Pro-Sports

On Monday and Tuesday, I went rock climbing again with C. It was more like a last ditch effort to get in more climbs before she was required to return to her home-town and be the dutiful daughter.

Since Monday’s session resulted with such a pathetic lead climbing attempt, I decided to hit the lead wall first thing on Tuesday. I attempted to “warm up” on an orange route that both Supermei and K had said was much easier than the blue route I lead during an earlier session. I think that is the last time I ever listen to Supermei about her so-called “easy” routes.

I hit a flash pump by the third or fourth bolt (I was too beat to notice which) and completed the last bolt to anchor on multi-colour. When I came down, I felt like my forearms were stuck in contraction and a cord was pulling on my elbow. When I belayed C, I could have sworn the blood vessels in my forearms were ready to explode.

It wasn’t an injury, but it certainly felt close to one so I was forced to take it easy for the rest of the session.

I still don’t know what the problem is and whether I am correct in my assumption that it is purely climbing related. I laid off climbing yesterday for a little recovery time but I noticed that when I was mopping the floor, the same sensation was triggered.

While researching the differential diagnoses to my problem, there is a possibility of a link with the poor ergonomics of my computer set up where the keyboard positioned too high. Since I have not sustained an injury as yet, the sensations are too vague for me to make a more conclusive diagnosis on the problem.

From time to time, I still detect a phantom pump in my forearms even though I haven’t been working out.

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It was another one of those leisure climbing sessions at Camp-5 but an extremely insightful one.

I arrived at the gym and C was belaying her cousin so I went to “warm-up” on the auto-belay routes in the middle section. “Warm-up” was a bit of an understatement. It was a TKO for me before I had even completed the third lap.

I rejoined C and her cousin at the top-rope section where she had eagerly picked up my gear bag and said with a glint of delight in her eyes, “Lead climb?”

With sweat pouring down my face, I held out my forearms and replied, “Feel this.”

“Oh dear,” she said.

Oh dear, indeed.

Since her newbie cousin was also out for the count, she suggested we “rest” by the lead wall while I contemplated what I wanted to climb. I ended up on the gray route in the corner of an open book and took a Sunday stroll. My excuse to myself for slacking being that her cousin was a newbie so it would be wiser not frighten him off by throwing him into the deep-end.

As I watched C’s cousin climbing, a rather devious thought popped into my mind. It is a common observation that male climbers naturally seek to challenge themselves more quickly than female climbers. They were more willing to try new things and push their boundaries, such as leading. If we succeeded in getting C’s cousin hooked on climbing, we could get him to lead all our routes for us. However did I come to be so Machiavellian?

I re-lead the gray route for C to climb next and decided that this was going to be another one of those leisure weekends.

C cleaned the route with a panache that was a repeating occurrence ever since she signed up for her three month membership and started hitting the gym more often.

She felt a little guilty that I wasn’t pushing myself, though why I cannot begin to guess. I assured her that to lead a route in itself, regardless of whether the route was easy or hard, was already a training session for the mind. Giving my typical mental “bail outs” of late, it seemed my mind needed the training more than my body.

As I was leading the gray route for the second time, I started the route continuing a conversation I was having with C. After a while, I found I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying, or even if I did hear her, I couldn’t formulate my own replies.

A memory from the past resurfaced as I recalled what my driving instructor had said during one of my lessons. It was an incident where I was driving and he was talking incessantly. His voice was starting to irritate me because I couldn’t concentrate on the road ahead and I think he noticed. That’s when he said, “When you can talk and drive at the same time, you are ready to sit for the test.”

If that were the case, I obviously needed a lot more improvement on leading. In which case, practice was just what the doctor ordered for me. Practice involves repeating a process so often that it becomes as natural as blinking or breathing. To practice lead, therefore, meant that I needed to lead climb more often. That was where I hit a snag. I felt an uncomfortable reluctance to push myself to practice leading.

That was probably my biggest failing as a climber, and part of the reason why I never performed well in a competition. I had always rehearsed a route on top-rope until I had it wired before I would lead it. I knew all my moves by heart before I even tied into the rope. That made me inflexible when it came to attempting new routes because I had to practice a new set of moves all over again.

A common problem in the past was that I had often climbed with climbers who were more adept and more willing to push themselves. It made it easier for me excel because all I had to do was to follow in their wake. Now that I had no one to lead the tougher routes for me to practice on, it was left to me to take the lead and blaze a trail for myself.

Since I had nailed the issues, what could I do about the problem? The problem was that I became afraid on a lead wall the moment my arms were tired, so my solution meant I needed to train my stamina.

