As a child, before I ever scaled a cliff, I often dreamt about rock climbing. Holding onto a vertical rock face, I would slowly, and methodically, make my way toward an ever-receding peak. Every move suspended me between overwhelming fear and a profound calm. Sometimes there was music—a gentle melody looping around my mind—and, other times, only agonizing silence. I vividly recall the exposure and the solitude. Sometimes, those dreams would feel like storybook magic, where my limbs moved effortlessly through nature. Other times, they were nightmares where I’d slip and fall.
I started climbing in the early 90’s in Tucson, Arizona, where it was largely a male-dominated sport, and traditional climbing (trad climbing) was considered the “only” climbing style. Sport climbing was relatively new and viewed with bewilderment or outright suspicion. The “scene” was essentially an underground activity practiced by those living on society’s fringes. Driving an hour, or so, out of town and hiking to granite crags in the middle of nowhere to spend hours hanging off the side of a cliff with virtual strangers never felt particularly comfortable. After a couple years, I gave it up, although I still yearned for a physical activity that also captivated and challenged my mind. I eventually found this in Ashtanga.
As a child, before I ever scaled a cliff, I often dreamt about rock climbing. Holding onto a vertical rock face, I would slowly, and methodically, make my way toward an ever-receding peak. Every move suspended me between overwhelming fear and a profound calm. Sometimes there was music—a gentle melody looping around my mind—and, other times, only agonizing silence. I vividly recall the exposure and the solitude. Sometimes, those dreams would feel like storybook magic, where my limbs moved effortlessly through nature. Other times, they were nightmares where I’d slip and fall.
I started climbing in the early 90’s in Tucson, Arizona, where it was largely a male-dominated sport, and traditional climbing (trad climbing) was considered the “only” climbing style. Sport climbing was relatively new and viewed with bewilderment or outright suspicion. The “scene” was essentially an underground activity practiced by those living on society’s fringes. Driving an hour, or so, out of town and hiking to granite crags in the middle of nowhere to spend hours hanging off the side of a cliff with virtual strangers never felt particularly comfortable. After a couple years, I gave it up, although I still yearned for a physical activity that also captivated and challenged my mind. I eventually found this in Ashtanga.