Overtraining, spotting it, and getting myself back on track.

OK, so I know the symptoms of over-training from reading the manuals and magazines, I even experienced a mild dose of it once before... so how could I end up chronically over-trained and not notice?

I think it was a lot down to how it started. I spend most of last year under a bit of a cloud of depression. This came to a head around November time, when I started suffering panic attacks - something I've not known since way back in high school. I developed insomnia and an extreme loss of appetite (I'd actually feel physically sick when I ate) so began to lose weight at a slightly alarming rate. It was therefore no surprise when training began to get difficult - with hindsight perhaps I should not have been pushing on through this, but on the other hand at the time it felt like climbing might be the only thing keeping me sane.

Just as the depression finally started lifting, I got a heavy cold. It only lasted a week, but after that the tail end just seemed to linger for about the next six. I'd be feeling back on my feet for a few days, then descend back into snivelly territory - not enough to force more time off work or training, but enough to make life uncomfortable. This was of course a good sign of over-training, but coming right on the back of the previous issues I didn't make the connection and carried on.

Right through this spell I found training hard. Both at the climbing gym, and my triathlon training. I found myself limited to 5km runs before I started feeling weak. One lunchtime I even bonked at 4km and had to down a couple of cans of coke and walk the rest back to the office. Again, classic signs of an over-trained state, but I was in the mindset to keep ploughing on against any adversity, so I just blamed the cold and did indeed carry on.

I don't know how long this might have lasted, but the hand injury from a weekend in Bleau forced me to take a break from climbing training at the beginning of March, and so take stock a bit. I took a rest from everything. No morning swims, no evening turbo sessions, just cycle commuting during the week, a single lunchtime 5km run, and climbing at the weekend.

After a couple of weeks of this regime, the lunchtime runs started to feel a bit easier. Last Monday, it felt like a breeze, so I went out for another on Thursday - half way round I felt so good I went off on a side-loop making the total distance about 9.5km and finished feeling strong. So I took two complete rest days (during which time I caught up on a lot of sleep), and yesterday went out to do a couple of laps of Wormwood Scrubs - the closest thing to getting out in the countryside within easy running distance. I strapped the Garmin on my wrist for the first time in ages, having decided to get a more accurate idea of where I'm at, and set a target of 10km in 50 minutes. A slow first kilometer or so to warm up put me well off the 5min/km target pace, but I soon started to catch back up. By 5km I was under, and was already thinking of adding an extra lap. I went through 10km in under 47min - a new PB - and finished up doing 13km in just over an hour. Once again, I actually felt quite strong at the finish - an amazing turnaround from where I was a few weeks ago.

So what's the lessons from this?

1) Mental health can affect physical performance too... if it ever starts happening again, ask for help before it starts to affect me physically, just as I would with any other health problem I didn't fully understand how to treat on my own, instead of telling myself to "get a grip".

2) Pay attention to what your body is telling you, you fucking muppet!! (me that is of course, not you, dear reader). Check resting heart rate regularly, and if that goes up (or performance goes down) take a break.

Training for climbing is hard. Training for long distance triathlon is hard. I have to realise I can't do both of them to the limit at the same time. Climbing is always going to be my main priority, so I need to scale back my triathlon ambitions a little bit. I still want to complete an ironman, but the crazy finishing time targets are going to have to go out the window.

On a more positive note, I actually still climbed quite hard at the start of this year - ticking several 7b+ in my first few outings on rock. If that was me in a state of chronic over-training surely there must be good things to come if I look after myself a bit more? Having only done trad lately, next week in Finale will probably be too soon to tell... but some hard multi-pitch sport climbing is on the agenda, and that should set me up nicely for a return to training and trying out some hard english sport routes when I get back.

And what better place to jump-start my sport climbing year than the Italian Riviera? :-)

A whole new headgame.

I went home from my first proper weekend of trad wondering to myself how I wanted to progress. Should I stick with HVS to E2 leads (where I could be reasonably sure of success) and try and get a whole lot of mileage under my belt... or should I try to push my boundaries a bit right from the start.

