This is my commitment to perseverance, endurance, and suffering. In panorama. 120 metres of finger-ripping bluestone, of which I’ve worked out maybe 10 metres. I had a quick climb yesterday before going to Williamstown Beach, and again today before seeing beautiful Paea, and later most excellent Emile. Some moves became a small sequence. It’s a delight. Thin edges, feet smearing on nubs, a right-hand pincher that swaps to a gaston via a vertical crack between two blocks where the mortar fell out, just enough to get the edge of middle and tip of index finger of my other hand into, then another tiny edge to get my left hand to a side pull on the same pincher after I’ve reached wide right with my foot to a rather good edge and going for an invisible single-fingertip pocket where a sea shell fell out, all stretched out and pulling myself into the rock. When it came together, along with the moves leading into that … this is where I belong.
Those two railway bridges: Grosvenor St and Nightingale St. I would start on the south bluestone wall of Grosvenor, do six laps, right-to-left and left-to-right, then move onto the north side, slightly harder in the last half. Then if my fingers had any skin left, I’d go up to Nightingale St and work on the north side from the left — the south side had all this hardware clogging it, street signs and other rubbish. That north side was always the hardest thing I’d climbed, not sure if even out on real rock, in the Grampians or Guangdong, I climbed anything harder. The repetition appealed to me, same thing over and over, having a relationship with the rock. I’d tape my fingertips to get through the last laps, but in the end it was attrition, my skin would give out first. In winter, the first lap or two would be agony as the cold rock cut in, harder to climb but something proper in enduring it. There’s more graffiti now, about the same amount of dirt and clag, a few marks of chalk, unlikely to be my leftovers, even though they mark my route. Emile walked with me as I traced my moves, memory in physicality, movement, emotion.
April 12, 2004. I took a photo of my fingers crimping a small, diagonal edge in the sunlight. I blogged it as Edge of Doom. It was the start of the last tough string of moves before finishing the right-to-left traverse, a deeply satisfying hold and one reliably likely to spit me off the wall. March 27, 2018, I’m standing there with Emile, walking alongside the wall remembering all the holds and moves. I haven’t seen or touched these trio of walls in more than ten years, but the memory — physical, mental, emotional — feels like those ten years were snipped out and time on either side stitched together. With a pair of climbing shoes it would have been an immediate return to that familiar rock. It’s also easier than the Scienceworks wall. The hardest parts of Nightingale St, the horrible slopers and awkward combination of edges, gastons, and that very weird thumb-push from underneath keeping me attached just long enough to slap through — a wall I never completed even though I strung together individual sections — are around the average of Scienceworks wall. I’d love to come back and spend some weeks just doing laps on all these.
Leaving my first chalky marks on the wall. 6 metres down, around 110 metres to go.
The bridge is an endless, low serpent stepping across the marshland. I took Onyx’ bike and rode back to Scienceworks, to the long bluestone wall on the side of the Yarra. I haven’t climbed bluestone in ten years. Fingers and body remember but cannot. I walk from one end to the other and back, more than 100 metres of hard climbing in both directions, feeling the rock with fingertips and toes. I remember when I first started climbing the railway bridges in Balaclava, East St. Kilda, it took me months to be able to string together one traverse, months more to reverse it, months again to do the other side of the road. This is the same, but harder.
Climbing walls to get at science. Climbing walls around the back when there’s a locked gate up the front side. Climbing walls “like, it’s literally a metaphor, lol.” In the end, I find the first several moves. Still more than 100 metres to go.
A year ago, I decided to get all analytic on my training. Mainly I just like tech and pretty representations of data. So I bought a heart rate sensor. And now it’s been a year of me using it almost every time I train. Which means I can look at a year in the life of Frances training, with all the … whatever that reveals.
What does it reveal, Frances?
Well, other Frances. I trained 156 times — that I recorded, let’s say 170 because I pretty much did not train without it unless I forgot either sensor or phone. For a total of 190 hours — there’d be a few more in that for the times my phone battery died. For a measly distance of 1481 kilometres — of actual training rides, not including cross-town, Kreuzberg-Wedding type stuff, so maybe double that at least, no wonder I spend so much on my bike and it feels like it’s constantly in need of repair. Hey, just like me! (Wow, there’s a realisation, right there.) About 1/3 of that was ballet, another third cycling (mostly road at the moment, but some cyclocross), 1/6 bouldering, and the remaining 1/6th a mix of yoga and core training.
Oh, and supposedly I burned around 121,000 calories, which is about 60 days of eating 2000 calories a day. I’m not really convinced about this. I think it’s more of an imaginary number, and not the mathematical kind.
