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IknowhowIfeel
It can be tough getting all these leading questions and comments.
“So, are you getting TONS of shoe orders lately?”
“It seems like your business is BOOMING!”
I have to laugh them off and reply that no, I haven’t been getting tons of orders. I would not characterize my resole business as “booming.” Obviously, I appreciate the enthusiasm and the support, but I also have to swallow a lump in my throat.
Look, if I had a dollar for every time someone has said to me, “I’ve got at least a couple pairs of shoes for you to resole,” I’d probably have, well … the cost of a resole. Like $50. I launched the resoling business a few months ago, but after a pretty steady influx of shoes, it’s gotten slow. I know people have shoes. The difficulty is getting those shoes into my hands.
I can’t say I’ve been trying all that hard to get said shoes into my hands, though. The reality is, after grinding at 3+ jobs for 10 months, I sort of hit a wall. As the shoes dwindled, I welcomed the free time. Apart from a few days with family in New York and a bachelorette weekend, I didn’t really have a summer. So, I made fall my new “summer.” I’ve soaked up these precious last days outside in comfortable weather. I’ve chipped away at my summer bucket list. And I’ve faced the tragic fact of adulthood: life is a lot more fun when you don’t work.
The last month or so has been every bit of what Matthew McConaughey calls “LIVIN.” I’ve gone climbing with new and old friends, in and outdoors. Bike riding. Catching up with a coworker over pie. I ran a marathon in New Hampshire, surrounded by so many loved ones — two sets of aunts and uncles, my parents, two middle school friends, a college friend, and two dachshunds. I returned to Colorado and immediately made plans. Three girlfriends want to trail run to a cantina for margs? Yes. Let me take another friend out to Fairplay and we’ll stay at my family’s cabin, hike around. Why not hike a fourteener with my best buddy Zach?
I got a bloody nose taking a literal sip of whiskey at my friends’ pumpkin party. I saw my favorite band for the 11th time, and they played 21 songs! I watched my friend send a 5.13b on his second try. I got last-minute tickets to a show at Red Rocks, and it left my jaw on the floor for two hours straight. I’d put it in the top 5 shows I’ve ever been to — and I’ve been to a LOT of shows. Just when I thought I’d had enough, I went to a local show in town to see friends play, and had just as much as fun — in back-to-back nights.
During that Red Rocks show (Parcels), I turned to my friend Josh and said, “This is the kind of thing that reminds you why you’re ALIVE.” So many of these experiences in the past month have invigorated me because I feel like I’m LIVIN, when the past 10 months, all I’ve done is work to live. Moreover, they’ve been invigorating because they’ve been so spontaneous, unexpected. The way life should be. Not some boring routine that you rinse and recycle.
I know it’s not sustainable to push my business to the side. I’m no stranger to the grind, and I will of course get back at it. But it has been so refreshing to not stress about it for just a moment. I’ve told people that in many ways, I feel like I’ve already won. I built a freaking resole business out of nothing in 8 months. Sure, there are many times I still have no idea what I’m doing. (I was a psychology major. Nobody taught me about sales tax licenses or bookkeeping.) But I am learning constantly regardless. I’m building ad campaigns and designing graphics; I’m brainstorming all the time. Even though I’m not buried in shoes, I’m no failure. I had the guts to try this whole dang thing in the first place.
“I haven’t gotten a lot of shoes lately, but instead of working on marketing, I’ve just been goofing off,” I told my family friend, John, on the phone.
“Yeah, I’m sure when you look back five years from now, you’re really going to regret taking some time off to have some fun,” he responded sarcastically.
Geez, I really hope not. Then future Sarah really isn’t LIVIN.
It’s Not Whether You Win or Lose
You know that pithy statement, It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game?
Man, that feels actually so true in my life right now.
It started with returning to my outdoor climbing project, Sonic Youth (5.13a). My badass climbing partner, Casey, had shown it to me in the fall. She subsequently sent it after 4 sessions like the crusher she is. I questioned if it would go back to it; I only had two sessions on it, and it seemed decently out of reach. But my buddy Brit was interested in checking it out last month, so I said, “Why the heck not?”
When I got back to it in March, I climbed it better than I ever had before. I dialed in the crux beta, falling on it probably a dozen times until I successfully locked it in. I wasn’t frustrated — I was ecstatic. Suddenly, this route was plausible.
I ended up going back two weeks later. The conditions weren’t ideal — I had traveled the day before and didn’t get to sleep until 1:30 am. But the first attempt I made, I nearly sent it! I made it through the crux, and was so surprised, I pumped myself out, hesitating. I whipped a couple more times on it after that, but I felt so joyful. Even though I’d technically “failed”, I felt the strongest I ever had. I felt so accomplished that I had turned something that once seemed practically impossible to just out of reach.