Obviously the former would be the sensible option, but the challenge of pushing on whilst staying safe was alluring, and leading under Ramon's watchful gaze had given me some measure of confidence that I was capable of protecting myself. So I spent a great deal of time over the next few days thinking about how exactly I could do that.

One thing was clear in my mind from the start - to push hard safely you need to be making the right decisions, and to do that you need to be relaxed. If I wanted to see what I was capable of, I was going to have to become comfortable doing hard moves above gear. And if there's one thing that sport climbing had taught me it's that there's only one way to become comfortable above your protection - and that's to test it out.

But falling on bolts is one thing - you just have to push through an irrational fear... there's nothing irrational about worrying that you may have placed some pro that wasn't as good as you thought, or missed something important in your calculations. Falling on gear was going to be a whole new headgame. Nevertheless, by the time the weekend came round and we made our way to Swanage, I'd set myself some rules as to what would constitute a safe falling scenario, and resolved to collect my first trad airmiles.

Standing at the bottom of Ocean Boulevard, I knew what I had to do - stitch up the bottom with some good gear, and then go for the onsight - there was to be no backing down unless I could reason a ground fall might be on the cards... or found myself so scared I could no longer reason.

I started out fine, and got my first few solid bits of gear in, but then I realised I was in the 'OK to fall' zone, and I was committed to not backing down. My heart started racing, and my forearms were instantly pumped. I fought to get it back under control. There was a large crack above me to get my next pro into, and I had two good hand holds to work from. I tried to focus on resting and getting the gear in, but that was no easy task. The first cam I selected seemed too big. I went two sizes down... that was way too small. Back up a size... still too small. Shit. Try the first one again. Ah, the crack's a bit wider further up. Bingo! Oh fuck... that cam is bomber... I have to carry on.

I made a strenuous move right, then a couple of moves up the next crack, and came to what felt like a dead end. I was fairly comfortable where I was, and could probably reverse back to the pro, but the next obvious hand-hold seemed a long way away. Last chance to back down. I ran through the pro below me. Nope, no reason to believe any of them should come out, so I went for it... and off. To my relief, that first cam held. I hung on the rope and considered my next move - I was so pumped I didn't know if I could get back on and dog it to the top, so I just came down and let Ramon lead it. I'd failed the onsight, but that didn't really matter - I'd achieved my first and most important objective of the weekend.

On the Sunday I tried Ocean Boulevard again, and after my fall was much more relaxed resulting in a reasonably comfortable send. But by the time four days had passed and I found myself back in Pembroke for a long weekend, I was feeling very apprehensive at the idea of falling again. Friday and Saturday I stuck within my comfort zone when leading - I had an amazing time on some fantastic HVS and E1 lines, but Sunday morning I woke up feeling I wanted a bit more from myself.

So I picked Tangerine Dream - an intimidating but stunning line weighing in at a hefty E4 6a. The problem with this route was the climbing starts off hard, and eases off higher up, and I was having a real difficulties arranging my first few pieces of protection - about 4m above a very unpleasant looking rocky landing. I couldn't understand it: there seemed so many good placements, but nothing I set in there really seemed bomber. Maybe I was just too psyched out by the challenge in front of me. I down-climbed for a rest, then went up for another go, with similar results. Another down-climb and one final attempt, and I collected what little gear I'd placed and retreated with my tail between my legs - but at least those legs were intact to try another day. I wasn't disheartened by this - if I'm going to play this headgame safely I need to know when to stay and fight and when to run, and running was definitely the correct decision in this case.

Besides, I wasn't quite finished for the weekend.

Test Case (E3 5c) was a much better proposition for pushing the boat out. After a few meters of relatively easy climbing, you get a couple of threads to secure the bottom end of the rope from nasty zippers up the line in a fall. This is followed by a well protected crack climb, that gets progressively harder, with the crux at the end. From there, you traverse round a bulge onto easier (but poorly protected) ground up to the top.

