Sport

I was never very sporty at school. Small and studious, it was clear from an early age that I was never going to make it to the Olympics. Although I did attend a Maths Olympiad in University College Dublin when I was 15. Not quite the same levels of excitement.

The first (and only) time I tried to throw a javelin, I clonked myself on the head with it. Funnily enough, they never let me try the shot putt. My memories of volleyball are of falling on my arse a lot. Being less than statuesque, basketball stardom also failed to beckon, although I do recall being praised for my passing. Sadly my quick-fire passes sprang more from a deep sense of ‘oh my god, get this thing away from me’ rather than from any technical skill or savvy game planning.

And so it was that I limped (mostly metaphorically, although I did once sprain my ankle in a tangle with a trampoline) through my Physical Education in school. My long-suffering P.E. teacher Miss Larkin never lost her enthusiasm, however. Which sometimes somehow just made it all seem worse. But sometimes her positivity was so powerful it even reached me.

Her advice to us all that having a sport that we played would serve us well in later life as a means of meeting people and making new friends, especially if we ever had to move somewhere new, really resonated with me. I guess I was always about the friends. You can keep your medals but I will work hard for a decent social life.

And so it ultimately proved to be. Despite failing to find my ‘thing’ all through school, in my early twenties I found climbing. Dragged unwillingly along to a climbing wall in north London by an enthusiastic boyfriend, to my great surprise I quickly found myself hooked.

Here was a sport that was social without being a team sport. (All that letting your teammates down and being last to be picked gets a bit tired.) Here was a sport where you could just compete against yourself. Getting to the top of routes that felt hard to me gave me real satisfaction, it didn’t matter that others around me were doing far harder stuff.

Best of all, here was a sport you got to practice in the most beautiful and fun of settings. Weekends away with friends started to be spent at the crags of the Peak and Lake Districts and on the sea-cliffs of Pembroke. Holidays were taken to relaxing sports climbing destinations like Mallorca and Kalymnos.

And slowly, without really noticing it, I started to get fitter and stronger and healthier. And, (dare I say it?), even somewhat sporty. Finally gaining confidence in one sport made me much more open and able to try others. Later I would also get hooked on surfing. Being motivated to perform well in climbing would make me turn to pilates and core-strengthening exercises as well as being more aware of my overall aerobic fitness.

Me, climbing at Gandia, Alicante on New Year’s Day 2011

Now, as an ex-pat in Spain I have really lived the truth of Miss Larkin’s words. The quickest and easiest friendships to form have been with other climbers. They are also the deepest. Climbers are the people we spend the most time with. The shared sporting passion unites where language and cultural barriers could divide.

The two photos that accompany this post neatly illustrate the impact of this sport in my life. We had travelled to Alicante in our new motorhome to spend the Christmas fortnight in sunny southern Spain. On 31/12/2010 we pulled up at the foot of Gandia crag at around 7pm. Packing a bottle of Cava and a seafood platter we were ready for an exciting New Year’s Eve spent in our camper with our 14 month old son.

Richie stepped out of the van to make a phone call, as reception was poor inside. At precisely this moment, some Galician climbers we had previously met in Fontainebleau happened to be descending from the crag after a day’s climbing. And that is how we ended up seeing in the New Year with them in their friend’s luxury villa outside Alicante.

New Year’s Eve amongst friends

Sport. It’s a wonderful thing.

This post is for the Olympics inspired ‘Sport’ theme on The Gallery. Click below to visit more Gallery posts.

5 Goals for April

I am always full of goals and projects to the point where sometimes instead of being uplifting they weigh me down. I am the eternal optimist (dreamer? lunatic? you decide what you want to call it – me, I’m sticking with optimist for reasons of self-preservation.)

I can look at a 2,000m2 steep-sided cow field and picture it perfectly as a landscaped eden with productive orchard and veggie patch. I can then take that lovely cow field and turn a large portion of it into an inaccessible mire of brambles and nettles as I bite off more than I can chew and let it all overwhelm me.

This is NOT my garden. Sadly, from my mean-spirited point of view, it bears a great resemblance to the gardens of all my neighbours in its general orderliness and productivity. Image courtesy of Wikipedia

I could reel off some excellent excuses here for that particular failure (oh look, it seems I am), like my broken arm that took a year and a titanium plate to heal (skiing – the devil’s sport, ’nuff said) and of course there was pregnancy and a new baby and full time motherhood to deal with. But mostly I just bit off more than I could chew.

Ah yes, I’m not one to do things by halves. (Well, I am actually, in fact that’s probably the heart of my problem -  a chronic inability to actually finish off any one project. But that doesn’t suit my thread here ) When I make a mistake it’s a big one. A huge one. A half-acre one. One that sits proudly in the centre of the village. One that is clearly visible on Google Earth. Now that’s what I call a mistake.

So anyway, that’s me. This year I’m back for take two on the garden. Baby is now nearly 2 and a half and I’ve gotten fed up of the crick in my neck that came from constantly avoiding looking at it (the garden, not the baby). And it’s already looking loads better (ditto). I’ve got potatoes in, jerusalem artichokes, carrots, strawberries, rocket, spinach, lettuces, herbs loads of flowers and trees and a couple of fruit bushes. But already I can feel it starting to get away from me.