What else? Speed, both average and top are derived from iPhone GPS. I’m not sure how much dispersion there is in this, but I suspect it can easily be 5km/h or more in either direction. My next gear purchase (after … umm … new brakes and probably new rear derailleur pulley wheels) is a speed/cadence sensor — which probably means also a proper cycling head unit instead of phone …
I seem to unintentionally train in 9-10 week blocks, then give up in despair for a couple of weeks, then, like a goldfish circling its bowl, forget all that and get right back into it. Knowing that this might be my natural rhythm though, it could make sense to train in 9 week blocks with a week off, if for nothing else than keeping my enthusiasm. Also I doubt I’ve been training like that this year, my rhythm’s all over the place.
My maximum heart rate seems to be constant around 190 (excluding the huge jumps into the 200s that were either the battery going flat, the sensor getting jostled, or actual random heart weirdness from having stupid fun training in -10º weather). I dunno, I have no context or expertise for reading anything into these figures, other than I seem to like training if it involves a degree of discomfort and some suffering — which I didn’t need a heart rate sensor to tell me.
So, a year of data. What to do with it? No idea! Will I keep using it? For now, yes. It’s become automatic to put it on. I don’t really use it during training, though I’d use it for cycling if I could find an iPhone mount that could hold my ancient 4S. But mostly I do it on feel, and that corresponds pretty closely to the various heart rate zones. I do do regular post-training gawks, to compare how I felt with actual data — and knowing that data across sessions gives me a bit of a feeling for where I’m at on a particular day or week. And one other thing: I train a lot less than I think.
Worth it for seeing a year of training all pretty like that? Yup!
Me (on and off for the last couple of years): “It would be awesome to have a power meter or something so I can go all data on my training…”
Has any dancer ever measured a performance with a fitbit or pedometer? How many steps? How far do they dance? PLEASE will someone do this?
Me (in Jo Siska’s ballet class on Wednesday): “OMG Jo! Look! Data!”
Inaccurate data. But that’s what this is, a test of how to get meaningful and accurate(-ish) data on what goes on when I’m dancing.
When I was living in Wedding, part of my training routine was morning cyclocross rides in the forest around Flughafen Tegel. Last year when I inherited an (old, 4s) iPhone and stuck Trails app on it, I started to see what the intangible feeling of each ride represented. A couple of things were missing though, one of which I finally prodded myself to buy this week – a Polar H7 heart rate sensor (yeah, I got the pink strap). The other is one of those crazy expenses I’m unlikely to throw euros at unless I have around four thousand of them spare for a new bike: a power meter.
Power meters tend to be the province of bike crank arms, pedals, or hubs and cost about double what normal people spend on a whole bike. And none of them are objects you can take into a dance studio. Slightly getting there is the rpm2 shoe insert power meter, still no good for dance though. Which leaves the very new Stryd – and very cheap, not much more than a Fitbit (which I’ll get to later), and about the same size as the H7 – a power meter for runners.
Before all that, Wednesday. In the studio with my heart sensor on and my iPhone beside the barre, cos it uses Bluetooth to sync. That’s several problems right there. First, doing ballet (or generally dance) training with an iPhone lodged somewhere is not so practical, which means a pedometer is going to count exactly zero steps. Second, Bluetooth is possessive, it likes quasi-line-of-sight and proximity. Bouncing around ten meters down the studio with heart monitor facing away from it is going to generate some highly improvised heart rate info. If, for the sake of science, I slip my iPhone into my trackie pocket, I’ll get pedometer info, but any GPS-based data capture (speed, distance, location) is comically useless, having an accuracy of greater than 4 meters. I was dumping my heart info into Trails, which is a fine app for cycling training, and much of the time it had my location not even in the same building, plus my altitude changed by 24 metres.
Thursday on my morning training ride around Tempelhoferfeld, I used both Trails and Polar’s Polar Beat. The data resolution of both is pretty good, Polar Beat is more fine-grained, and neither had a problem with my phone being in the back pocket of my jersey. I’ve been doing enough cycling with data recording to know what looks right.
Which leads me to Fitbit, cos my flatmate has one. It stores the data locally so no need for a live Bluetooth connection. It does heart rate, pedometer, a bunch of other useful garbage, makes pretty data, syncs to phone, laptop, or to fitbit.com, and looks like a dainty watch strap.
So, Friday, ballet again. This time with a Fitbit and my H7 going to Polar Beat.