I made it to the crux, steeled myself to go for it, and fell off at the first attempt. Looking down, one intermediate runner which hadn't been extended enough had popped out, but that left more than enough gear in place. Note to self - unless you're going straight up, extend, extend, extend. I arranged another piece directly under the fall line, and had a second go - this time going through the crux (it's not a hard move when you're rested) and onto the bulge.

It was a long way to the top, and I couldn't see any decent placements at all. Although I'd taken one fall already on the pro in the crack, I was now round the corner out of sight of it, and I felt in a very precarious position. I was gripped, and I couldn't bring myself to go for it - so I retraced my steps, and took another short fall.

As I hung there, I was aware that the sun was getting low, so it was time to commit and finish this route or back off and clean it on abseil. Logically, there was no reason I shouldn't be prepared to take a huge whipper on so much good gear - so I knew I'd be annoyed with myself if I backed down. It was time to man up.

I got established back onto the slab, and realised there was one good wire placement just a little further round, which made me feel a bit better once that was in. I climbed above it and spotted a flake up to my right. Good. I just need to make that flake. Wrong - the flake moved at my first tentative tug. Now I was really scared - I felt completely off balance and my "thank fuck" hold was nothing of the sort. There was only one piece of gear between me and that huge pendulum. A little voice somewhere inside said "you're on a slab with loads of footholds, you shouldn't be off balance, sort your fucking feet and get a grip". As soon as I'd done that, a wire placement became apparent another couple of moves away - and from there it was easy to the top.

YA FUCKIN BEAUTY!!!!!!!!!

It had been hot on the sheltered face when I set out, and I'd climbed shirtless. Now I was sat belaying in the fierce wind at the top of the crag, with the sun going down - it was really, really cold, but I could not have cared less. I'd faced my fears head on, and won, and I was truly elated... I burst into song, into the wind at the top of my voice. No substance I took in my youth ever came close to the high I felt right there, and I shall remember it for a long time to come.

The Trad Fast Track

After my little trad taster weekend, the next step clearly was to get out there with someone who knew what they were doing - find out what I was doing right, and more importantly what I was doing wrong.

Fortunately, I already had such a gentleman (I use the term loosely) in my quiver of sport climbing partners - and a super psyched one at that - in the form of Ramon. A quick e-mail on Monday morning enquiring of his plans for the next weekend gained a swift reply of "Trad climbing with you of course!". This was followed up a little later with a question: "You don't mind if I lead some harder routes do you?"... what sort of a stupid question was that? I didn't ask him out for his good looks!

The weather was looking a bit dicey for the weekend, with the forecast changing by the hour, but we came up with a plan - head to Bristol on Saturday morning for some climbing in Avon Gorge, then as the rain was coming in from the West overnight, drive up to Pembroke in the evening and camp - the weather front should clear us by early morning.

We arrived in Avon, and headed for the Suspension Bridge Buttress. Ramon lead an HVS called Suspense to warm up, then we moved onto a three pitch HVS called Hell Gates. Ramon strung the first two pitches together, and I lead the traverse at the top. There's a metal belay anchor for the four routes that end at this point, but that was already in use so I was going to have to build one. But off what? There was one thread on the back wall behind the belay stance so I clipped into that, but other than that nothing obvious stuck out. This was the one bit I was nervous of - doing myself in with dodgy gear placements would be one thing, but building an anchor you have your partners life in your hands as well. After standing around pondering for a while, suddenly with this (presumably competent) stranger belaying behind me, I started to feel a little foolish. I must look like a complete idiot standing there gawping at the rock. I felt compelled to point out to him that this was only my second weekend tradding, by way of explaining my behaviour. Then I found the stub of a cut tree trunk up above, and another thread, and eventually had a bomber equalised three way anchor in place. The stranger kindly made comment on the solidity of my anchor to ease my discomfort, as did Ramon when I finally woke him from his slumber in the afternoon sunshine to come on up the last pitch.

We finished the day with a two pitch E1 called The Earl of Perth - Ramon took the first (5b) pitch and I took the second (5a). My first E1 lead on my second day trad climbing - I was pretty stoked!

