My First Comp
By Eva Pontrelli
My palms were dripping sweat and no amount of chalk would dry them. It was my first comp and when my belayer picked up her pile of scorecards mine had fallen to the ground. Without thinking she had put it on top. I was first. I was now tying in with fumbling fingers. I looked back at my belayer, who checked my harness and knot and told me to climb. I tried in one last fruitless attempt to remove the sweat from my hands and mounted the wall. I tried to use the same well-paced lumbering as my instructor Alexsey. I could feel every one’s eyes boring into my back. I knew placing didn’t matter, but even if I was just in class I would never forgive myself for falling off a 5.8, a warm-up! Trying to focus on the route, I nervously jerked up the wall completely failing to keep a steady pace, but as I climbed I felt better and better, the butterflies in my stomach disappeared, and as I climbed higher I smiled; this route was overrated. It was all jugs and none were more than a foot apart. With my newfound strength, I grabbed the bar and let out a sigh of relief as I was lowered to congratulations from my friends below.
Still beaming, I made my way through the crowd to a fun looking 5.9 I had seen as I was lowered. I slid my scorecard to the bottom of the pile and waited. By the time my name was called the butterflies had returned to my stomach, but I angrily shoved them away. I tied in, my harness was checked, and my knot was checked. Snatching the starting hold, I began the ascent. There was one tricky move at the beginning, but I sailed up the rest and grabbed the bar with the same triumphant thrill as last time. I landed to a handshake from my belayer and I then made my way out into the open to think without the pressure of the crowd. I knew I should climb one more warm up but I was desperate to get a 5.10 on my scorecard before the end of the first hour. No, I told myself. I would have a better chance of getting a 5.10 if I climbed one more 5.9 first.
So I made my way over to a tricky pink one. There was almost no line and it was my turn quickly. Placing my hands on the starting hold I began to climb. This route was hard and I was struggling only a little bit above the line. At one point I almost slipped off an undercling because I was so nervous I wasn’t using any chalk, but I caught myself and buried my hands, one after the other, into my chalk bag. I continued up the wall. My muscles strained to keep my fingers latched onto a tiny crimp. I was so desperate to get off it I moved quickly onto a sloper. I felt like I was going to fall, so with one last lunge I flung myself to the pink box of tape and hung on to the wood behind it. I called to my belayer and was soon able to let go of the wall. I was untying the second my toes touched the ground, and I almost forgot my scorecard because I was racing to the next room as soon as I finished untying.
I searched for a 5.10 but found nothing harder than an 800 that wasn’t at least a 1100. I bumped into Alexsey who asked to see my scorecard and was happy to see that I already had three routes. He suggested I try a green 1025 he had set. So I went back into the other room and found Tonya putting her card in the pile, and put mine below hers. While we waited, we saw how many rubber chips we could pile on Tonya’s arm. It was a little discouraging to watch other people, mainly from Metrorock, climb and fall, climb and fall. Then it was Tonya’s turn and she was on the wall before I realized her name had been called. She climbed it seemingly without any struggle. She slapped the top and was lowered not even looking tired!
My name was called next and she handed me the rope with a huge grin. I was on the wall almost before I remembered to chalk up. This route was easier than it looked and I didn’t have trouble until the very top, but by that time I just had to make it. So I swung with the same ease as Tonya and slapped the bar, my hands so tired I could barely hold on. By the time I reached the ground my fingertips were on fire. I could barely untie because I had jerked my knot so tight when I fell back from the bar.
I walked slowly over to a 1025 I had been eying for awhile. I slipped my scorecard under the pile and watched other people climb it. The line wasn’t long, though, and I was on the wall quickly. I had looked at the route but now on it I could hardly move. I fell almost below the line. Another try found me no farther, so I got down and untied.
I wandered into the open and found Tonya, who had just watched Jen climb a pink 1000 and she was going to try it. So I put my scorecard in with hers and, seeing how long the line was, we began playing hand games. I looked up after Maya read my palm and saw Tonya part way up the wall. She had made the green route look easy, but on this route she made it look like a 5.5. She landed on the ground and after it was marked on her scorecard, she went away and my name was called. I tied in quickly and, eager to climb, I set my hands on the starting hold almost before I got checked. Then, at my belayer’s word, I began the ascent. It was mostly slopers with an occasional crimp, but overall, it was overrated. It should have been a 950. I was at the top before I knew it and, realizing the time, I hurried to take my scorecard and leave the rope to someone else.
I went into the next room and found Tonya and Jen, who were putting their scorecards in the pile for a 950 they said Alexsey wanted them to climb before the purple 1050. I put my scorecard under theirs because the 1050 was the route I had wanted been thinking about. The wait was long, but we all occupied ourselves by watching people work on the 950. It didn’t look like it got hard until the top. After Tonya and Jen (who both got it), I mounted the wall. There were two ways to climb this route, but I had figured out the best way from the ground. So, twisting right, then left, I reached a ledge and slowly crept up the side of it. When the wall was once again vertical, I enjoyed a long rest in which I got a lot of chalk in my eye. Now was the hard part. I hoisted myself up on a crimp and mantled off a sloper. I bumped my left hand up to an okay hold and grabbed the bar. I realized when I hit the ground that my dad was there and he had watched me. So I untied and put my scorecard in the pile for the purple 1050, and I went over to him. He said I did a nice job.
The line for the purple route was long but it flew by. After Tonya got half way, and Jen fell at a hard move in the beginning, I mounted the wall. I made the first move and then went for a big hold with two little ones screwed to it. I swung over it to achieve the right angle, but I didn’t grab the hold soon enough and the impact wrenched my fingers off the shallow jug at the same point Jen had fallen. After I was lowered (not very far) and untied, I just managed to get my score card to the bottom of the pile when the comp guy came by and told my belayer not to accept any more scorecards. The line went quickly even though it was a popular route and I was back on the wall soon. I grabbed the starting hold and almost skipped the next one trying to get to the shallow jug. I then swung, as I had done before, but this time a thought flashed through my mind: This is my last climb! and my fingers clamped onto that hold so tightly an earthquake couldn’t have ripped me off. I unfolded my arm as I moved, slowing my fall. After what felt like years, my arm straightened out and I was still. I chalked up and rested, trying to conserve my energy. I moved on, and a few slopers later, I reached the underside of the overhang. There were two big jugs and I soon made my way to a huge jug.
Right before I was about to lock off, I noticed my rope was caught and if I fell I would slam into another climber. I felt like somehow in that second of thought, I had weakened and I felt like I had lost any connection to or control of my fingers. I longed to move on and fix the rope standing on the jug above me, but I was tired, no good at locking off, and it wouldn’t be fair to knock someone else off the wall because I didn’t want to fix my rope, and someone might get hurt. So I released the hold with my left hand, swung the rope and returned my hand to the jug. Darn. The rope was still stuck, I reached out again and this time my fingers gave up on me. I fell and swung, flailing wildly and preparing for a collision, but my neighboring climber was already above me so I swung harmlessly, sinking to the ground. I hadn’t made it. The comp was over. I took my scorecard and highlighted my top five routes: a 1025, a 1000, a 975, and two 950s.
After that, almost everyone who had been in the comp filed outside with energy they all wished they had had on the walls. Jen had two soccer balls in her car and there was a little bit of snow, so we all played snowball fight soccer until someone from inside came out to tell us the scores were in. We all traipsed into the entrance room where a table was set up with ribbons all over it. The comp guy began to read the places, my group first. Sixth, then fifth, fourth, third, second, and then I heard my name. I did it. I won.