I found myself thinking about this paradox last night at game two of the first round of the NBA playoffs, Nuggets v. Clippers. My two coworkers, Chelsea and Jeremiah, had proposed we see a playoff game before the tickets got too expensive. I was in — we even splurged on more pricey tickets to be closer to the court.
What a phenomenal choice that was. I had the time of my life! Watching the Nuggets battle it out against the Clippers, the point difference never exceeding 8 points, was the most thrilling basketball experience I have ever had — maybe even more than the Nuggets winning the finals back in 2023.
I was reflecting on this feeling as we departed Ball Arena, the Nuggets losing by just once basket but playing a very solid, tactical game. We lost, but it didn’t really feel like we lost. In a larger sense, I’ve been experiencing this win-lose phenomenon for months: chipping away tirelessly and then experiencing a roadblock. Rinse and repeat.
I’m trying to start my own business. But it’s more than trying; I want to relentlessly pursue it until it either succeeds or fails. So attached to this dream I have become, practically no setback can deter me. Every “no” or closed door just galvanizes me to try harder, to work smarter, to rethink things. To play the game better.
In all cases, it’s not about the outcome. Mastering every move of Sonic Youth was so thrilling; every dunk by Aaron Gordon brought the biggest smile and loudest screams; every successful business email and call lights a fire inside of me. Who cares that I didn’t send the route, that the Nuggets lost the game, that the business isn’t moving as fast as I thought it would? I am winning the experience.
I find myself more equanimous (I had to look up the adjective of equanimity) by the day. When I get harried by a bunch of customers coming into the restaurant, I take a breath and tell myself I’m just hungry and there’s nothing wrong. When I am climbing the stairs to the casual shoe warehouse for the umpteenth time to find another size of Blundstones for someone, I tell myself, at least I’m getting my steps. The other day, I got cut off by a car while I was leaving work, and after a flash of anger, my brain flipped the switch. Maybe that person is experiencing an emergency and needs to rush.
I say all of this with a grain of salt, though. While I’ve developed more composure in certain situations, I am an emotional being to my core. Lately, it’s my empathy that’s gotten the better of me — tears forming for both loved ones and strangers after learning of their pain, as if it were about me or if I were the one hurt. It is this contradiction that makes me want to lean into the idea of “playing the game” better from an emotional standpoint; to be the one who enjoys the process (the ups and downs of life) and feels accepting of the outcome (happiness, love, heartbreak, frustration, and all the other things life throws).
The other day, I went climbing at the gym with my coworker, Xander. We got on ropes, which neither of us had done for a while. I hopped on this new 5.12 that Casey had told me about — she called it “spicy.” “Spicy” is often a euphemism for “sketchy” in climbing. The first half of the route was reasonable, but then it really turned up. I was surprising myself as I made several improbable right hand bumps on crimps, and on the the penultimate hold, a giant sloper, my foot cut unexpectedly. I rested and finished the route easily. Xander lowered me.
“Are you okay?” He asked, somewhat concerned and crestfallen. He couldn’t believe I had come off the wall.
“Totally!” I replied with a laugh.
“But … but … it didn’t seem like you were going to fall!” He persisted. “What happened?!”
“Ha, I’m not sure! I think that hold I pressed my feet on was a little slick and vertical, so my feet came off? It’s all good!”
It really didn’t matter to me — what mattered was how I played the game.
Do your best. Have fun.
I’ve been living so much in anticipation of events, that I’ve hardly taken any time to consider the events themselves. It really hit me this last Saturday.
All summer, I’ve been training for an event hosted by my climbing gym, CityROCK: Battle Royale. It’s a sport climbing competition that they last hosted in 2019 and in fact was won by Paris 2024 Olympic athletes Natalia Grossman and Colin Duffy. After 5 years, CityROCK had decided to bring it back. It differs from the gym’s typical “Downtown Local” comps in that there’s a cash prize ($500 for first place) and the tie breaker boils down to “the battle route.” Essentially, the battle route is such a challenging route that your goal is just to make it as far as up it possible, not necessarily finish it. If you are the male or female who makes it the furthest, you are automatically put into the finals round. Otherwise, the judges are looking at your top 3 hardest finishes. There are 20 routes, #1 being the easiest/fewest points and #20 being the hardest/most points. You get extra points if you “flash” the route (i.e. finish it on your first try) and additional points if you lead the route, rather than top rope. You get 4 hours to get your 3 routes and the top 8 climbers in each category advance.
