Back (Pain) in the Saddle Again

I’ve been slack on writing, which is generally a reliable indicator of an overly stressed life. That busyness came to a screeching halt early last week. Five minutes before my partner—let’s call him Bob—arrived to pick me up for the new-school classic Spirit of Squamish (5.8, 8 pitches), everything changed. At the strike of 6am, just as the sun began to crest over the lush coastal mountains, I bent over to pick up a 1-pound water bottle and felt a lightning bolt of pain in my lower spine. I knew in that moment that I was hosed, but it felt too late to bail. Plus, I often find relief from (mild) back pain when climbing…or so I thought.

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Securely Insecure = Back Pain

Let’s back up. For the better part of my time in Squamish, I’ve been experiencing mild to moderate lower back pain. I blame this condition primarily on poor posture and garbage body mechanics associated with trad climbing. Well, that and not being a spring chicken anymore.

When climbing trad, I’m very tense. I suppose you could say I suffer from a pronounced fear of falling. In sport climbing, where I clip pre-drilled bolts, I have more of a problem with fear of failure. Conversely, in the realm of traditional climbing, where one must place their own protection as they go, I’m constantly over-analyzing in a heightened state of tension. In this strange environment, it’s a struggle to release and simply climb like my body knows how to climb.

I carry this same cuddly security blanket around when bouldering, too. It’s such a great blanket and we’ve become the best of friends, slobber and all.

Hey, At Least I Can Sport Climb

I feel as secure in cracks and slippery slabs as a snowman in July. I repeatedly run through (irrational) situations in my head: Will each successive piece of (well-placed, bomber) gear below me hold the (safe) fall I suspect I will soon take? Breathing is shallow, movements are jerky, and my body visibly trembles uncontrollably.

My reaction to this lack of control is frankly embarrassing. For the required justification, I keep telling myself, “Hey, at least I can sport climb.” I carry this same cuddly security blanket around when bouldering, too. It’s such a great blanket and we’ve become the best of friends, slobber and all.

At each belay, I sweat profusely from the high humidity to which I am unaccustomed and my overly-heightened state of anxiety. Hunched awkwardly with a rounded back, I hurriedly pull in rope and rush to get my partner on belay with some strange device that is decidedly not a GriGri.

To add a sense of urgency, impatient parties are usually waiting below. I imagine them tapping their Mythos or TC Pros and muttering under their breath. These gatherings of climbers, like little rad and woodsy town halls, is a near-constant phenomenon on moderate routes in Squamish in peak summer season. It doesn’t matter how willing you are to wake up before Jesus has his first sip of coffee.

I’ve been spending many long days in this manner, alternating between hyper-tense climbing and belaying with junk posture. The result? My back hurts like a retired linebacker. But I’m no heroic athlete and my mantle is notably lacking trophies. I’m just a scared, wannabe trad climber.

Follow Your Conscience

After the sudden and profound spasm developed in my back, the smart decision would have been to call Bob and bail. Bailing sucks, but surely this would be understood. Like so many times before, I came to a fork in the road and took the well-trodden dunce path. Eying me struggling to lift my pack into his car, Bob selflessly suggested that maybe we should find another time to climb. I muttered about how I had just “slightly tweaked” my back, being careful not to reveal that my entire lumbar region felt like a knotted spread of cute Bavarian pretzels.

This Won’t Be So Bad

Fortunately, approaches in Squamish are short and friendly. Watching me hump my pack up the trail, Bob probably thought I looked like an old dog sauntering off to die. But I knew I’d be fine. We arrived at the base of the route to find that we were already behind at least two other parties at 6:30 am!

Gathering my gear, I continued to stagger like Keith Richards in the 80s, rubbing my lumbar section against tree limbs and grunting in an oddly bear-like manner. Bob, keenly aware of my acute back pain, once again kindly suggested we should bail. I protested, wrongly calculating that the flow and movement of the friendly 5.7 first pitch splitter crack would be a great way to ease into the day.

Friendly American ladies starting ahead of us on the classic Klahanie Crack (5.7), which was recently extended for 7 more pitches to create Spirit of Squamish (5.8).

But I’m not good at splitters. Not even 5.7 ones. For every cam I placed, I also placed 16 sweat droplets. Jammies were jammed and ankles were twisted. Several times I fully lodged my foot, creating moments of mild panic. At the top of the pitch I pulled through branches, wincing in pain, hunched over and wide-eyed. I was a sweaty Gollum at his precious and familiar anchor bolts.

The next seven pitches went by much the same, a hurried blur of climbing, rope pulling, gear racking and re-racking, wincing, cursing, and hunching. But I must admit, despite my very best efforts at self-loathing, there was some really good and enjoyable climbing. Thankfully, the climbing was moderate at 5.8 and well within my wheelhouse, even in this challenging style. We descended from the summit—me in insecure scandals, of course—through exposed roots and fixed ropes. Thoughts swirled through my head, like, I’ll never walk again and where is a bed?

The Price Paid: Severe Back Pain

At the time of writing, two days later, I’m still lumbering around crookedly like a zombie in search of brains. Most of the last 48 hours were spent in bed or on the couch. These supine periods were bookended by 10-minute sad, slow-motion scenes spent getting in and out of these positions of only moderate relief.

Coinciding with my injury is also a wonderful and welcome shift in conditions from hot and humid to cool, breezy, and well…perfect. Conditions couldn’t be better, and I’m watching stretching and conditioning YouTube videos likely filmed in nursing homes.

Back pain. Lumbering and shuffling in perfect climbing conditions. It was worse than this.
Lumbering and shuffling in perfect climbing conditions. It was worse than this.

But everyone has been so helpful. Bob sent me various stretching resources, and a suggested step-wise regimen of medication and bathing practices. He also sent a teaser of routes we could be climbing if I was able to move. Our incredibly warm and friendly Chinese-Canadian Airbnb hosts recommended a topical cream in broken English. The language of crooked shuffling and foot dragging in the yard is indeed a universal language. They are wonderful people.

Recalibration with a Slice of Back Pain

So far, I haven’t managed to show up in Squamish and meet my typically unrealistic expectations. I’ve been terrified or fallen on routes adorned with grades I’d usually argue aren’t worthy of a proper warm-up. 

Maybe after a handful of cat-cows, a few happy (sad) babies, and a deep breath or two, my new perspective will have me stepping up to the trad-daddy plate. Perhaps next time, instead of mentally wrapping my security blanket around my shoulders like a western gun slinger—along with my shoulder-length slings—I’ll leave the blankie at the base along with my out-of-place Pipedream pack, kneepads, and rope bag.

It’s high time I started racking up all my dangles at the car. I’ll don my sweat-drenched helmet like a Roman heading off into the Battle of Actium, trudging in sandals and a rope backpack to the base of the route. There I will pace for 48 minutes behind the party who arrived three minutes earlier, shrouded in the acrid ambiance of 800 gallons of stale urine, impatiently tapping my TC Pros and muttering under my breath.

But hey, at least I can sport climb.


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3 Replies to “Back (Pain) in the Saddle Again”

  1. Isn’t it funny how we take our bodies for granted all our youth? And then, forget to stretch or roll your ankle, and we’re given a fierce reality check. But Yoga is the real deal Chad, I’m telling you. You’ll never feel more relaxed and flexible than the 24 hours after a practice! It’s a Thursday evening ritual for me now.

    1. Thanks Gary. Man, I wish I could say it was that simple for me! I’ve been trying everything under the sun for years, including tons of yoga, without much appreciable change in mobility. Strength training has probably been the most bang for the buck, but I still do loads of stretching and mobility work. I’m still chipping away the layers, though.

What say you friend?