Recalling the pump generated from climbing the middle auto-belay route, I realized that my practice wall was already set up for me. All I have to do is make it a habit to stop by the gym and tank myself on that route every time I came within an arm’s length of the gym.

And that, my friends, was the resolution I came to after today.

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After one and a half weeks without running, I figured that perhaps I should concentrate on climbing to sustain my regular itch for some form of physical activity.

I met C at Camp-5 and we hit the auto-belay wall for some warm-up routes. C has been improving in leaps and bounds since the day we started climbing together again. From power to endurance to technique, I don’t think there was any area that she has not developed.

I chose a new selection of warm-up routes and noted that they felt a lot easier than the previous times I attempted them. After the quick warm-up, we moved on to the lead wall where I attempted two lead climbs that Supermei had referred to as “nice warm up routes”. About one and a half years ago, I might have been inclined to agree with her. However, with current my climbing performance, I wasn’t about to disregard my internal warning signs on the dangers of underestimating a route.

I began my first lead feeling delighted by the large jugs that I could wrap my whole hand around. They felt so good I could even show off with a few power moves designed to impress onlookers (not that there were any for we were in the gym alone) and needlessly sap the energy reserves.

I instantly regretted those moves as I climbed higher up and started to feel the tiniest build up of lactic acid in my fore arms. With a mind weak from the cushy comforts of top roping, I called for tight and rested on the rope. Sure I could have gone on, but my feeble mind decided it was better to rest first in case something harder lay in store for me. It was not that I was going to fall whenever I called for tight. It seemed almost as if the moment I had called it once, it became the start of a disappointing bolt to bolt climb for the rest of the route.

The mind was saying, “You already called for it, so what does it matter if you call for it another ten times before you reach the anchor? The fact remains that you hang-dogged.”

Since returning to the gym, I have felt no urgency to red-point any of the lead routes. It was almost as if I was happy just to reach the anchor. If ever I thought I was a fearful climber before, I think I have surpassed even that description the way I climbed on lead yesterday. Indeed it is true what Yoda said, “Fear leads to the dark side.”

The gym was playing some pretty funky techno music, one of which reminded me of the air raid in one of those old “Space Invaders” computer games. Despite trying to concentrate on the music, it did nothing to soothe my apprehensions. I suspect I had gone from fear to phobia, for it was an irrational panic attack I could not talk myself out of.

After climbing my second lead route in a similar fashion, C had opted not to second, so I went up again. I was hoping to free-point the route, but my arms were so pumped, I don’t recall ever seeing them swell as much as they did yesterday. It was amazing that I’d only lead two routes and I was out for the count.

Refusing to give in to what felt like a TKO, I pushed on to the top-rope walls with C. She did amazingly well on two routes she had been working on, walking through the crux like she was taking a stroll in a park.

I followed with two routes on the “natural pro” wall where I was pleased to find that one of the routes felt a lot easier than it did the first day I got on that wall. Whether it was the wear from numerous hands passing over the wall or that I regaining my grip strength, the holds felt deeper and sweeter than I had remembered.

Even though I no longer felt the pump in my forearms, there was a generalized fatigue pervading through my body. My shoulders were weary and my movements were sluggish. I developed a mild cramp in my side when I strained too hard for one of the moves.

Towards the anchor of the second route, I knew that no amount of cranking was going to get me past the roof, so I called down to C to dirt me. I traded places with C and she climbed two more routes displaying some top form climbing. She was on fire yesterday and it was such a delight to observe how much she had improved.

As I glanced around the gym, I realized a lot of the new climbers were also displaying remarkable advances in their climbing finesse. Climbers I had never seen before were climbing grades that even I was still struggling on.

Unwilling to say “die” because I couldn’t believe I could truly be knocked out after only two lead climbs, I agreed to “warm-down” on two more routes before calling it a day. The mind was unable to fathom how two relatively simple lead climbs could wear me out so.

I would like to say that the mind had overestimated the body, but it seemed that even my mind had gone to sleep by the time I approached the first of my two warm-down routes. I tied myself into the rope for the route on my left and started climbing. I was halfway up when someone called out to tell me I was on the wrong rope. How utterly embarrassing…

You know you’re long overdue for home when your brain has stopped functioning.

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My last two climbing experiences in the gym has lead me to an inevitable conclusion.