In 2019, I was far too intimidated to compete in Battle (and knowing Natalia won, I’m honestly glad I didn’t throw my hat in the ring). But my climbing has progressed so much in the last year, it felt silly not to give it a shot this time around. I climbed hard all summer long — getting on harder routes outside than I had ever attempted, pushing myself on the toughest routes at the gym, and climbing through fatigue and fear. I had being working so hard, in fact, that I hadn’t even really imagined what Battle would actually be like.
In the months leading up, my main concern was that a ton of really strong women from Boulder or Denver would show up and blow me out of the water. While I may be one of the strongest women at CityROCK, CityROCK is just one gym in one town in Colorado. My goal with Battle was not to win; it was to hold my own. I really wanted to make it to finals, at least, and make a decent showing.
When I arrived for the comp on Saturday, after months of worrying about a bunch of adult women showing me up, I was in for a bigger surprise. A lot of incredibly strong kids had come to give Battle a try. When I say “kids,” I mean high schoolers. But not just any high schoolers — high schoolers donning matching North Face USA Climbing hoodies, clearly comp kids who do these contests all the time. They looked not only strong, but serious. All business.
My fellow CityROCKers and I were definitely put through the wringer in qualifiers. For my part, my top 3 routes at Downtown Local comps are usually in the 15-20 range — e.g. I send #15, #17, and #18. This comp was way stiffer. I warmed up on #13, which probably was 5.11+/5.12-. I struggled on #14 and #15. I mercifully sent #16 but had to downgrade to #12 to just get 3 routes. And #12 was no gimme either! My attempt at the Battle route, which one of the setters speculates was 5.13c, was brutal. I wasn’t down about it, though. I was genuinely proud of myself of persevering through these tough routes, and I couldn’t help but laugh with the other CityROCK adults as these kids showed us up.
I was afraid that having #12, #13, and #16 wasn’t going to be enough to get me to finals. But it was more than enough — I got 4th in qualifiers! I’ll take that to the bank for sure, considering I had probably a decade on the ladies who got the top 3 spots. But now came the part I hadn’t thought about: finals would be in front of a large crowd of folks who had paid to spectate. Could I climb well under that sort of pressure? I didn’t know.
Gratefully, there were 3 other CityROCK members who made it to finals: Julie, Wiley, and Jono. Two men and two women from the host gym made it — it felt like we were the home team! The pressure felt a little more manageable knowing that the crowd knew us the best and would cheer for us the loudest. However, that couldn’t ease all of our nerves. As finalists, we were all put in “iso” (isolation) as the crowd filed in. We couldn’t see the routes at all, sequestered in the upstairs training area. As these high schoolers monkeyed around in iso, somehow still full of energy, the rest of us weathered adults tried to stretch and stay warm without exhausting ourselves further.
After we got 2 minutes to view each of the two finals routes, we were lined up. We all had a specific time to be called down to the climbing area, followed by a waiting period before climbing, then climbing itself. Each competitor got 6 minutes per route with a 7-minute break in between. However, before climbing each route, we had to sit in front of the wall, our backs to it, while our fellow competitors were attempting it and the crowd was cheering. To say it was stressful would be an understatement.
Mercifully, based on our qualifying rankings, Wiley and I would go down to the wall at the same time and climb at the same time. In addition, Jono would be climbing his second finals route while we climbed our first. This boosted our morale enormously.
When we got down to the gym floor, the crowd screaming and cheering, I felt overwhelmed with pride and emotion. I’ve never experienced a competition like this before. When I finally got on the wall, for the first time all day, all the jitters went away. I felt strong, controlled, and supported. I had so much fun. Though I didn’t finish either of the finals routes, I am totally satisfied with my effort. And I’ll never forget that halfway up the second route, though he was also climbing, Wiley yelled over to me, “Great job, Sarah!” He got third place — the only non-comp kid to podium.
I don’t know if visualizing finals beforehand would have helped me. The whole experience taught me so much about myself, though — how much I’ve grown as a climber and how much further I have to go. How I deal with stress and pressure and fatigue. How I maintain a positive attitude in light of setbacks. How I perform in front of an audience. What I’m most proud of, though, is how I showed up for myself and my gym. To fall off that second finals route, untie, and run into a big bear hug with Wiley and Jono made me feel such joy that the outcome was practically meaningless.
Before the day even started, I just kept repeating the mantra: Do your best. Have fun. I think I succeeded.
What happened to play?
