As I worked my way through my power workout yesterday, I discovered that I could sit in the sunshine on the couch in between sets, close to the heat of the woodstove, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost convince my being that the warmth was actually emanating from the sun and not from the stove. Ah, bliss, the promise of spring, green trees, warmer days, longer days, instead of this dull and dreary drag of winter that’s crept back upon the world these past few days, banishing all hopes of spring for the time being with single-digit temperatures every morning and fresh white snow covering the older layers that had melted into that weird, hard, multicolored ice that comes with repeated meltings and freezings.

Still, I noticed yesterday while working in the morning that spring is edging ever closer now, moving on up at a snail’s pace from the south to push the sun ever higher in the sky, to the point where it soon enough will not reach me where I write, so I’ll no longer have to close the curtain at a particular time every morning in order to keep myself from being practically blinded by its blaze. But the cold, cruel, detached touch of winter still has its time to be here, for another full month at least, punishing the world of life with its frigidity, as it is meant to do this time of year, even while folks like me dream avidly of warmer days to come. Such is life; all things have their time and place.

Except for, perhaps, deliberate cruelty and meanness to other beings, which is never appropriate when it originates from a human source. In fact, being mean displays weakness on the part of the deliverer, while ironically demonstrating the real power of the victim over the perpetrator, since the injured party has apparently drawn enough attention, passion, and emotion from the executor to be the butt of that person’s wrath or attacks. I’m not sure why winter reminds me of this, except for that winter is generally a cruel and severe season. And yet, it’s ultimately a dispassionate and evenhanded deliverer of wrath, while those who attack others among us tend to passionately single them out as targets for abuse. But in reality, their efforts hurt and twist their own selves as well, and, at least in some cases, only.

Being mean to others, whether human or animal, ultimately stems from a feeling of lack within, which expresses itself in a lashing out. When the target doesn’t accept, acknowledge, and/or feel the hurt of the blows—or simply doesn’t respond in kind, though, the truth of the actions becomes obvious—in fact, sometimes such attacks only strengthen the intended victim(s). Think of the strength of Martin Luther King, Jr. or Gandhi, for example, and how these men led movements that showed the true power of apparent passivity in the form of nonviolent protest, in the face of hysteria and lashing out from the ruling party. Frankly, when the targets demonstrate such deep conviction and moral fortitude, they ultimately make fools of those attempting to exert control.

This is true writ small, as well, in day-to-day existence. Those who attempt to taunt and belittle and victimize others usually only hurt themselves, if and when the others decide to not retaliate, respond in kind, or even be visibly affected by the immature and juvenile efforts at eliciting a response. If a response is necessary from the intended target, for whatever reason, it is likely to be well thought out and delivered with the intention to cause the least harm to all parties involved, with the greatest effort at reparation and reconciliation, letting bygones be bygones and understanding that underhanded vengeance and backhanded violence will not provide solutions in the end. These types of actions won’t make either party feel good or healed; they’ll only exacerbate the wounds without doing anything to address the greater issues at hand, bringing about no ultimate resolution.

I think this recognition explains why I can barely stand to watch movies anymore in which the entire plot revolves around somebody coming back and seeking revenge on another party for an ill caused two decades ago, or any type of similar theme. I have a hard time really believing that hunting down and killing another person will truly resolve the issue for the hunter, and that they’ll brush their hands together casually afterward and truly feel like, “Well, sweet, that’s said and done, and not that someone’s ‘paid,’ I feel 100 percent better. Killing someone else definitely solved all my problems and resolved all of the issues surrounding those problems.” Please. Revenge is empty and shallow, and I believe it more often than not maims the party seeking vengeance psychically and permanently, even more so than the initial act that led that person to seek revenge.

Better to seek resolution within your own psyche for life’s issues, and to learn that lashing out and trying to malign others is usually a result of your own internal mayhem, self contempt, and barrenness, which you then direct outward at others as a crutch to try to avoid confronting these feelings within yourself. If you look at why you like to put others down to put yourself up (if you do this), try to ask the difficult question of why—why do you do this, and why does it make you feel good to do this? Too many people take pleasure out of feeling themselves superior in some way to other people, instead of taking the more compassionate stance of trying to put themselves in those people’s places, and to recognize the common ground and the humanity, that all people just want to be accepted and loved and respected, in the end.

There should be no pleasure in putting others down, in seeing another person’s face turn to a frown because of something you say, of feeling triumphant after you spout an insulting diatribe about another person who isn’t even present, or any such episode. Recognize the sickness in this; understand that such actions stem from a void and a sense of less-than from inside yourself, so that you must posture for greatness to others by positioning yourself above them, directly or indirectly.

This is not to say that there’s no time when your actions might not be seen as kindly or well-intentioned, because undoubtedly, others will perceive some of your actions, even of the most well-intentioned type, as the opposite at times in your life—like kids, when you say they can’t do something they want, and they “hate” you for it, but you know in your heart of hearts that you’re doing it out of their best interests, out of a strong conviction that in the end, you’re doing the right thing, the kindest thing you can.