About a week ago when C and I went climbing, I attributed my poor performance to my industrious cleaning at the house. The hubby and I had moved back to my place after a long leave of absence and it took about a week to make the place livable again. With too many late nights spent washing and cleaning, it was a perfectly legitimate reason for feeling lethargic on the wall.

The lazy feeling on the wall was not entirely a bad thing because the flow of movements on an easy route is rather pleasant. When the motion is fluid, the momentum of the last move conveys you partway through the next move. All in all, less energy is expended and you feel in better form than you did when you first arrived at the gym.

There is also perhaps a tendency to be a little more creative with the moves. Whether you are applying a little knee pressure against the wall or resting a hip against a hold, these minor adjustments provide just the centering of balance that might make the difference between walking a move and slapping through it. At least, that’s how it is for me.

I enjoyed the leisurely climb despite feeling too lazy to crank it on the harder routes. I thought I might even be maturing in my outlook of climbing. No more aggression towards the wall and an overall “ST” attitude towards the sport (ST is the hubby’s description of a person who is very laid back).

After climbing again today, I have come to the realisation that the inevitable has befallen me. I have lost the desire to climb well and with it went my drive to climb hard. I have spent the last few weeks pondering over my stagnant improvements when the truth had been staring me in the face - I wasn’t improving because I wasn’t trying hard enough.

The only reason I ever managed to red-point “Pear” or “Chess” or even “Stupid with Manners” was because I wanted it so much that I kept climbing until I had the route wired. I may have had nothing in my bag of talents, but I had a whole lot of “heart” to make up for it. Without renewing that focus, I may be doomed to struggle on 6a routes for the rest of my climbing days.

How ironic that a thought like that would have been a death sentence to me about a year ago. Now, I can’t even say that I am at all bothered by it. Should I take out the thermometer and check my temperature? Perhaps I will.

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My paternal grandfather has been declining in his mobility for some time. Even though he has an upright stationary bike at home, but he’s been reluctant to use it due to the difficulties of swinging his leg over the bike through an effort to get on the seat.

He’s got high blood pressure and swelling in his ankles. The latter is very likely due to stasis of his blood from being extremely inactive.

I suspect he suffers from “sleep apnoea” because he has a tendency for falling asleep during the day at any time and any place, and when he snores, he can bring the house down.

A few weeks back, my dad sent me hunting for a new stationary bike for my grandfather in an effort to encourage him to start exercising again. The model that my dad had scouted out in Australia was not available in Malaysia, so I had to find an alternative with all the features that he wanted.

1. The bike had to be a recumbent bike so there was less stress on his back.

2. The bike had to have “easy entry/exit”. What he wanted was a bike that did not have the bar in the middle so my grandfather could walk in between the handle bars and the seat without having to climb over anything.

3. The seat had to be sturdy with a well supported back.

4. The back of the seat had to be made with some sort of mesh, not unlike the mesh on the back of a deuter back-pack designed to provide airflow.

5. The bicycle computer functions should have easy level exercise programs so my grandfather would not stress himself up.

6. The bicycle seat had to be adjustable by a hydrolic pump.

After much searching, I managed to find a suitable model from Fitness Concept in KLCC. The model was a NordicTrack SL 728 Recumbent exercise bike. It came with most of the features my dad wanted, except the “hydrolic pump” adjustable seat. It cost about RM1600.

My father, ever the bargainer, wanted me to get the price down by ten percent. Try as I might, I couldn’t even get the salesman to budge for five percent. Fitness Concept operates on a fixed price policy, or so they claim (anyone who discovers other wise - please tell me about it).

Luckily, they were running a special offer where they were giving away a free gift valued at RM150 with every purchase over RM500. I called my dad and triumphantly announced that even though I could not secure his required ten percent off, I did manage to twist the salesman’s arm for some freebies.

What was good and bad about the Nordic Track SL 728?

The main difference between a recumbent bike and an upright bike is that recumbent bikes are better for people who have back problems while upright bikes encourage more movement and therefore a more intensive workout. I would also venture to add that for an elderly person, the recumbent bike is a safer bet.

The Nordic Track SL 728 has movable handle bars that can be tilted forwards out of the way during entry and exit of the bike. The bar connecting the seat to the front wheel runs along the floor so there is no need to lift your leg when getting on. This feature makes it extra friendly for an elderly rider.

The seat is quite large and well-supported although my grandfather complained that it wasn’t sufficiently padded. He adds a cushion to sit on whenever he rides the bike.

The back of the seat is covered with a “mesh” which helps to keep his back cool by allowing air through, while the seat position is adjustable by releasing a latch and sliding it backwards and forwards on a diagonal axis. That may be simple enough for most people however it was still a task beyond my grandfather because the latch is difficult to release.

