Nick by Quinn Dannies
I'd been rock climbing for four years when I first met Nick. He was the new coach for the climbing team that I had been a part of for as long as it had been in existence. At first I was skeptical of him, sure he was an amazing climber, but he seemed like all of the other regulars at the gym, who were each in turn roped into coaching for a season. After the season ended, I had begun to realize that climbing competitively was not something I was interested in anymore, and I wouldn't be going back to the team. As I had guessed Nick wasn't either. Instead, he offered to coach me privately and show me a different side of climbing. That summer, under Nick's guidance, my whole view of climbing changed. Freed from the exclusiveness of the team, I was finally able to become a part of the amazing climbing community that Vermont had to offer, and with all of their help, I grew not only as a climber, but as a person.
Nick taught me so many things, some climbing specific, and others were just about life in general, one of his lessons sticks out in my mind. We were climbing together at Rumney, a group of cliffs in New Hampshire that we traveled to almost every weekend. We were finishing up a route, and discussing where to go next. Nick mentioned a climb called "Lonesome Dove". He called it a classic and said that I should try it that day. I was interested, and trying to get a feel for this climb, I inquired about how hard it was; I'll never forget his response. He looked at me straight in the eyes with a weird expression that I had never seen before, "Quinn, when someone tells you it's a good climb, you should try it, don't think about how hard it is, it's the climbing that matters, not the grade"; It took me a second to absorb this, but after we moved on to other climbs, it disappeared into the back of my mind.
A few days later, Nick's words found their way back into my thoughts: "it's the climbing that matters, not the grade, it's the climbing that matters, not the grade" over and over. At that moment, the full meaning of what he said hit me. I realized that it was the climbing that mattered, everything else was just ego. Ever since I have been integrating this idea, not only into my climbing, but all aspects of my life; I've stopped killing myself over getting good grades and making millions of dollars. Naturally, I still want to succeed, but, success is relative: I could grow up and live in a huge house with six cars and everything else that money can buy, but that won't necessarily make me happy. I've learned to put less stock in conventional measurements of success, and focus on what makes me happy and gives me a sense of fulfillment.
When you really get into the zone while climbing, everything flows naturally, your eyes go soft, and anything is possible so long as your ego doesn't get in the way. By getting rid of the pressures that come with success, this flow comes more naturally. This state of mind can be achieved in any aspect of life; and the feeling of being in this zone is better than any that comes with "success" there's nothing that can describe it. Now whenever some misguided person asks me how hard the route that I'm climbing is, I have to smile. Usually I tell them it doesn't matter, and give them a chance to try for themselves; without fail they climb better on it than if they had known that the route was a few grades above the level that they thought they were at. ction sweeps over me as I pull out of the lot, ready to resume the mundane routine of daily life, at least until next weekend…
