A little while ago, I had this incredible dream about an idea that could potentially change everything that we know about rock climbing. I’ve been meaning to post something up about this idea because I need it to be released into the universe as it should be discussed.

But before I get into this curious idea, I want to write about what’s going on in my life—not so much because I care that you know what’s happening with me, but more so that I have an excuse write down and therefore make sense of the last few weeks and months that have been washing over me like waves of madness. After all, a blog was never meant to be anything more than cheap therapy—an outlet for our own neuroses.

I just returned from a week at Hueco Tanks. This was only my third trip to Hueco and by far my longest stint yet. The first trip was great, but only two days. The second trip was miserable and I blew my ass out on Mojo within two hours of being in the park. This time, instead of leaving crippled, I arrived in a compromised state having hurt my shoulder two weeks earlier when my belayer—who I shouldn’t bother naming since I like him and I know he’s embarrassed about it—gave me a hard catch and spiked me into the wall. (OK, it was Jon Cardwell.)

I was told by one doctor that I shouldn’t even go climbing. A PT recommended bathing my shoulder three times a day in this cream called Traumeel (amazing stuff that works). I stretched and did some active-release type of therapy on my shoulder, which helped. And then, I just took it really easy.

I was definitely weak, but I still managed to climb a handful of moderates up to V8, which was cool. I’m not much of a boulderer, even though I feel like I could be. It’s always frustrating to see potential and then not realize it. It seems as though I keep breaking down before I get to give hard problems an honest chance. Anyway, each year I learn a little bit more about how to approach hard problems. Here are a few tips:

• Don’t do any kind of heel hook where your foot is turned out to the side, placing your knee at an oblique angle.
• Preserving skin is the most important thing you can do for yourself. Learn how to tape skin to avoid splits; carry and use a file; use a combination of skin products.
• Recognize when you “know” how to do a move and then have the patience to rest long enough to give yourself the best shot at doing it. In other words, make fewer tries, but make them count.

Hueco is an interesting place. The climbing is so good, but part of me can’t help but wonder if all the restrictions and hoopla you have to go through just to climb there is “worth it.” It’s not just managing the reservations and getting on tours; it goes deeper. For example, on our last day on the East Spur, I climbed a bunch of new problems I’d never done before, but I don’t think I climbed a single one without being told, by the guide and the other climbers, exactly how to climb it. I’m old enough to know that having this beta spoon fed to me definitely takes away something from my accomplishment—it’s undeniably easier. I can’t help but wonder how that affects all the young kids there, and if they will grow into this sport thinking that spoon-fed beta is standard protocol. It’s too bad for them, if so, but I’m not all that worried about them; they’re all just so strong and so good. They’ll be fine.

Climbing is getting more popular. I imagine these compromises that we make at Hueco will become the norms elsewhere, too. Better get used to it.

On rest days we played bocci ball; at nights we played euchre. I absolutely loved being a part of that desert environment for a week. There’s something about the landscape surrounding Hueco that I find heartbreakingly beautiful. The muted sounds of wind-stirred dirt in the evenings, coyotes at night. The bank of clouds that roll in from the distant west. The painfully blue and blood red skies at sunset. The sheer mystery of all that’s hidden in plain view.

I returned from Hueco to a tsunami of work and have been caught inside and suffocating within the swell ever since. I’ve been pursuing a bunch of creative side projects that are all really cool and I’m excited about, but they have also left me feeling worn a bit thin. It’s hard to get ahead.

I’ve been feeling a very mild pang of melancholy over some recent actions and behaviors that have left me with the realization about how selfish we all are. Just struggling so hard to get ours, get that next dollar, that next bit of recognition. Everyone is out to take. Everything in our lives seems designed to cater to this most base self-absorption—from blogging, to Facebook statuses, to the videos we make about ourselves, and so on.

I feel happy that life is a little bit hard, a little bit of a struggle, to get by. I’m glad I wasn’t born in Africa, for example, or into a life of true hardship … but I’m also glad I wasn’t given everything easily. At least that’s what I tell myself when my friends are on the never-ending all-expenses-paid climbing trip. What’s sad to me is how many of these people “living the dream” actually seem perpetually discontent and insecure. Not all, but many.

I think it would be hard to just climb your whole life. I think of a profession like being a doctor or even kindergarten teacher, like Jen, to be good expressions of selflessness—and therefore potential paths to true contentment in life. I wish that there were more outlets in my life for altruistic expression, but I’m not sure where to even begin. Yet it’s something that seems to have become increasingly urgent for me. For what reason, I don’t know. Just to get out of my own stupid, taking, consuming, smug, egotistic world. At the end of one’s life, I would image that a bunch of 5.14 redpoints wouldn’t amount to much at all, especially if you’ve missed out on opportunities to build meaningful connections or just do something amazing that’s not about you.

Anyway, onto my dream.

I realize how crazy this is. But I was probably reading B3 Bouldering or something before I went sleep, which is why I dreamt this.

My dream is really an experiment that could determine the degree to which climbing grades are subjective, as well as to what degree body size makes a difference.

Because men establish most routes, grades are a function of the average male’s size and strengths. So, here’s the experiment. You take an average-sized male climber—let’s say, 5’9”—and task this average male to set a boulder problem rated, say, V8 (though it could be whatever grade).

Now, you record all the specs on the average-sized male: his ape index; the width and depth of his fingers; the size of his pinch grip; etc. And then, you measure all of the holds that he set on the problem, and you create a ratio between the size of the holds used and the average male’s body specs.

Now, you find two outliers: a short climber (5’2”) and a tall climber (6’2”). You measure all the same physical attributes for each (ape index, finger size, etc.)

Now, you construct all new plastic holds that are exactly proportional to both the short and tall climbers. In other words, if the average climber set a crimp that he can only get ¼” of three finger pads on, then you make a crimp that is sized so that the tall and the short climbers can only get ¼” of three pads onto, too.

You replicate the average climber’s problem using the new holds, and adjusting their distance from each other in order to adjust for for apex index/body size of both the tall and short climber.

Now, the tall and short climbers each climb their problem.

The thought experiment is: would the short climber and the tall climber arrive at the exact same rating as the average-sized climber?

My answer? I have no clue. This is just a fucked up dream I had.