The computer console comes programmed with several exercise functions, though in all practicalities, I seriously doubt my grandfather would ever utilise any of those programs. My grandfather’s gripe was that the computer doesn’t allow setting a timed ride on a countdown program. Additionally, there is no option to allow the time to remain on the screen.

Generally, I was quite happy with the product and I think my grandfather was as well for he rode it for an hour on the day it was delivered. That was probably more exercise than he had had in the last month!

I did have one minor gripe with Fitness Concept. After spending RM1600 on this bike, I couldn’t believe that they were too stingy to throw in four miserable “D”-type batteries for free.

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As much as I would like to tell you about this race, I can’t. Why? Because I never made it to the track.

What happened?

Saturday afternoon, SKT sent out a message informing the posers to meet at Padang Merbuk at 7am sharp.

“See you there,” I replied.

Saturday night saw C and I at PL and J’s house celebrating PL’s birthday cum PW’s farewell party. I returned home only to crash in the wee hours of Sunday morning, though I did remember to set my alarm clock for a 6am wake up call.

7:15am - the phone rings. It’s SKT on the other end.

“Where are you?”

I bolted upright. “Oh my gosh! I slept in! I didn’t even hear the alarm. Is there time for me to get there.”

Even as the words were barely out of my mouth, I saw the time on the clock and I knew I would never make it.

7:16am - I went back to sleep.

I can’t believe I missed my chance to see if my 10km finishing time had improved after completing the marathon.

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It was my first day back on the track after the marathon. PCL and I met up in TTDI at half past seven, both of us reluctant to be out there for our own personal reasons. We agreed to run two laps and call it a morning, although both of us secretly only wanted to do one.

After speaking to a few athletic friends about the marathon, many of them told me I would notice an improvement in my run times once I hit the track again. I hoped they were right because I wasn’t looking forward to this morning’s run.

I won’t say it was a breeze running through the uphill sections of the track, but it certainly felt a lot easier than my previous training sessions. That was one consolation.

I was about to run with my MP3 player until PCL mentioned a little piece of advice she read from a book called “In the Zone” (or something to that effect). While it was agreed that music during a race could be useful, it was not recommended that we train with it. This was so the mind would not be distracted from the body movements and breathing patterns.

I decided to give it a go and left the MP3 player behind. I have to agree that she had a point. For instance, I noticed that even though it didn’t hurt to walk, the moment I started running, my feet and knees, particularly the left side, felt tender. Almost without realizing, my left foot was exaggerating the roll to avoid the aggravating the sore areas and my left knee assumed a movement that was not ideal. In addition, to reduce the impact forces traveling up through the ankles to the knees, I noticed that my feet were striking the ground from the ball of the foot forwards to my toes. Running in this manner for a short distance might have been acceptable, but I felt that a longer distance would not have been as forgiving.

My second lap was still manageable and relatively comfortable, though I felt I was beginning to tire towards the last uphill segment.

All in all, a light and easy return to the track. Some areas are still lagging in recovery, so I shall continue to go easy for the time being.

This weekend should be an “easy ten” at the 10km Power run. It will be a good place to review my 10km run time.

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It’s over a week since the marathon and I am still experiencing salt cravings. Should I be worried?

While It not unusual to develop post-exercise salt cravings especially when the exercise in question was a long race and under the sun, for it to last more than a week after the event begs the question of whether there is more to it than meets the eye…

Probably the most eyebrow-raising part of all this is that my salt cravings have displaced my usual ice cream obsession. To have said “no” to a serve of ice cream and to have felt I would prefer to consume something savory certainly brought the thermometers out aplenty.

Despite the persistence of these cravings, I have noted that their intensity is not as great as it was the days immediately following the race, so perhaps it is a little premature to start sounding the alarm bells.

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Ever since the marathon on Sunday morning, I have been having intense cravings for salty food. Instant noodles in particular.

I wonder if it might have something to do with an electrolyte imbalance or dehydration from the marathon where I have not restored my body’s water reserves?

After the race, I did not consume any of the usual isotonic drinks, but only replenished my body with plain water, therefore I am more inclined to think it could be the former reason.

This craving for instant noodle is also common reaction I have often encountered after an inebriating night out. Since alcohol is a diuretic and diuretics dehydrate the body, I guess the salt cravings are the body’s way of re-establishing fluid equilibrium.

