Galina Parfenov Training

Some favorites from the big birthday bash (or bachelorette, as we were calling it) earlier this month. I had this planned since winter, to have a dozen of my closest friends come to SF to celebrate and experience the city together, including going to Sutro Baths, Tennessee Valley, Bourbon & Branch, and the Outside Lands fest where I had accidentally landed the year before. What I didn't know was that my parents also decided to fly in to surprise me! Which might be one of the very few times in my life where I have actually been surprised, so thank you friends who did such good work lying to me all week, it's not an easy job 😉 All sarcasm aside, it was truly so special to have everyone put their lives on hold and literally fly across the country for this one weekend. Love this big disfuncional family we have created here ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

One from a couple weeks ago, from a brief trip to Guadalcázar. This one is called Nomak (7c or 7c+ depending on who you ask) and is probably one of the most perfect routes I have ever climbed. Bulletproof limestone, flowy gymnastic movement, and complex sequence-dependent cruxes. And it's not a standalone-- every route I tried on this wall was stellar 💎 Looking forward to returning at the end of the month!

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[Part 1/3] I grew up shuttling from one ABS comp (back when it was still called ABS) to another every weekend and hauling my physics textbooks to the gym so I could simultaneously train and study for tomorrow's exam (which, by the way, isn't exactly conducive to calculating moment arms and terminal velocities). From age 12 to 18, my life was defined by locals, regionals, divisionals, and nationals, and my self-worth quantified by leader boards and placements. When I finally qualified for nationals my second year competing and Brien walked over to the campus board and grinned and said, "Those who make it to nationals don't need to pay for a membership," I felt that this must be the pinnacle of my entire life.

I was always the kid who, when asked my team name on sign-up sheets, had to write a dash or leave it blank. I didn't have teammates or a coach because that just didn't exist where I'm from. I learned everything from my 30-year-old friends, YouTube, and Eric Hörst textbooks. I wanted it all-- to climb V10 outside, make finals in Dark Horse and Riverrock and Open Nationals, get my first sponsor-- and there was absolutely nothing that was going to stop the train.

In summer of 2015, after grinding out a biochemistry major in three years and sending multiple V10s and 11s, I all but quit climbing for three months (which, for someone who refused to go to my college friend's house for Thanksgiving because I wouldn't have gym access for three days, is a LONG time). When I say all I did was study and climb, I mean that. I'd wake up at 5:00am, go to the gym for members-only hours, go to class from 9:00-12:00 and lab from 1:00 until dinner time, study and do a core workout in my bedroom, and go to bed. Multiply that by five days a week and three years, and you get the classic comp kid burnout story. I didn't even know who I was climbing for anymore-- myself or my sponsors or my YouTube subscribers. Somewhere along the way I had completely lost my identity outside of climbing.

[Part 2/3] I never wanted to do a climbing comp ever again. Regardless of the format and weight of it and how many times everyone told me "it'll be fun". It was so triggering even just being in isolation with our own team kiddos, many years later, as their head coach. Comps came to symbolize not just an aspect of climbing that felt so disingenuous to my deep-rooted love for our (then) underground alternative sport, but also a part of myself that was being fed by shallowness and external validation. I don't know when exactly it had happened, but it did, and I was so out of touch that I couldn't even tell if I still loved climbing anymore.

And that's the part that people don't see. Yes, it has been nearly a decade since my last pro comp. But those intense childhood feelings, they don't just go away. They give us perspective and are the reason I have the beautiful relationship that I do with climbing today. But I have also structured my life in a way that is conducive to maintaining that relationship, including prioritizing climbing outside, not forcing it when my heart's not in it, and focusing on how I feel when I'm on the wall and on the ground (in that metaphorical iso chair), above all else.