I catch myself looking around the field (still a long way off being not quite a domesticated garden) picturing it all perfectly planned and perfectly productive. The scene is so real I can not only see it but I can almost touch it and feel it and taste the succulent organic fruit. Which is all fabulous, except for the fact that between me and that reality lies several months of ongoing hard graft. And the sacrifice of other activities and opportunities. And, when it comes down to it, do I want it that badly? Can I actually pull it off?

The view from my garden. Not a bad place to have to hang out.

If I am to succeed (and when I say succeed, I simply mean a) not drive myself insane and b) actually bring about a net improvement in the garden and not just break off halfway through, abandoning it to be reclaimed by weeds) I need to break the task down into individual, achievable goals.

And of course this is just one of my current fantasies goals.I need to set this task in the broader context of my other goals. (Not to even mention the over-riding goal which both permeates all others and trumps them all, and revolves round one happy little boy and keeping him that way.) I need to look at combining these goals where possible and, where not, ensuring that each one receives adequate attention/time so that overall I am getting the most out of each and remaining motivated.

So, when I saw Kate’s 5 goals for April link I seized upon it with glee. 5 goals for one month sounds just perfect. 5 specific, measurable and attainable goals. A month to commit to them – enough time to achieve a considerable amount but really no time at all; any pain or sense of self-sacrifice will fly by. All topped off with a public declaration of intent. Ah, the impetus to be had from the potential of more public failure – just the ticket!

Who knows, if it all works out and I’ve achieved loads I might want to keep it up and do the same next month? Maybe with a few more thrown in for good luck….(See? This is how it all starts…)

So, my 5 goals for April are:

1. Gardening: Finish my spring planting plan: pimientos padrones, cherry tomatoes, courgettes, beetroot, cherry trees. Keep waging war on weeds – dedicate at least one hour three times a week to this task. That way hopefully I’ll be able to hold my head up high again in the village (literally.)

2. Climbing – redpoint a 6c+/7a. This will be unintelligible to any non-climber but to me it means a lot. And now I’ve gone and said it out loud. For April. It’s long been a tenuous goal of mine for this year/season…. Feck it, why not now? I can get there within a month – with a careful choice of route (I have one in mind) and a commitment to training daily (even if that’s only a dogwalk and some core stability exercises some days). Most of all, I know it will give my confidence a huge boost if when I do it.

3. Blogging. Something else that simply makes me happy when I dedicate time to it. (And when I’m happy I’m a nicer mummy and partner and far more productive.) So I’m going to do just that, dedicate some time in a structured way. The mornings are my best time for writing. I need time and space for it – before the tiny terremoto (lit. translation: earthquake) rises. Unwanted conclusion: must start setting the alarm and getting up earlier.  Hey, it won’t kill me for a month, right? If it works out I can keep it up….and if not I can just sleep for the whole month of May

4. Re-paint our rental house before the first guests of the new season arrive on 5th May. (See how timely this list is?)

5. Finally, and reluctantly, if I’m to achieve all of these, I think I’m going to have to cut alcohol out of my life almost entirely. An ice cold beer or chilled glass of albarino wine at the end of a long day is often a perceived necessity welcome delight but also signals an abrupt end to any productivity on my part as I slump in a heap on the sofa for the evening. So, no drinking mid-week. By which I mean Sunday through Thursday. (Note to future self: sorry about the lack of wiggle room on the interpretation of mid-week. Remember, I’m doing this for us!)

So that’s my month sewn up. What about you? Any goals you’d like to share? Any advice for me on mine?

Fitness and Training in Motherhood

The Saturday before last dawned cold and bracing as Europe was hit by a Siberian cold snap. Not the weather for venturing into the great outdoors with a toddler who hates wearing hat, gloves and coat. Languishing in bed listening to BBC radio on the internet and drinking PG Tips (life abroad eh?) I had a brilliant idea. We could go to the little indoor climbing wall at Arriondas sports centre. Parenthood and the weather combined could not prevent us from climbing.

With its gentle slabby routes, lack of crowds (read: I’ve never seen another soul there), and vast gym hall for toddler romping, football and general shenanigans, it would be perfect for a chilled morning yet with a nominal ‘training’ label to make me feel virtuous. We even had a friend willing to accompany us and bring our team to the magic number 3 – one to climb, one to belay and one to tame entertain toddler at all times. (Understanding climbing partners are vital when you’re a parent.)

So off we trotted, with me feeling terribly smug. What I hadn’t realized was that since the last time we were there about a year ago, the wall had hosted an event in the Spanish Championships, with some of the world’s best sports and competition climbers in attendance (Ramón Julián Puigblanque anyone?). So they’d had to up the difficulty somewhat on the wall.

When I saw the 5 metre roof that they’d slapped on the top of the routes I was horrified somewhat taken aback. Roofs are not my thing. Roofs require power, strength and force of will. I’m more of a delicate, face-climbing, crimping (and sometimes, sadly, wimping) kind of gal. Now every single route had its finish at the outer end of the roof. I failed to complete a single one.