If your apparent meanness comes from this place of internal and detached conviction, from a self-knowledge that you are, indeed, acting in the kindest and most fair-minded fashion that you know how, and that you believe will end in the best results for everyone involved, well, then, you’re probably right—and if you’re not, you’ll learn from the mistake and make the effort to do better in the future. You will do this because your ultimate goal—the ultimate goal of any healthy, happy, whole person with regard to others is—”If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them” (as spoken by the Dalai Lama).

My left pinky is a little bit sore again. After almost 18 years of rock climbing and a lifetime of physical activity, this is currently the only lingering and lagging injury that crops up now and again, usually as a result of climbing on plastic. Reflecting on this as I staggered tiredly through my run out in the desert yesterday, I thought how sad I always feel when I observe others conclude after an injury or two that they must be “getting old,” and that it’s time to give up on their dreams of athletic greatness, or at least, improvement. As I plodded along, then, in my mind, I composed a chronological list of all of the somewhat serious injuries that I recall from throughout my life so far:

• Age 2-ish: I tug on my mom’s leg while she’s cooking, and bacon grease splatters across my eye. I closed it in time. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 4: I fall behind my family as they walk on a rocky seashore. When I run to catch up, I slip on some seaweed and get razor-sharp cuts across my eyes from the barnacles. Again, I closed them in time. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 10: My knee starts hurting while I’m running in a track meet, dropping me from first to last place in the course of the race. I visit the doctor, and am diagnosed with “patella femoral pain syndrome.” I have my first physical therapy experience. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 10: I slip while walking on homemade stilts and chip the bone on the tip of my middle finger. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 10: My arms slip through my cousin’s hands while she’s pulling me up on a swimming dock. I smash my chin into the dock and chip one of my front teeth. Result: I have a chipped front tooth to this day, though it’s been sanded down a bit.
• Age 11: I chip my right pointer finger playing volleyball during PE. I think it’s broken, but I go to the state fair anyway and pretend I can still play the flute, even though I can’t bend my finger. My mom is really mad at me for this. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 15: I hurt my ankle sliding into a base during a softball game. I think it’s okay, so I continue to play the game. The next morning it’s sort of swollen, and by midday, I can’t get a shoe on my foot. It’s not broken, just severely strained, and I’m on crutches for a few days. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 17: I get hit in the face with a softball. It knocks my jawbone out of place for a second, and this, in turn, cuts my ear canal behind my eardrum. The pressure builds up and my eardrum bursts, giving me an “ear-bleed,” as the school janitor comments. Result: Eardrum appears to heal itself.
• Age 21: I get a severe cold and my ears become congested, causing the eardrum to burst again. I have to have surgery to repair it. Result: Total recovery.
• Ages 22-27: I hurt the tendon pulleys on both hands rock climbing—middle, ring, and pinky on the left, and middle and ring on the right. People tell me they’ll never be the same. They’re sort of right—they all become stronger after the injuries heal, and never bother me again, except for the achy left pinky occasionally. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 25: My knee starts hurting after running my first (and only) marathon, so badly that I think I’ll need surgery. I go to an orthopedic surgeon, and he prescribe six weeks of physical therapy. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 32: I tear three muscles in my left armpit/shoulder areawhile rock climbing, due to improperly warming up after not getting enough sleep and traveling. I take about six months off completely from climbing to let them heal. Result: Total recovery.
• Age 33: At a bouldering competition, I step down off of a problem I’m trying onto my right foot, but I catch the edge of a five-inch bouldering mat and twist my ankle so badly and with so many popping, crunching sounds that I think it’s broken. It’s not. I rest smartly, and six weeks later, I’m climbing again. Result: Total recovery.

That about sums it up for me—my lifetime thus far of relatively serious injuries, although obviously, none of them have been all that serious. I’ve had two broken bones, which were just minor chipped finger bones. My biggest climbing injury was my own stupid fault, and it turned out to be a good thing for me because it provided a great time of self reflection and realization that was much needed and long overdue at that point. My worst years for injuries appear to have been around ages 10-11, honestly. Other than that, they seem pretty well spaced out through the years of my life thus far. And none of them, save the achy pinky, lag or plague me any longer—and hey, if a sore pinky’s all I’ve got to deal with, I’ll take it!

The point of this, though (because admittedly, it might be somewhat or even completely boring for you to read my personal injury list) is that anyone who pursues physical activities and really goes for it is likely to experience injuries at some point—to overdo it, to overuse muscles and tendons that aren’t trained or fit enough to do what a person’s asking them to do, or simply to push so hard that something breaks or gets hurt due to unfortunate circumstances, like stepping down the wrong way onto a crash pad.

I think the key to using injuries positively is to not allow them to push you into unhelpful mindsets like, “I’m too old/weak/not fit/whatever other reason to do this sport anymore.” Instead, each injury should be carefully evaluated for the message it’s sending to you, the user of the injured body. Do you suffer from a muscle imbalance? Did you not rest properly after your last physical activity? Did you ignore the beginnings of this pain, allowing it to grow into a full-blown overuse injury instead of resting at the first sign of this potential? Or were you simply careless and/or unlucky, experiencing a sharp, crushing injury that could happen to anyone of any age, given the same circumstances?

