It’s Not Cool To Care

Oh, El Cap? Yeah, we climbed that. No big deal...

I was at the gym a while back when a climber I know showed up looking shredded, with muscles and veins a-bulging. He warmed up on a few easy problems, did a few cursory shoulder stretches, and then floated all over my project like he was wearing some sort of anti-gravity shorts from the future. After prancing like a My Pretty Pony up the climb I’d been hammering away at for weeks, he gave me a little “What’s up, dude,” nod, like he didn’t just burn me off. In a show of faux humility, he said something about how hard the climb was for him, as he hadn’t had time to train, lately.

“Yeah, me neither,” I replied, absentmindedly pinching my pale muffin top, glazed in effort sweat and powdered with gym chalk. Then the dudebro with the Bruce Lee abs spun a yarn about his injured finger and how busy things were at work. He made it sound like he hadn’t touched a hold in years, but I could tell by the scabs and callouses on his sausagey digits that he was lying like a shag carpet.

Why would someone obviously so fit, who puts so much effort into his sport of choice, want to pretend that he doesn’t train? What’s wrong with training, anyhow? It’s how we get better, after all. But on closer examination, we can see that training equals caring, and, if I learned anything in high school, it’s that caring isn’t cool.

One Strap Vs. Two

I was reminded of this strange aversion to caring while watching the pretty-funny remake of 21 Jump Street last week. Here’s one scene, as two young-looking cops prepare to go undercover in a high school:

Jenko: Are you two strapping?
Schmidt: My backpack? Yeah.
Jenko: I gotta be seen with you. You gotta one-strap it. Seriously, I’d no-strap if that would even be possible.

Why does Jenko insist on one-strapping it? Because it is a lackadaisical gesture, a physical embodiment of not caring. To put the straps over both of his shoulders would indicate that he cares about lame things, like school, proper spinal alignment… or anything, really. Jenko goes on to offer up the “three rules of coolness,” the first two of which are: “Don’t try hard at anything,” and, “Make fun of people who do try.” The movie spends a lot of time dealing with this Catch 22: by creating his “rules of coolness,” Jenko is violating his first own rule. Devising rules about not caring means you care too much.

There’s a history of the too-cool-to-care attitude in climbing. You can see it from the early days, when the Valley bums were viewed as the apotheosis of the sport. They smoked pot, they drank, they loafed and lolled in the grass with their shirts open to the waist like Walt friggin’ Whitman. Then, when the spirit moved them, the ascended the sheer granite faces, buoyed by updrafts of cool. Or so it seemed.

Tony Yaniro was one of the first climbers to hang-dog climbs and rehearse moves. He invented route-specific training devices to help him redpoint — an early version of the campus board, for example. Not surprisingly, he was criticized for his tactics under the guise of ethics. Yaniro would do anything to send, which is probably why he was the first person to climb a 5.13b/c way back in 1979. But to the climbing establishment of Yaniro’s day, it wasn’t cool to care… at least, not that much.

Another example? Go back and watch the Big UP video Rampage. You’ll see a young (emphasis on young) Chris Sharma goofing around in the back of a Winnebago, making fun of training and doing sit-ups in a show of mock-caring. Next we see him monkeying around in the branches of a tree, as if that’s the only training he needs to climb some of the hardest routes and problems in the world. The implication is that he’s a natural (which he is), and that naturals don’t have to train to be great (which, on the contrary, they do). Today, an older, wiser, and stronger Sharma has come to grips with caring, to the point of caring too much. And let’s not forget Alex Honnold, who lives out of a van just so he can spend all of his time climbing, often without a rope and right on the edge of annihilation. When the reporters ask him to explain, he always insists, with a wide-eyed gaze and the tinge of a smile, that his exploits are “no big deal.”