I don’t think I was a dreamer as a kid. It’s not that I had no aspirations, but rather saw infinite possibility. I didn’t latch onto one particular dream or accomplishment because there were too many to choose from. Instead, I just worked really hard at what I did. I worked hard at school, on the field hockey field, and in the climbing gym. Whatever I did, I just tried to do it well.
When I was very little, I had an obsession with Annie, the musical. I do recall wanting to be her, on stage, for a brief time. Once that impossible dream subsided, like a lot of kids, I thought I wanted to be a veterinarian “when I grew up.” Accompanying my dad to put down our golden retriever, Dixie, at age 12 quickly dispelled that idea too. I don’t remember having any career ideas in my teens, and I certainly wasn’t ready to declare a major when I applied to colleges. The reason I majored in psychology wasn’t because I wanted to be a psychologist, either; I just loved the classes and never felt like the work was real work. It was just fun. I wanted to spend my four years enjoying my education, not loathing it.
I recently realized the lack of dreaming in my youth when I went climbing in Rifle for the first time. Rifle is certainly one of the most renowned climbing areas in the United States, but possibly the world. As a child, I would leaf through the climbing magazines in the rock gym, seeing photos of Rifle and similar crags, waiting for a parent to pick me up. I would think wow, but I never thought, Wow, I want to go there. I want to climb there someday. It didn’t even occur to me that somehow, that could be a version of my life. But now I’ve lived in Colorado for 9 years and have not just climbed in Rifle, but a number of world-renowned climbing destinations.
Making it to Rifle wasn’t just fulfilling a would-be childhood dream. Making it to Rifle was a testament to the climbing expertise that I have so relentlessly pursued for the past 18 years. Rifle has practically no moderate-level climbs — the ones that do exist, as the guidebook says, are polished and uninspiring. To have a good time at Rifle, you have to be climbing at an expert level. Or be really good at accepting failure. Because even as an expert, you will fail at Rifle. Again and again and again.
For a while now, I’ve been stewing on this idea of expertise in adulthood. To me, the greatest joy of growing up has been finding passions and tenaciously seeking more information, more knowledgeability, and more experience around them.
While climbing has been part of my life since I was just 9 years old, many of my current passions have only developed over the last 8 years or so. Take running, for example. I barely had run more than a 5K before college. Then two years ago, I qualified for the Boston Marathon — I ran the Austin Marathon at a pace of 7:26 minutes per mile. That’s mind-boggling to me, still. Was that even me?
The joy of qualifying, however, wasn’t just crossing the finish line at a wicked-fast time (for me). It was all of the work I had put into it. I had chipped away at running races, learning how to train, fuel, and recover for several half marathons and two marathons prior to Austin. The desire to improve and optimize my running was insatiable, and still is. Now training for my second ultra marathon, I am so wholly fulfilled knowing how much more I have to learn. I am learning more about endurance running practically every day. And learning more about climbing every day. And learning more about myself every day.
I have lamented to several people that when I took AP Psychology in high school, I was taught that adulthood (as defined in developmental psych) is basically broken into two categories: work and love. It’s about what you do to make a living and who you spend your time with. But what happened to play? Play is so important in childhood, but it falls to the wayside as we age. But in my current state of being, play is all I have. I am unemployed and single. Does that make me less of an adult? (Maybe a little.) But there’s so much value in play for me because I am growing and developing passions that I never dreamt I would be skillful at. Passions that have taken me so many new places and taught me what I’m made of. Without play, I don’t know who I would be, what I would do.
My uncle Carey is nearly 72 years old, and he is an expert wind surfer. The best part? He started in his 50s. After years of traveling to Hood River, the US wind surfing mecca, he and my late aunt Debbie moved to Mosier, just 5 miles east, with a population of less than 500. He wind surfs every day that it’s warm enough and the wind is blowing hard enough; he skis Mt. Hood when it’s too cold to wind surf. I remember seeing a Facebook post of his last year of him in his full wet suit, smiling ear to ear, standing on the shore with his board.
He wrote: “Pretty late in the season to be windsurfing for me, but no snow so whatcha gonna do? Glad I went! NE wind 30-35, air and water temps both ~47 degrees. Toasty in the drysuit except for the hands.”
I showed several friends and family the post, because all I could think was: this is someone in the family who gets it. That the love for play can dispel everything else. Who cares if the conditions are poor? I want to push myself.
When I asked uncle Carey last year about how he got into wind surfing and what it means to him, he said, “This is the greatest part of my life. The fact that I’m out there with people decades younger than I am, holding my own … it’s incredible.”
Maybe I didn’t dare to dream a lot when I was a kid. But as an adult, the only thing I dream about is how I can keep playing for the rest of my life.