I’m siding with Fitbit when they say their data accuracy decreases outside fairly limited activities: both heart monitor and step counter are dependant on arms not windmilling for acquisition of useful data. Perhaps it requires repeated use to find the best spot on my wrist, but compared to the H7, Fitbit reported my average heart rate at ~20bpm less – I stuck fingers to neck and what the H7 shows is a good match. As for steps – and ignoring the first 18 minutes or so where I have no idea who it thought I was – it gave around 250 for the entire 40 minutes of barre, and 2200 for the class; obviously not counting a pas de bourée as three steps.
The H7 doesn’t do step counting – unless you pair it with their walnut-sized Stride Sensor somehow affixed to your foot. Its heart data though is magical. You can see every exercise through the class mirrored in my increased heart rate, and check out the centre adage starting at 40 minutes, where the curve is almost identical for both times, and the arc through the entire class, building intensity in small stages at the barre until peaking through the centre into longer and longer periods of maximum effort, before révérance-ing out. I can also look at sections, so if I select just the centre, then my average heart rate goes up to 167 and only once drops below 120. Lots of good data you can do stuff with. (And I can even assign training to Ballet, with a fancy Olympic-looking arabesque!)
But what about power? Or other stuff? Stryd for the power (and heart rate), and RunScribe for everything else? Would they even handle dancing? RunScribe would be awesome for visualising the mechanics of dancing, g-force, velocity, ground contact time, pronation – if it could handle the foot chaos. And then what to do with all this information? If it’s all just for a bit of woohoo! then Fitbit and its social network gamification of sleeping is fine. But if it’s for the purpose of improving performance, technique, being more diligent in how you train, that’s a whole other thing.
While working with Isabelle on Fugen, we talked a lot about training. The work itself was concerned with training, the space between training and performance, whether training could be performed (or presented as performance). During rehearsals, I would mention things from my own diverse loves—cyclocross, climbing, of course ballet, dancing, movement—she from hers—again ballet, as a thing from her history, but mostly from Aikido and Ki Concepts (translating that loosely here as things in the realm of Qi Gong, Tai Qi, Shiatsu). We would train together as a warmup (not so much in this rehearsal compared to previous), I would add things from her training to my own, now an incoherent mass of yoga, Pilates, Qi Gong, stretching and strengthening from various physiotherapists … things I do.
Particularly with getting older, injury prevention, rehabilitation, general corporeal maintenance, training—a thing I do most days—preoccupies me. It’s a subject I talk about with friends often. Dasniya and I have made it an endless discussion over the last years. I’ve been wondering, particularly the last few weeks, why it’s not something I’ve been writing about, or at least writing here about it, that thing I do, which I seem to have given my life to.
Earlier this year, after returning to Berlin from my east and south wanderings, I returned to ballet. The previous years had been a cycle of chronic injuries, torn meniscus, patellofemoral pain syndrome, ankle sprains and tendonitis, hip and lower back problems, to the point where I wondered if I’d even be walking in the next decade. This is not however a positive tale of surmounting injury, though it did start with simple questions around injury: How can I get through a ballet class? How can I keep doing class regularly? Is it realistic for me to imagine still dancing, still training for decades?
What comes from these questions I’m not sure I can call answers. Let’s just say the only ‘answer’ of comparable length to the question is: There’s no one, single way. And that’s a banal pile of duh right there. This is practical shit I’m dealing with here, not that kind of vapid platitude. Another couple of questions then: Why ballet? Also, why cyclocross and climbing? And what happened to doing yoga every day?
Well, yoga was causing injuries, floppy loose joints and all, so I’m kinda iffy on it lately. Cyclocross, because it means I get to scuff through forests in the morning (when I live in Wedding), which is one of the greatest pleasures in life, especially on a bike—and cyclocross is one of those weird, dorky sports (it’s the Belgian and Dutch national sport, y’know) that doesn’t quite make sense when you try and explain it to people: “Yeah, it’s like cross-country running, on a bike that looks like a road racing bike … in the mud … in winter …” Climbing, because it feels good, also because it wasn’t dance and was the one thing I’d do and never analyse.
As for ballet, which I’ve over-analysed since the start, partly it’s the love of the form—I mean here of the training form, the process through the hour and an half of a class which has become something of a meditation. From a purely physical aspect, it’s the one thing of all that I’ve done which keeps me together, yet doesn’t introduce its own liabilities (predictable ballet injuries aside). It’s physically and psychologically challenging every single time, its complexity possibly endless.