So off we went to Pembroke, and arrived in time for a nice pub dinner and a couple of ales. As it turned out we'd got the weather spot on - the rain stopped around 7am, and by the time we'd got up and fed ourselves the sun was shining and the rock was in perfect condition. Not only that - the place was deserted. We looked at each other in amazement - we'd rolled the dice and come up double sixes again!

We went to St Govans Head, and warmed up with a couple of goes on the classic HVS Army Dreamers (Ramon leading the first time, then I lead the second). By this point, Ramon was after something a bit more challenging, so he lead The Butcher (E3). I seconded it clean, and it's a great line with an amazing move out onto the arrete that's well protected, so I had half a mind to go for the lead, but common sense prevailed.

Next up was a sensational E1 called The Arrow. Again Ramon lead, so I was able to enjoy the surroundings and awesome climbing on second. Half way up, I realised that even on second I hadn't been feeling too relaxed up till this point - I guess because I was trusting an anchor I hadn't seen and knew nothing about, unlike a nice shiny pair of staple bolts - but suddenly I was climbing freely. The sun was getting low and casting a lovely light, the waves were pounding at the foot of the cliff, and I was climbing with a stupid grin on my face. This was what I came all the way from London for, and it was worth every minute of the drive.

Relaxed and full of confidence, when Ramon said "OK, your turn to lead the last climb of the day, there's an HVS there...or an E2 there called Vice is Nice" I barely hesitated. The first two thirds of the climb went pretty well, but it was the end of a long day's climbing and I was pretty tired. I was spending a lot of time faffing to get good gear placements, and even on good holds, I was struggling to get anything back. There was a crack in front of my nose, that I just couldn't seem to get anything to seat into properly, and one to the right that took a small offset that would probably stay in place as I climbed, but not necessarily hold a fall. I looked down at the gear below me - I had four good pieces stitched within a short distance of each other. I looked up at the top - it was still pretty far away. I had another go to get something to seat into the first crack, but nothing seemed to grip. I wanted this onsight badly, so I looked again at my gear and the runout - I was high enough up that even if these two bits of pro didn't hold I wouldn't hit the deck. The next ones were bomber. I had one of my most trusted belay partners on the other end of the rope. I made my decision - run it out. The first bit of gear pulled out as soon as I went past it - I knew that was likely anyway, but watching it slide down the rope got the adrenaline pumping even harder. No time for second thoughts - keep moving. Another few meters on easier ground and I topped out. My first E2 onsight!

I didn't stop smiling for the rest of the week.

Pivotal moments

A few weeks ago, myself and Nic went to see Dave MacLeod, Andy Turner and Paul Diffley give a lecture on the climb and filming of The Long Hope, followed by a screening of the film itself. It's an awesome film and we left there feeling totally inspired, particularly by the story of the first aid ascent. The epic journey Ed Drummond and Oliver Hill undertook up that huge slab of rock, over many days, with no real knowledge of what was ahead of them, put the triviality of bolt clipping on Spanish limestone into stark perspective. So I resolved to get out there and learn to climb trad.

Thing is, it's not the first time I've said that by a long way - I even had half a rack that's been lying in the cupboard for two years. But this time something else happened: a long weekend in Bleau the next week left me with a pain in my hand every time I pulled on small holds... no more hard sport climbing for a while then - that sealed the deal.

So after a quick chat with Nic, we decided "fuck it, let's just get down to Swanage next weekend and give it a go". As the weekend approached, I revised the Mountain Leader Training Handbook I'd bought on a previous trad notion, and Friday evening I found myself building anchors in my bedroom.

We got down to an overcast Swanage on Saturday morning, and after some breakfast and a bit of faffing around, decided on a 3* 2 pitch VS at Guillemot Ledge called Tensor II. This meant abseiling in, so we spent quite a bit of time at the back wall of the quarry above first, practicing placements and deciding how we'd anchor the top of the climb. There was already an abseil rope in place, with a pair of climbers half way up a climb on the West Face, but there was still a definite sense of adventure getting on it, knowing that the only way out without an embarrassing call for help would be a self-protected 35m climb.