The Myth of “The Natural”

The mythology of The Natural is a powerful one, and it’s perpetrated in many a human endeavor. Child savant musicians, baseball players, math prodigies — all of these are supposedly born, not made. But while natural ability undoubtedly plays into the greatness of many of the worlds Greats, there is always a component of hard work — grueling, repetitive practice — that goes into that greatness. Even the 12-year-old pianist who seems to channel Bach has put thousands of hours of practice into her art. It’s just when she’s at the helm of that Steinway, we see none of it; we see only a seemingly magical feat of musical skill. The much-publicized story of the climbing prodigy Ashima Shiraishi plays this out. Despite her relatively few years, she trains like an Olympic athlete. It is the combination of her talent and her focused effort that have made her the subject of several short films and articles in the Times and the Wall Street Journal, among others. The truth is, behind every amazing send there are 100 days at the crag or the gym and 1,000 falls and failures.

The title for this post came from a discussion with my co-worker, Chuck Odette. We noted the strange tendency of some climbers to “closet train” — to secretly work out and then deny it, like the fellow I describe at the beginning of this post. We agreed the that such behavior is silly, juvenile, even. Chuck is 56 years old and he recently FA’ed a 5.14b. He’s got an eye on retirement, for Chrissakes — too old to pretend that climbing comes easy for him. Indeed, Chuck is all about caring.

Chuck will be the first to tell you that he’s made sacrifices to maintain a high level of fitness and skill on the rock. He climbs often and regularly, using his vacation days to stay on schedule. His diet is plotted to the calorie. He eats in The Zone, which means turkey sandwiches on low-carb bread, diet soda or water, and low-fat yogurt sprinkled with protein powder. Even when we’re all packing our spray-holes with greasy pizza, Chuck gets the salad, chicken on top, dressing on the side. He indulges in a beer only after a good send. And at work, he does yoga, opposition workouts, and martial arts “katas” behind the building during his lunch hour. Chuck knows that if he wants something enough, he has to work for it and work hard. It would take too much energy to pretend not to care. Plus, it wouldn’t be honest. Chuck loves to tell people the secret to his success, because he knows there are no shortcuts. First, you have to want it. Then you have to be willing to give up a lot to get it.

Bill Ramsey, another middle-aged crusher with a penchant for suffering, came up with a handy mental model called the Pain Box. The box is divided in two with a movable line in the middle. The space within the box represents the sum amount of pain one will feel in one’s life. On one half is he pain that comes from hard work. On the other half is the pain that comes from sucking. You can have less of one kind of pain, but that just means you’ll have more of the other. Ramsey, like Odette, touts the benefits of self-discipline as the path to achievement. Good things don’t just happen to us — we have to work for them. And if they do just happen to us, how good can they be? After all, we didn’t earn them.

The Rebirth of Cool

Which brings me back to 21 Jump Street. When Jenko and Schmidt arrive at the high-school, where they’re trying to infiltrate a drug ring, they find that everyone is two-strapping it. Much to his dismay, Jenko, a jock during his high school tenure, discovers that the cool kids are now into computers and science and get good grades. Caring, much to his dismay, is now cool. In this brave new world, Schmidt, once bully-fodder, must deal with the corrupting influence of popularity. Likewise in today’s climbing world, openly caring is becoming the norm. With a whole crop of climbers bred in gyms and the growing popularity of competition climbing, especially among the youth demographic, trying hard is fast becoming the thing to do. Not caring either means you’re a) lazy, b) not that into what you’re doing, or c) trying to cover up just how much you really care about being good. Either way, you lose.

17 thoughts on “It’s Not Cool To Care

  1. dudeswithtents

    I agree with, ohhhh, all of this. However, one thing to consider in your opening bouldering scenario, is that, maybe, Dolph Lundgren’s long lost twin was just trying to be nice to you and not unintentionally humiliate you. I’ve warmed up on other people’s projects right in front of them before. Not to brag. Not show that I don’t care. But simply because there is a finite number of routes in the gym and an infinite number of climbers. If a conversation happens to strike up after, I would probably make similar statements as Dolph Jr. Not because I “don’t care”, but simply because I don’t want to discourage that other person.

    And that’s about 5x more than I wanted to write…

    Reply
    1. pbhoffmeister

      But the point was that Dolph Jr. tried to pretend he hadn’t climbed lately (hadn’t trained, had been injured, etc.), and we all know that guy. If he failed on an “easy” 5.11a at say… Smith Rock, he’d suddenly mention a previously undisclosed wrist injury.

      Reply
    2. Ted

      So, does that mean you actually care 5x more than you would like to appear to care (all in the spirit of this article…).