This is not the time to have a discussion about how ballet is seen in contemporary dance, beyond to say there’s a discipline in ballet which fits my thinking, and while there was no question I’d ever be a professional ballet dancer, as a professional dancer I’ve found it indispensable for keeping my shoddy array of limbs in order. The muscularity, sweat, intensity, toughness, all also appeal, as does finding calmness and a kind of detachment, like meditation, in this. Ballet has this delicate precariousness, what works this time might not the next. It’s a function of the complexity of organising a body while moving in this way, or in any discipline which demands an acute opposition to entropy. For me, it’s this that keeps me returning, that there’s more to be discovered, that it’s not a single path to unattainable perfection, in fact ultimately it’s not about perfection at all. It’s a process, one where the part of the body which thinks in words is mostly along for the ride.
And having written this I realise I’ve said almost nothing of consequence about training, dancing, getting older, living like this.
For a while I tried bouldering on a gorgeous strip of dressed stone wall in Iranische Str. The stink of piss in the corner, dog shit everywhere, occasional human shit and general skankiness triumphed over my desire to start climbing again, even with occasional visits to various Kletterhallen. Berlin, sandy, flat is not a city for climbers.
About a year ago I made a new effort, and discovered a whole bouldering hall had grown itself barely 15 minutes bike ride from the Uferhallen: Berta Block. I went there about once a week in spring last year, then again in December. That, and Jungfernheide around Flughafen Tegel (ok, and Friday’s market with fresh lamb and smoked fish) are big reasons for living in Wedding. Over the other side of town, south of the Spree in Kreuzberg, it’s a little slim on forests. Climbing though. another 15 minute bike ride and there’s Bright Site. I’ve been there a few times now, and seeing as I haven’t written on climbing in a long time, here we go.
There’s another climbing hall in Wedding, much closer, which I only went to twice, kinda unfriendly and charges for climbing by the hour (lol, whut? I know!), and the bouldering was uninspiring. Berta Block though, and this played a large part in getting me along in the first place, costs a measly 6€ if you get there before 1pm. Me, fitting in my training in the morning thought that was well tasty. Bright Site, which I thought was 9€ across the day (same as Berta’s standard) turned out to also have the cheapies when I arrived earlier in the week (and it opens an hour before Berta, at 10am. I know! Awesome!)
I was biking home thinking about both places, and comparing them, so this is something of that, what’s similar, what’s different, what I like (well, 6€ morning bouldering in excellent local halls is what I like). Berta is around twice as big, and twice as high, though the walls are only slightly higher. Bright on the other hand has massive windows running the length of both long sides on its first floor home. Both have cafés and stretching/yoga/training areas, Berta’s upstairs on a mezzanine (Bright might also have a second area downstairs at the far end of the café. I haven’t properly looked). Both have music nights, competitions, training evenings, tend to be full of families with small kids on the weekends (less so for Bright in the week mornings), and have a pretty similar feeling, enough that I could imagine them to be connected.
So what’s different? Bertha also has more routes, not just because of the extra square metres, they have swimming pools full of holds, and most walls have a few to several routes overlaying each other. The actual climbing feels significantly different, which the blisters and flappers on my fingers from Bright seems to prove. I think Bright is much more bouldery in route construction, often with those weird final or crux moves that are either psychologically tough, dynamic, awkward, or otherwise unusual. Bertha feels often like sections from longer climbs, where the entire route is in one style, fingery, slopers, laybacks, balancey, but not often going from one to the other, and only psychologically unsettling within that, which has led to regular What the Fuck moments at Bright I haven’t had since climbing in China.
Bright is also physically harder on hands (except for the fingery vertical stuff), and the colour-coded grading feels more spaced and sometimes erratic. Berta uses the Fontainebleau (numeric) grading and seems to have more variety of easier and mid climbs, though that might also be my current state of climbing improficiency.
What else? Well, entirely subjectively, the music is better in Bright. I’ve heard the usual generic beats at both, but at Bright everything from classical western to classical Indian to American folk. Both are almost completely absent of broulderers, plus a lot of women in both (and families and ankle-biters), which might just be a local thing, I dunno, but it’s kinda nice. And yeah, both are super-friendly.
I’m a long way from climbing like I used to, and do miss the millimetre edges of my old railway bridges in Balaclava, but both these places have reminded me how much I love climbing, the pleasure and calm it brings, attached to the world by fingertips and toes alone. It was always the one thing I never thought about too much, analytically or otherwise, the way I have with all things around dance; it’s just something I do, which I missed these last years with no regular, nearby place to go. So, yay to both Bertablock and Bright Site!
Crazy intense 2 weeks working with Hans Van den Broeck in Berlin. Sleep bike design (climb) eat repeat. Off to 5 hours of Volksbühne on Sat.