Nic lead the first pitch - easy climbing up a crack followed by a traverse under a roof and up to a friendly ledge and a large flake belay. Even though the climbing was pretty straightforward, I remember on the traverse thinking to myself that it must have been a little stressful doing this on lead... funny how the lack of bolts changes your perspective! Leaving the belay, there was a large peg to protect one slightly tricky move and then it was very easy climbing to the top, so I was able to relax and enjoy the fact that the sun had just come out. I set up the anchor, and as I sat down on the edge of the cliff to bring Nic up, a grin spread across my face that I couldn't have got rid of even if I wanted to. It may have been technically easy, but there was something of a journey involved in getting up that cliff and topping out. As I sat there in the late afternoon sun I had my pivotal moment. I was hooked.

Great start!

2012 is now officially up and running, with a cracking start at Brean Down. We headed off on Saturday morning, expecting it to be sunny but bitterly cold, so we were well wrapped up for the weather. Arriving at high tide, we had to walk over the top to the crag. Never having had to go that way before, myself and Ramon got slightly lost, so after a little impromptu warm-up on a deep water solo traverse, we arrived at the foot of the crag sweating heavily under our down jackets. Nic and Pino had come down separately in Nic's car, as they had to get back to London quite early, and were already on the warmup routes - and looking rather pleased with themselves in the sheltered little suntrap that is Boulder Cove. I whipped my shirt off to dry out, and as the steam rose from my damp torso, I quickly realised it was going to be hot enough to climb like this... shirt-off climbing in the UK in January, who'd have thought it!

By the time we'd warmed up, the crag was getting pretty full (some had come via Cheddar, which turned out to be too wet for climbing) and free lines were in short supply, so we got onto Clashing Socks - a 7b which Ramon had sent last year, but I hadn't been on before. It was a typical Brean line - some balancy climbing to a good rest, and then a bouldery crux where footwork was crucial. With Ramon's help, I managed to figure out a sequence on my first go, but I hadn't paid enough attention to my feet so fell off the crux on my next two attempts. Fourth go however, I deliberately went a little slower through the crux and it went, feeling relatively easy in the end. At first I was a little annoyed that I hadn't ticked it a bit quicker, but I guess it's to be expected that my footwork will be a little sloppy, after a winter in the gym. So when I stopped to think about it, I've got to be pretty pleased with sending a 7b in one visit, after not touching real rock for four months!

Ramon cruised up Clashing Socks a couple of times, making it look easy despite his winter hanging around on axes, and Nic was looking pretty good working on Chulilla (7b+), so a strong start to the year all round. But more importantly than that, I think for all of us it was a real feel good day in the sunshine, loaded with the promise of good trips to come in 2012.

Shirts off in January!

A busy crag - Nic at the top working Chulilla (7b+)

Sunset at the end of a cracking day's climbing

Time to get cranking for 2012!

I've felt really off since just before christmas, a nasty cold had me laid up for two weeks, and it 's never *quite* gone away. Every time I've had a couple of good days, where I've felt strong on the bike or down the climbing wall, it's been followed by a couple of days of lethargy where any sort of training just feels so hard. I've picked up some niggling injuries again too, which hasn't helped, but if I'm honest with myself, a big part of it also seems to be motivation.

Last winter I quite enjoyed getting in the gym and trying to get strong, this year I just haven't. I had a great year in 2011, pushing boundaries I'd hoped I would, but didn't really know if I could - and as any junkie will tell you the bigger the high, the bigger the comedown. I haven't been on real rock since September, and I've got a bad case of Plastic Adjustment Disorder.

So, what to do about it? Well, I've no intention of getting clean, and there's no point sitting around London in withdrawal, so it's time to do like any un-reformed junkie would... go get fucking high!

At the weekend I went out and bought myself a nice big diesel estate car, and if there's a dry crag within 10 hours drive next weekend, I'm going to be on it!

