're so pumped a strong breeze could peel you off. You don't care about anything for those final seconds when you dig in and exhaust your last ounce of energy. You nail that final hold and hang like a wet towel, basking in the sun until your hands just give out.  FINISH HOLD - #29 - In Teddy’s Words
As an ex-competitive fighter, a new climber, and a CrossFitter, I hold on to the following words as a mantra for why I do what I do — because when it comes down to it, it’s all about the effort. I can't claim these words to be mine — Theodore Roosevelt said this:  FINISH HOLD - #27 - Only When…
When you spend your time in a place that few will venture to When you take the time to venture out When you ask of your self everything and nothing When you are your only adversary When it’s never too cold, or cold enough  FINISH HOLD - #26
“Climbing far transcends some recreational activity that bides my time. It’s a lifestyle that unites my mind, body and soul in a beautiful, chaotic melody.” —Mark Mellette  FINISH HOLD - #25 - Good Friction
A cold wind whips through Prescott, Arizona, howling as it weaves past trees and my house. Out in the driveway the wind is so strong it’s hard to stand. I unlock my truck and climb in. With a turn of the key, it gives a whine of protest before starting. As I drive through downtown an unseen force pushes me from side to side.  FINISH HOLD - #24 - Alex is #1
Small-town girl Alex Johnson, 19, of Hudson, Wisconsin, took first for the women in the bouldering World Cup this June, at the Teva Mountain Games in Vail, Colorado. She climbed with confidence and determination to beat out the reigning world champ, Anna Stöhr and 13th-ranked Katharina Saurwein, both of Austria. Alex’s win helped answer the question, “Can American competitors hold their own on the world stage?”  FINISH HOLD - #23 - Homesick
WORDS AND PHOTO BY TIFFANY HENSLEY - A wide-angle panorama of drastic and dark mountains underscoring toothily the bronze, dawning sky—voluptuous clouds slothed over these mountains with hypnotizing rhythm; a slow, single, continuous heartbeat. Rusty boulders with pock-marked faces look up at these clouds, a light darkness moving across their bulky bodies in abstract patches.  FINISH HOLD - #22 - The Fence on Carter Lake
By Matt Samet - Sometimes they blow up the boulders quietly, sneaking in at night to unroll their fences. And sometimes the heavy machinery moves under your nose, the dynamite seated by expert, brutish hands. Since matter can neither be created nor destroyed, lamenting lost rocks is a cosmic mistake. A two-foot hunk of stone has neither more nor less intrinsic value than a 20-foot one. Tell yourself that, no matter what might come.  FINISH HOLD - #21 - Chalkcloud
Chalkcloud of thoughts/Irregular breathing beating against/The heart expanding/Gripping the palms/Fist of energy released like flicking/Water to dry ground/Squeeze the mind/The tension pushing out/Worry and wish/While sweat pellets reflect/Blue-grey/The sky and rock unified in mirror/As chalked fingertips/ Ground white magnesium carbonate/Consume the body’s watery origin/The first touch on stone/Carefully sensitive/Conserves the energy for this tactile task  FINISH HOLD - #20 - excerpt from THE NIGHT CLIMBERS OF CAMBRIDGE
Quote excerpted from The Night Climbers of Cambridge. Originally published in 1937 under the pseudonym Whipplesnaith, it was written by a group of Cambridge graduates who, during their time as students, found adventure and kinship climbing the ancient, stunning architecture of their university and town buildings. The book, which is now seeing its 70th edition, has earned cult classic status and is a must-have for climbers of all types. Look forward to the next issue of Urban Climber for a feature story about the fascinating Night Climbers of Cambridge.  FINISH HOLD - #19 - Backstepping
I walk, I walk/ in pine-scented sun/on a waking rattler/Serpentine glide/with delicate flagging/lean-she sendsIcy moonlit drifters/gently tap/on my tent/I dream wild dynamic flashes/of leaping/withering sockeye/Ouch!/A black fly tries/your good spot  FINISH HOLD - #18 - Memoirs of Yamnuska
whose hands and feet are craving real rock/whose eyes would rather squint at the sun than glimpse another grey cloud/whose ears are reminiscing the rustling of the trees/whose nose and mouth wants that refreshing, clean breeze/and whose entire being is just home-sick for Nature/and to return again to the wilderness.  FINISH HOLD - #17 - Before
“What about that?” he said over and over, pointing to each new sequence as if it were a game, and I, who had not yet fallen, still a novice, reached up for a jug hold and swung my body into a lieback, feet crossing, hips twisting back and forth up the cave roof, above the broken concrete blocks, the limestone rippling yellow and purple, as the shadows wavered, cool as underwater plants |
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