      I hear you about easy sending on other’s projects. If I have the option or the compassion I will wait til the person is done and out of the area before I hop on it. As I’ve gotten older and am no longer a cute little kid climbing, I think the ‘dick’ aura can be more stronger.

      Reply
  2. Andrew Bisharat

    Great great post Justin!!! It’s so true. A few thoughts came to mind while reading it; I’d love to share, if I may.

    Most of the great climbers out there were climbing 5.14 in their first year or two of climbing, well before gladwell’s 10,000 hours of practice. However, I also think 5.14 will be the new 5.12 within the next decade–I.e., a slightly above average grade anyone can achieve and often onsight.

    I’ve been on both sides of the gym situation you vividly describe. I’ve been burned off by those too cool to care, and I’ve also burned off people, and, when ou burn someone off, it’s a weird situation. You are really psyched because you climbed something hard, but you also are a polite American, and you don’t want to tap dance on someone’s shortcomings. But you are right; it’s ‘cooler’ to not care than to care. Still, it’s a catch22… I’m not sure what the appropriate response would be?

    ‘Wow, great problem. I’m really psyched I just hiked it, and I’d like to show my enthusiasm for 2 or 3 minutes even though I can sympathize with your crestfallen expression. I’d also like to explain to you that I’ve been climbing for 13 years, very consistently; I watch what I eat, and I have been motivated to improve, and I’ve benefited from circumstances such as having a plethora of other much stronger climbing partners who have elevated my abilities. So you can see that my current level of enthusiasm isn’t so much derivative of any deep schadenfreude, but rather, a moment of celebration and personal gratification over my hard work and how far I’ve come. Please understand this and permit me a few minutes to show naked enthusiasm, even though it so obviously comes at the expense of your own feelings of self worth. You will get the problem someday, so cheer up, bucko!’

    Maybe I could just print that out on some index cards to hand out next time I go to the gym and find myself in this situation

    Reply
    1. thestonemind

      HA! Nice, Andrew. I guess the only delineation I’d like to make on that point is that there is NOTHING wrong with one person being stronger than the other. But pretending like you’re out of shape, haven’t been climbing, etc., when really you’ve been at home doing inverted sit-ups, drinking muscle milk, and cranking on the campus board, is disingenuous. That’s the type of closet training I’m referring to.

      No need to downplay or play up your fitness (I mean, does anyone really care?) No need to say anything, really. Just do your climb and move on. If you want to small talk, you can just say, “Hey, cool problem!” Or something inane yet honest like that.

      In the words of Lao Tzu, “Accomplish but do not boast, accomplish without show, accomplish without arrogance, accomplish without grabbing, accomplish without forcing.”

      It’s certainly not easy. Maybe not totally attainable, even, but honest hard work without the arrogance and show feels like the ideal to me!

      Reply
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  4. Karsten

    Totally agree with this post. I read a book the other week: Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. It talked about this exact behavior but from a more scientific standpoint.

    Reply
  5. finchplucker

    Hear hear. Great post, and a situation I think anyone reading this blog can relate to.

    Simple fact of the matter is that people will be stronger or weaker, better or worse. People will project my warmups, and I project other people’s warmups. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about being stronger or weaker. Just climb, and if you want to try hard, do that.

    I think you hit on the other side of the equation too. When folks say something like “oh well if I had fingers of steel like you” or “Oh that’s the beta, just be really strong,” I think it shortchanges the hard work that people do put in to their craft. When I watch someone crush something I can’t even hang on to, I’m psyched to see what’s possible, not jealous of their “natural ability.” Okay maybe a little, but I’m working on it.

    Reply
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  7. Juniperaa

    Great read. But I think (I do this sometimes) when people say “oh I am not really feeling fit” or “I havent been training much” they might be comparing themselves to an “ideal self” that they have in mind, or to a different period in their lives when they have been training more. You can sure send other people’s projects and look like you are in great shape, but that does not mean that you are in your best shape. Say if you are normally sending 5.13s, and walk a 5.12a, sure that looks awesome to someone who is normally sending 5.11s and is working that 5.12a, but that does not mean you are having a great day. You might be training/or climbing somehow, but not enough in your mind…

    Reply
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