When I was in University, one of my lecturers told us a case study about a boy who could not stop eating salt. He would eat chips and add salt to everything he ate. Understandably, his parents grew concerned by his behaviour and they took him to see a doctor. Regrettably, his condition was unheard of so the hospital put a stop to his salt diet and subsequently, he passed away.

What they did not realise was that this boy was suffering from a defect in his kidneys and was not able to retain salt in his body. The only way he could survive was to consume large amounts of salt. His constant craving for salt was his body’s way of helping him overcome his deficiency.

It would seem that I should start listening to my instant noodle cravings and just succumb to them.

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I went to Camp 5 with C last night. It was my first real bout of exercise since the Marathon on Sunday.

We started with some warm-up climbs near the auto-belay – nothing too taxing, though I could feel some strain in my muscles already.

Since I agreed I was going to start working on my leading, we headed over to the lead walls after and I climbed the pink route in the corner.

An ultra-slow climb from me highlighted one of my problems when I lead – I think too hard about every move. I assess the move, the power in my limbs, fatigue that I feel and start searching for alternative moves that appear to be the “safer” bet. All the while, my energy reserves start depleting and my mental goes out the door when my arms feel pumped.

My top-rope climbing style, on the other hand, is the converse where I just go and let my body’s instinct decide the next move. This may not the best way to climb either, for there is too little thought involved and no assessment on an efficient move versus a move the body is capable of. If I could strike a balance between the two styles, I feel my climbing ability should improve.

I moved onto a rather juggy blue route that Supermei calls a “warm-up” route. I have no doubt it is for her, though from my viewpoint, I beg to differ. I have attempted this route once before. Regrettably, I feel my first attempt for superior to yesterday’s climb. Two bolts before the anchor, I succumbed to the need to hangdog not due to the fact that I could no longer climb any farther, but because I detected a trace of lactic acid building up in my arms.

Yes, I’ll be the first to admit that it was a very feeble excuse to hang.

After resting some and then some more, I climbed to the next bolt and rested on the rope again. I knew the holds were large, but my mind kept questioning if it would be large enough for me to hang on to. I knew that it was still some ways before I really desperately needed to hang, but the mind was weak. After resting the second time, I went up for the anchor.

C wanted to rest, so I repeated the blue route on top-rope. Sad to say, I was still unable to complete, but I went farther than my lead climb before I had to hang. I got to a rather large jug that I could share with both hands and started chalking. For some reason, my hands kept slipping from the hold no matter how much I chalked. It got to a point where I could barely get my resting hand into the bag before I had to swap hands.

When I got back down, C and I retreated back to the amniotic comfort of top-roping. Despite all the excuses I made about having to recover from the marathon, there is no denying the fact that I am indeed a lazy climber. I looked for every excuse to go easy when I knew it was time to buck up and pick up the pace again.

Perhaps the marathon really did take a toll on my body because I struggled on the top-rope roof climbs the way I had when I was first rebuilding my strength. Even though I knew I had cleaned all these routes before, it seemed my muscles had claimed weakness and made a concerted agreement to bail on me.

I pressed on to the yellow roof and told C that I was going to finish it if she had to haul me up to the anchor. She obviously was not listening very hard, because she was generous with the slack. When I went for the crux, I was careless with my foot placements and my body swung out. My abs refused to contract and I could not get my legs back to the roof, so I released my hand holds to rest on the rope. I fell a distance before the rope went taut.

It’s ironic that I felt completely calm from the moment I knew I was going to let go until the moment the rope caught my fall. My mind was completely calm in its confidence that the safety net was there. The distance of the fall is no different to some of the lead falls I have taken before and yet, when I took those lead falls, my composure was rattled to the point of agitation. Even as I type this and think about those lead falls, my palms have begun to sweat.

I know that there must be a way to overcome this fear. I’ve read about the topic and discussed it among other climbers enough times to grasp the various reasons for the fear and countless methods to overcome it. So far, none have given me any personal successful in mastering my fear.

I ended the night with the original routes I warmed up on and took a fall on one. My muscles were screaming all the way to the top, but I wanted to end on a solid note. It is interesting to note that brain activity is inversely proportionate to fatigue, for I began to make silly moves that were off-balanced and costly on the energy reserves. Technique was a word that existed in someone else’s vocabulary. Despite the lack of finesse in my so-called “warm down” routes, I was glad I fought the urge to skip them.

The morning after, I paid for it. I awoke feeling languid both physically and mentally. I felt as if I had slept poorly the night before as my arms and back were aching and my mind was groggy with a hangover.

I climb again on Saturday. I look forward to being in better form.

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