My new Craggin' Wagon

Woah, slow down there cowboy!

One of the biggest changes to my climbing this year has been that I've really slowed down, and learned to recover on the rock.

I guess I'd begun the process last year, Nic always seems to have time on the rock, and I was trying to emulate that. In El Chorro last November I took a slow approach and sent Annack Sunamun, my first 7b. But then, over winter in the gym, I speeded up again. The problem is that routes in the gym don't tend to reward slower climbing, especially if you tend to hang around the competition wall - they're often set with a sustained level of difficulty from bottom to top, that you don't tend to see in real life. So in order to "achieve" at the climbing center, you speed up. So you get fit, but you're not practicing the way you need to climb outdoors.

I came out of the winter in the gym strong, but my first few trips in the UK this year saw me climb nothing of any real note - a bunch of high 6s and a solitary 7a+. Then I started climbing with Ramon, and I looked at the way, even in the gym, he was climbing so slowly - stopping every few moves and taking rests where I didn't think it was possible to recover, never mind neccessary. At first, I thought this was a mistake - he was going too far. I'd forgotten how much effort I'd put in to slowing down myself the year before, and I thought he was bringing across the pace of his ice climbing to a discipline where it wouldn't be helpful. But then I watched him blitzing everything in his path at the crag, and I started to realise it was *my* mistake - I'd been using the wall to get good at wall climbing again, not to practice for the real thing. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that the good indoor climbers are not necessarily the good outdoor climbers. This was something Nic had talked about a lot in the past, but although I could see that was the case, I hadn't really understood why.

So I began to copy Ramon - slowing down indoors. At first it was a bit difficult to keep my discipline, after all we're driven by the numbers game. To climb slow, I had to ignore the fact that there was a tick to be had - I tick that I knew I could get, and a tick that I was watching others collect. But I had realised these ticks would not help me in the real world, and a tick on rock is worth a thousand on plastic, so I persevered. And quite quickly I started to notice an improvement - I could climb slowly on plastic after all! I have a reasonable aerobic fitness base, developed mainly from cycling, so just like it takes a few weeks to adapt that fitness to the swimming pool, or to running, the same applied to bringing it to my climbing.

And then I went off to Margalef for easter and blew my mind with my first 7c, and my first 7b+, in that order! Suddenly the patient approach was vindicated, and it's no longer so hard to keep my discipline in the wall.

Ignoring the numbers game at the wall also taught me a valuable lesson - by taking the pressure to perform away, I performed better. So I've taken that outdoors - every route is part of the learning process, and I don't care who else is sending it, or whether or not I send a particular route that I think is within "my grade". I'm still playing the numbers game, but I've changed the rules - numbers in the gym do not apply, and nobody else's numbers count. I want to climb an 8b one day, so the only rule is that when I look back over my climbing log, my numbers must show I'm still progressing towards that goal.

It's interesting now though, that when I try to explain what an improvement this change has made to other climbers at the wall, people don't seem to think it will apply to them. One response I get quite often, from pretty experienced climbers, is "yeah, but you're really fit so you can climb like that. I'm not fit, so I have to get up there quickly before I tire out". Surely it's the other way round - the less fit you are, the more important it becomes to climb conservatively. Anyone with time on their hands can walk 26 miles, but you have to be pretty fit to run a marathon. Attacking the wall like an enthusiastic puppy leads to in-efficient moves, which raises the heart rate, pushing you into the anaerobic zone. Your anaerobic fuel tank is pretty small, and using it up quickly leads to the brain shutting down. When we're getting spanked by a route, that panicky feeling where we suddenly don't know what to do next, technique goes out the window, and all we can come up with is some crazy do or die lunge is not down to mental weakness, it's a physiological reaction. Not only that, but if your anaerobic fitness is good, but your aerobic fitness is shit, which one do you reckon you'll get the most benefit from training at the gym?

So anyway, big thanks go to Nic and Ramon, for helping me grow out of my enthusiastic puppy phase!