Me getting into upside down territory on the roof (shortly before I fell off)

I guess sometimes life just puts a roof where you didn’t expect one. And sometimes you feel like as soon as you clear one roof, there’s another one lined up that you hadn’t seen before.

That’s kind of the start that 2012 got off to for me – with one illness followed by another and then the wintry weather kicking in to curtail all outdoor activity. I was beginning to feel sorry for myself, as well as desperately unfit.

But I’ve discovered a few things about overcoming roofs. One is that training sure helps (go figure). Another is that a positive mental attitude is vital – you’ve just got to keep flinging yourself at the damn thing and, above all, don’t stop and don’t let go!! Tenacity rules.

So, I’ve decided to make sure and train in some way every single day. To make it possible to do this I’ve had to be clear that training has to be often home-based, brief and snatched while Jack’s asleep. But that’s the great thing – simple small things can make all the difference, as long as you keep doing them regularly.

So, take yesterday. It was another freezing day so I decided to stay in with Jack rather than go out cragging en famille but, before Richie left, he looked after Jack while I walked the dog up the hill and then, nicely warmed up, did half an hour of pilates/core stablility work with a tiny bit of weights thrown in. Nothing drastic but enough to make me feel good about myself and to keep my core strength building.

The surprising truth is that since Jack was born I’ve become fitter and stronger and more motivated than ever. Before that I had the luxury of thinking that training was a dirty word. I had plenty of time to get the exercise I needed more organically through the activities I did. Not anymore.

And so I’ve discovered the unexpected joy of a little focussed training, alongside the joy of getting my body back after pregnancy and breastfeeding, the joy of having some time that is entirely devoted to me in the purest sense and the joy of actually getting better at something.

On Being Good

Another fab day climbing. The January sun shone and we were climbing in our t-shirts, despite being at 700metres with snow on the mountaintops close around us.

Alberto climbing Dueto Calavera 7b, Pelugano, Asturias

Jack was in nursery and Richie and I were climbing together with Alberto. I worried Alberto might not be getting enough done, climbing in a three. I needn’t have though, turns out that after a full day’s climbing at the crag he was heading to the ‘tablon’ (bouldering gym) to train!

This reminded me, yet again (climbing’s a great sport for this), that people who are good at something don’t get to be so and to stay so by accident. It takes work, ongoing work, which takes motivation.

Alberto's tablon. No local climbing gym? Get together with some friends, rent an apartment, gut it and build your own wall. Now that's motivation!

Top climbers don’t find it all easy, even though it might seem that way when you read of their exploits in magazines. On the contrary, top climbers are the ones who try really, really hard. On every route or boulder problem, on every day of training. They’re the ones who aren’t defeated by failure but tie back into the rope and step back onto the rock for another try until eventually they top out victorious. And so it is with any sport or indeed any walk of life.

So the next time I reach an impasse, be it on the rock or not, I’m going to take it simply as a challenge to work out the next move and to train a little harder to get the necessary power.

Motivation for Slackers

I’ll be the first to admit that I can sometimes give up too easily. Like, if you were to say to me, ‘Mary, I think you give up too easily,’ I’d probably just sigh and agree with you rather than fighting my corner.

I have journals crammed full of wonderful ideas, detailing the starts of numerous exciting projects but tailing off into lonely lines of emptiness. The only foolproof way I know to keep myself going against my lazier self’s overwhelming apathy is to willingly place myself in a situation where failure is too awful a fate to contemplate. Pretty dumb perverse, eh? (Perhaps I should change the tagline of this blog to ‘Life between a rock and a hard place.)

Take learning Spanish. I’d fancied the idea for years. I even got as far as buying the Michel Thomas Spanish Course on CD. Which then languished unopened on my bedroom floor for the next two years. (This revelation also says rather a lot about my standards of housekeeping. But we’re not here to talk about that.)

The solution to my linguistic inertia? Why, to buy a house in rural Northern Spain of course! No signing up for evening classes or splashing out on an in-country residential course for me. A simple spot of emigration ought to do the trick.

Foolhardy Impulsive I may be, but it certainly did the trick. When faced with the prospect of spending the rest of my life as a friendless mute, (well, with only my partner to talk to – not healthy!) endlessly engaging in mime shows in order to get anything at all done I finally ripped that cellophane off those Michel Thomas CDs and got stuck in.

Which is where I might leave off if this was the Hollywood version of ‘How I Learned to Speak Spanish.’ But of course the key to my finally learning wasn’t about biting through some cellophane. It was about what happened in the days, weeks, months and, yes, years, after. It was about keeping going and not giving up even when I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere.

Like I say, I had already made sure that I wasn’t really in any position to give up, sat here on my (potentially very lonely) Asturian hilltop. So, persevere I did, and still do. Perfecting a language as an adult learner is a big task. Luckily I now have a language assistant, who as a native speaker is helping me enormously with my pronunciation and expanding my vocabulary no end. So far mainly with childish terms such as ‘pupa’ (meaning ‘booboo’) – but then he is only 2

Professor Patterson has an informal teaching style, often taking his classes to the street for real life interactions.

For information on some of the language learning resources I have used (other than my son!) take a look here