The next three weeks rushed by like the storms that we prayed for to bring us the “sending temps”. The temps dropped and climbed, and so did we. We hung out at the Campground, climbed at the cliff, and gorged on fatty foods on our rest days in Gap.

It was nearly impossible to stay away from the sweet delights like ice cream, pastries, and of course the specialty food of the region, the heavenly “Torton”, that was traditionally filled with just potato, but could be found with any number of sweet or savory fillings. We would say things like, “dude, would Edu, Paxti, or any world cup finalist climber go back for another ice cream?” But usually it didn’t work. We would be up after midnight gouging at the Nutella jar, spooning mouthfuls of some kind of sweet goodness until our tummies bulged and our teeth rotted. But somehow we managed to stay in decent shape for the majority of the trip.

I managed to climb to the crux of Realization in about four tries, but felt pumped enough not to be able to break an egg with my hands by the time I got there. It still didn’t seem too likely that I would be feeling fresh enough to pull the moves from the ground, but beta was refined and some level of fitness was gained, and on my tenth or so try I stuck the “crux” stab to the dish and was psyched. After that the healthy level of detachment I felt for the route was replaced with rehearsal of the moves late at night when I should have been sleeping. Dave Graham and I exchanged belays on it, all the time getting closer and closer until I had fallen a frustrating amount of times five feet below the jug that marks the end of the “hard” climbing. I then held the record, by far, for most falls above the “crux”, where all of the routes previous ascentionists had fallen only once, including Dave. One cold windy day, I belayed Dave as he used his heinous new beta that could only possibly be done by him, to cruise the crux and continue all the way to the top.

A few days later, I made a link on the route that Chris suggested I try to do before trying from the ground again. Feeling satisfied for the day, and confident I would send in the coming days, I went to another part of the cliff to try to flash an 8b called Slow Food. My instincts told me not to get on it, that something was wrong, but I tried it anyway and broke a hold a few moves into it, and tore a massive hole in my fingertip. Devastation.