Once you’ve determined this, you can simply come up with a plan to try to avoid such sports-stopping injuries in the future, as well as looking to promote healing as best you can. In the meantime, strive to use your healing time in the most effective way possible to improve as an athlete. Then, when you’re fully healed, you’ll be ready to be back on top of your game—no matter how old you are.

Age IS mainly a state of mind, and it will only limit you, in most cases, as much as you let it. After all, if I’d let age dictate my participation in sports, I would have retired at age 10.

Yesterday's Bouldering Session

The stronger I get, the more fun climbing is. I reflected on this again after yesterday’s bouldering session, followed by my weekly pure power workout. I’m starting to really feel a cool, new sensation in my bouldering, this ability to power with one arm—it’s so awesome and amazing; I can’t even begin to describe really (words, so pathetically inept at capturing feelings) what it feels like, after such a long time of not having the capability to do such moves. I feel like I have this machine I’ve been given, called a body, and I’m just now honing it and polishing it into its potential, just now comprehending all that it can and will be capable of doing. And every step forward is a new and enlightening experience of being alive and living in this body.

As my strength grows, so does my confidence, and so does my sense of inner security, in the knowledge that I AM capable, that I CAN do this move. And as my belief in my ability expands, I experience greater growth and greater success—the mind-body link at work. These things all go hand in hand, whether we’re talking about sheer physical ability, or a job, or a household project, or anything, really. If we put the time in to nurture and build ourselves from the inside out, we gain inner strength, confidence, and security as a result of the work that we put into it. We grow more confident and self assured, knowing that we’ve spent the time refining and honing our skill sets and our minds, bodies, and spirits, for whatever elements are involved in any given situation.

Then, when we are faced with a challenge, because we’ve put the time in to address the areas required to perform with excellence and conviction, we don’t feel the need to look outside of ourselves for approval or accolades—because this is not what we’re searching for, anyhow. If we already know that we possess the strength and ability, then we can simply live it, and enjoy it, for the sparkling momentary bliss of results that comes from the discipline put in. Those, for me, are the moments of pure joy and oneness, that great sense of universal expansiveness in which living is paradise in the moment.

When I push my body through an amazing sequence of movement in climbing that I know I couldn’t have done even six months ago, or when I write an article that I lose myself in the process of writing for hours on end, or when I’m running in the desert as a small fragment of the vast untrammeled scenery spread out around me—these are the moments of pure living, minus any and all extraneous b.s. There is no feedback necessary for such experiences, because they are performed from a place of pure living in the present, for the moment, in the moment, the flowing moment of being.

Experiencing these moments comes more easily and frequently for those who take the time to put the effort into cultivating strength, confidence, and security in themselves and their choices—for those who realize that really, those three qualities can only come from within, anyhow. Nearly every person stands on shaky ground in those areas at some point (or many points or even wholly) in their lives, or in some area(s) of their lives. But in the areas of deepest concern or in which a person wishes to pursue excellence, they will do themselves the greatest favor in putting the necessary time in to encourage and support the needed skills and strengths to be the best they can be in that particular domain.

And with this effort comes a release from the need to compete or compare with others, as also to seek out the approval of others—for by pushing oneself solely for oneself, a person develops a strength from within, a confidence in their choices, a sense of security in who they are and the purpose behind what they do, regardless of what others think, say, or do. They’re not threatened by those with more honed skills, nor are they put off by those who disbelieve in them. Because they know themselves, they rest comfortably in their own place and being.

I’ve been watching this process in myself in terms of climbing on severely steep routes and boulder problems. Before, I shied away from this sort of terrain, knowing full well that I didn’t have the skill set or strength to climb as I wished to climb on this angle—in fact, I felt pathetically inept and weak, and I was ashamed of my weakness. Even last winter, though I spent much of my bouldering time on the steepest wall in the gym, I didn’t really like it, because it didn’t make me feel strong or like a good climber. I always was happy to have the guys set problems for me on the less-steep walls, because I felt more in my element, more secure, confident, and strong, on these more comfortable angles.

Much to my delight, I’ve realized that this has changed completely this winter. Every time I head out to climb in the gym, I seek out the steepest wall as soon as I’m warmed up, and there I stay, dynoing, pinching, and slapping slopers, until I’m too fatigued to hold onto that angle any more. I love it! It’s so different from my old climbing style, and also, so relatively new to me in comparison to the other angles, that it’s like a mad learning-fest every time. Because I have more strength, I have more confidence in my ability to climb on this wall. And because I have more confidence in my ability, I have more security in myself and my capacity to actually do moves, even when a part of my mind still doubts me. It’s easier now to just tell it to shut up, and then go ahead and jump. It’s those momentary leaps of faith that delight me the most—especially when my hand connects with the next hold and leaves me dangling with my feet off, wreathed in giddy aura of newfound success.