Allison Post’s mental, physical and technical skills are put to the test on the rocks of Khao Yai

The following titles; 2 fngers, 3D, Forest and Children’s Playground may remind you of reading the back of a CD cover of a Linkin Park album, when in fact they are the  appropriately named climbing routes I was introduced to on my latest vertical adventure on the rocks of Khao Yai.

Geared up with top of the line climbing attire I bravely joined the congenial staf of Bangkok’s one and only rock climbing company, Te Climbing Factory.  Khun Ohn and his crew, Khun Note and Khun Ti, who collectively tally up more than 13 years experience, valiantly stood up to the task of not only guiding and teaching but also entertaining one of Bangkok’s resident adventure addicts. Afer shimming into a comfortably familiar safety harness I clipped on a chalk bag and completed the sweat breaking task of cramming my size 38 foot into a size 36 climbing shoe, much like a ballerina would do slipping into toe shoes; though I didn’t look quite so elegant nor nearly as graceful.  I curiously watched on as Khun Ti diligently tied and secured the figure 8 knot on my safety harness and gave me the “check” command as if to say, “show time climber!” With only a few century old climbing hours under my belt I naively, yet confidently approached the facinately steep Swiss cheese  looking slab. “Belayer on?” I  loudly questioned my trusty belayer, Khuh Ti.  He shouted back, “On Belay,” two universally used climbing terms in his repertoire of only a handful of English phrases.  “Climbing,” I responded as I took the frst of many calculated vertical steps towards what seemed like 50 meter high anchor.

As I began climbing  it became  increasingly evident that this  feat was not going to be quite as easy as the skilled  lead climber demonstrated. In an efort to investigate just how vigorous rock climbing was, I wore a heart rate monitor.  I not only monitored my heart rate but also the total amount of calories burned.   Trough the stinging salty beads of sweat  that had dripped of my  forehead and eyebrows and  ran  into my eyes  I could barely make out  the numbers, 1….blink,7…blink, blink 8…..”Whoa, I shockingly thought to myself….178?”  My heart was really pumping!  At 178 my heart was working at 95% of its maximum capacity (according to the Karvonen formula), much harder than its output during the 6km mid-night run I completed last weekend.  I pressed on blindly, trusting my underdeveloped skills and relying heavily on  the attentive belayer below.  “So  far so good,” I confdently yet silently said  to myself, naively underestimating the power of a climber’s personal mantra.  Perhaps a bit over-zealous about my swift ascent and beginner’s luck I allowed my confdence to take over.  And just as fate would have it, my beginner’s luck ran out, or was it my physical steam?

Admitting  exhaustion was an  insult  to my  religiously vigorous  training  schedule and a blow to my ego – something I wasn’t willing to accept.   As Khun Ohn patiently watched on whilst hanging  from his easy  take approximately an arms’ length below me, he generously ofered up some words of wisdom coupled with welcomed advice.  “Take a rest, Khun Allison,” he gently said.  With the feeling of defeat upon me, I took his advice.   I carefully  listened as Khun Ohn instructed me how to safely secure my carabineer to the nearest anchor.  “Relax Khun Allison,” I hear from my fellow climbers below.  “Stretch out your legs and arms, just rest.”

The word “rest” did not sit easy with me, it stung just as the word “walk” does as it enters your eardrum during a race. I replied in defense of my fitness, “I’m not resting, I’m thinking!”  My climbing comrades below broke into a roar of laughter.  It was then that I realized despite our cultural and linguistic differences my new friends and I shared a like sense of humor.  “Okay, that’s one beer,” I shouted down to them.  Another roar of laughter broke out.  The game was on!  For the duration of our adventure we silently conceded that “falls” were now to be called “beers”.  Upon completing a route it was announced for all to hear how many “beers” the climber would owe the team.  Substituting the word beer for the word fall felt much more acceptable. About now  is when things started to get technical.   I had reached what my fellow climber’s called the “crux”, the critical part of the climb.   I was meant to reach up and over the protruding cliff,  lock  in a tight grip, and push of my toes using as much leg power as possible in an effort to hoist myself onto the ledge.  Exerting as much physical force as my scrunched up tippy toes had to offer I thrust my body weight in an up-ward motion hurling my right arm over the ledge frantically feeling for a notch, dent, cranny anything closely resembling a hole in which to shove my ring finger and middle finger to grab

My lef leg continued to struggle to support my body weight as the two fngers on my right hand were straining to maintain their clinch.  I’d mistakenly allowed my body weight to shif outward away from the rock as I desperately searched for somewhere to grab. I suddenly felt my fngers slowly peeling out of their hook.  I frantically tried to brush the ledge clean of dirt and pebbles with  the palm of my hand all  the while slipping  further and further from the rock. Te jagged rock cut into my fngernails and my forearm fexed as I attempted to cling to the ledge.  My heart was heavily palpitating, I was panting and drenched in sweat.  My lef hand and arm felt completely numb from the amount of lactic acid build up coupled with an awesome burning sensation.  All at once my exhausted body lost the battle against gravity, gasping for air I fell backward away from the steep slab.  A spacious blanket of blue, dabbed in marshmallow white fufs flled my eyes, for an all too short moment in time I have entered into a nirvana like state.  I deeply inhale the euphoric sensation of free falling.  I allowed my eyes to gently close and my body to completely relax much like the dead man’s foat.

Completely swallowed mentally and physically by the adrenaline rush I was abruptly startled awake to reality when my body came to a jerking halt in mid-air.  Taking a deep breath I said to myself, “What a ride,” with a huge satisfying grin on my face.  I took a few more deep breathes, wiped the sweat of my brow and out of my eyes then, got back in the saddle, as they say.  Evident that I had survived with only a few cuts and bruises which an adrenaline addict proudly refers to as battle wounds, the climbers below smart-alecky hollered up, “that’s two beers Khun Allison,” I couldn’t help but let out a roaring laugh.  As relieved as Khun Ti and Khun Ohn were that I wasn’t injured in the fall I secretly and mischievously hoped it would happen again.  The cheers that came from below when I fnally reached the target point brought a feeling of accomplishment over me.  I raised my arms in the air Rocky Balboa style and yelled out a, “Whoo hooo!”  The reward of the beautiful view from above, the battle wounds I honorably acquired and the adrenaline rush were more than worth the vigorous efort however, nothing compared to the exhilarating repelling that followed my triumphant victory.

As my “Elvis  legs” touched the solid earth a feeling of accomplishment came over me.   With very  few hours of  training  I had completed a grade 6A climb, according  to Khun Note,  the trusty and extremely knowledgeable coach for the day.  Khun Note, in a philosophical manner went on to explain the “climber’s creed” to which he adheres.  Rock climbing is comprised of
three components: mental, physical and technical.  It is a sport that challenges the climber to trust himself and to rely heavily on inner energy.  It is a sport of strategy and puzzle pieces.  It is a sport in which the climber competes with himself and nature.  Troughout the day it became more and more prevalent how passionate this group of spider men is about the sport of rock climbing.