The border collie theory of discomfort
The thing that always surprises me about trying something new is not how uncomfortable it first feels. I have been a newby at enough stuff that I expect that now. What surprises me is how quickly discomfort fades when you just stick with it. Turns out discomfort likes to be the centre of attention. Choose not to pay it attention and, unlike a border collie with a stick, it wanders off. Somehow knowing that makes it easier to stay in something uncomfortable a little longer.
I just spent the last few days bouldering. Not really all that different from climbing with a rope in theory but in practice it felt completely different. Firstly falling without a rope felt way more likely to result in injury. Crash pads aren't exactly soft and welcoming and I don't bounce so much these days. Then there were the slopey granite holds that didn't inspire much certainty as it always felt like I was sliding. That feeling of control I love to have disappeared with the pollen on the stiff breeze that was blowing. And then there was the performance side. What grade should I be sending? All of these things led to my first day feeling rather unfun. If that is a word.
Interesting isn't it, the things that added to my discomfort. Very few of them were actually about the bouldering itself. And yet it was those other things that had me thinking bouldering wasn't really for me. But had I really just made my boyfriend drive 12 hours so I could experience Swiss bouldering at its finest just to high tail it out of there the moment it felt uncomfortable.
Well yes. That's what my mind and body were telling me. And there are times when it is important to listen but sometimes it's also worth questioning. What is the discomfort telling me? How is it related to what I am doing right now? Is it a warning or just a signal that this is unfamiliar? Is my body actually in danger or does it just think it might be? Is this the kind of discomfort I should move away from, or the kind I learn from by staying?
Rather than taking that message at face value I sat with it for a moment. I acknowledged all those things. I didn't fight them or try to ignore them. I listened, but I didn't let them build into something bigger. Then I got curious. What would actually help me feel more comfortable falling? How do these holds actually want to be held? How hard can I try right now, given exactly where I am at today rather than where I think I should be?
Of course none of that made the discomfort actually disappear. I still felt uncomfortable. I still thought about what could go wrong or what I should be sending. But there is a difference between feeling something and buying into it. Or the opposite, fighting it. Simply noticing this is what I am feeling right now and that is OK is very different from deciding that feeling means I must stop, or that I shouldn't be feeling it at all. And it is usually the buying in or the fighting that makes feelings big and overwhelming.
The reality is that discomfort is often just your body's way of saying this is different, not necessarily dangerous. But if you can sit with it long enough, your mind and body start to realise that this particular different isn't actually as dangerous as they first assumed. What I find really interesting is that the discomfort doesn't necessarily vanish into thin air and yet the longer we spend being uncomfortable, the less uncomfortable it becomes. This seems to happen not because we toughen up or push through, but simply because the situation becomes familiar.
None of which I would have discovered if I'd stopped when I first felt uncomfortable. Instead, by continuing I ended up having a bloody blast. I sent some boulders. I didn't send others. I slipped off some slopers while others I stuck to. And I fell off a lot.
So when did you last actually sit in that discomfort long enough to find out which kind it was. The kind genuinely telling you to stop, the tweaky, this might end in injury kind. Or the kind that was just the first day of something new asking you to stay a little longer. Because in my experience those first moments of discomfort rarely last.