"Cruise That Part"

Breathing deeply helps with the nerves. I sat in the white plastic chair, the hundred-foot climbing rope on my lap, about ready to throw up. The cheers of the crowd washed over me with deafening volume, and from behind me I could hear the snap of the rope clicking into the draws as my competitors ascended the competition routes. My blank scorecard rested in my shaking, chalky hands. I had white smears covering my black leggings from my warmup, and the chalk war paint I had smeared onto my cheeks was ever so slightly itchy.

This competition was huge for me. Held in New Mexico, it drew hundreds of climbers like me from Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and the outskirts of Texas. The top seven climbers from each of the ten categories would advance to Divisionals, held in Chris Sharma's gym, Sender One, in Santa Ana, California. I'd never qualified for Divisionals before, but this year, with all of the hours of extra training I'd done, I'd thought I had a solid chance.

Coming out of isolation at Regionals 2014

The most commonly asked question when I tell people I climb competitively is, "Is it judged on how fast you get up the wall?" The answer is it can be. There are two sections to the Regional, Divisional, National, and World competitions. The first is called difficulty. In the official format, called on-sight, the climber goes into "isolation" before the competition for a period of up to three or four hours. When the climber is called, they go and sit in the "on-deck" chair in isolation. After four minutes there, they have thirty seconds to move out of isolation and sit in their first official "on-deck" chair. They are facing away from the wall and they will not see their climb until their climb time. After four minutes in that chair, they have another thirty second transition, during which they hand the judge their scorecard, chalk up, get tied in, and the previous climber gets untied and sits in the next chair. Then an official calls, "Climbers, you may begin climbing now." The climber then has four minutes to look at the route and climb it. If they are still on the wall when the four minutes are up, they have to come down. I compete with lead (like all competitors 13 and older), where the rope is attached to the harness and you clip into the wall as you ascend. This cycle continues for all three climbs in the competition, and then the scorecard is turned in and you're done. It's judged primarily on the number of climbs you "send" (or get to the top of). Then, it's the number of holds you made it to, and finally the minuscule tiebreakers such as positive movement and usable surface, which is whether or not you made an effort to go for the next hold before falling and then if you touched it and fell off. The other half of the competition is, yes, speed climbing, where two contestants get on the same route at a time, they're timed, and the lowest time wins. 

At a local on-sight competition

"Transition!"

I stood up, my shaking intensifying. The judge took my scorecard from me, and I turned around and walked where she pointed me. I still didn't look at the wall. The cheering was pushing me forward. My hands shook so badly I could barely tie myself in, and I had to redo the knot twice before getting it right. I looked up at the belayer. He checked my knot, his hands steady. He looked me in the eye, but I was afraid to look up and risk disqualification by seeing the climb.

"You're good. You've got it," he said.

I just nodded. The gym quieted as I began to zone in on my goals--try hard, get as far as you can, and don't miss clips.

"Climbers, you may begin climbing now."

I looked up.

All of the holds on my route were green. The route itself didn't look difficult to me, but I knew how my nerves and adrenaline could bring me off the wall as easily as a bad hold. I examined the route, conscious of the ticking clock in my peripheral vision. Since the walls here were fifty feet instead of thirty, we had five minutes instead of four, but it still didn't seem like enough.

Thirty seconds down.

Come on, Julia. Get on the wall.

"I'm ready," I said.

The belayer nodded as I approached the first climb.

I just remember laying my hands on the wall, then bringing them in to the first hold. It was a moment in time that felt like it lasted a minute. I was deaf to the crowd, to the screaming, and to everything but my coach's voice in my head. "Julia, the first part will be easy. Cruise that part. Don't tire yourself out for the end."

This competition marked the first time I'd qualified for Divisionals, in either sport or bouldering. In difficulty, despite a mistake resulting in a fall on the third climb, I pulled seventh. In speed, I got fifth.

In the long run, I'm satisfied. My dad told me that if I really truly left nothing behind on that wall, if I gave it everything I had, I should be happy. And I am. 

I'll see you in California in a week. 

My ribbons and Divisionals invitation