I've done a lot of growing in the past 10 years. But much like being back in your childhood home, something about being back in the comp scene-- however trivial it felt now, relative to all the other things-- always immediately teleported me back to 2015. And saying yes to the opportunity to compete again was so much more to me than just that. It marked feeling secure in my abilities as a climber, my motivations in the sport, and my relationships with the people it has brought into my world. It also meant expanding my self esteem to encompass so many other things in my life besides the quantifiability of grades and rankings.

[Part 3/3] It felt good to be surrounded by the people who gave me warmth and comfort and kept me here in Mexico for far beyond the arbitrary four-week return date on my ticket. It felt good too to climb from that same place, rather than from one of friction toward my competitors. I didn’t feel that I was competing at all, but rather a big gym session amongst friends. Of course, the nature of this comp was much different from those childhood ones that were defined by tears, failure, and helicopter parents. Here, as in Salto, things were simpler, lighter. But I was also different. For the first time, I was competing on my own terms. I was present and not five hours ahead, fixated on the podium. I knew the things I could control and those I couldn’t (such as the comp being 90% slab), and I didn’t preoccupy myself with the latter. I wasn’t nervous, except for maybe on the first climb and in the 15 minutes before that. Not even in finals. And yes, maybe it took 10 years and a backyard comp in another country to get to this point, and perhaps it was more a series of windy backroads than a straight-shot freeway. But I was climbing free and for myself and only myself. I didn’t feel lost or inauthentic. I never questioned my place in this sport and my unconditional love for it. And while I don’t think comps are something I will ever be as passionate about again, I am beyond grateful to have had the opportunity to overwrite some of those childhood experiences and form new associations to an aspect of my life that has held a dark place for a very long time. Thank you and thank you to my little Salto family for being there for the ride you probably didn’t know you were along for. I appreciate you.

Grateful for all the strong strong lady crushers that have inspired me this past year ✨💜 Happy International Women's Day!

𝗢𝗻 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻. At this point I am likely blacklisted by American Airlines, after moving my flight date at least five times over the past two weeks. This was largely a reflection of the ups & downs of my headspace with constantly changing partners and circumstances. One day I was ready to move to Spain permanently. The next I'd be homesick and preemptively dreading the holiday season. I honestly don't remember the last time I felt so torn up with the unpredictability of it all.

I always joked when I left that I might just stay forever. But there was always some truth in that, and I do believe this is a place where I fit in more than most and where the balance of climbing and life actually exists. Despite the language barrier, I felt I could relate more to people here than back in the States, that I was generally happier despite missing my friends and family. And that's not to glaze over the climbing, of which I explored maybe 1% of two areas (Rodellar and Margalef), but that 1% was enough to leave a permanent imprint and to shift my own personal definitions of what is required to be a sport climber.

As I'm out on this walk on this long overdue rest day, following a bout with food poisoning and feeling like walking death for the past 36 hours, I'm finally able to take a step back and process the past two months: watching far too many scary movies with my Rodellar roomies ❤️ Pulling my draws off the mega rig, after just blowing the redpoint, and realising that this would be the last attempt of the season. Third wheeling with the most wonderful couple I met randomly because they asked me about a podcast recommendation. Having the most badass lady crew for a week straight. Attending my first "ronda" (bar crawl) with the locals. Late nights on rooftops. Having to tape every finger because my baby skin wasn't ready for pockets again. My first hostel. Reuniting with old friends in Barcelona and feeling I was never quite alone. Spain really did give me the full spectrum.

For now, or at least until I call American Airlines again, I have just two weeks left. Then back home, whatever that actually means. And maybe a rest day or two somewhere in between 😉

El Delfín 7c+ (5.13a) 🐬 Beautiful route on the prominent arch atop of Rodellar, which forms a dolphin in its center. Horizontal roof climbing, heel-toe cams, kneebars, and a tufa mount finish... couldn't have asked for anything more!

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𝑰𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚... there seems to be this underlying assumption that other climbers climb for the same reason you do and want to have the same experience on the wall. For some, climbing is a social outlet, a means of connecting with people and becoming immersed in a community. For others it is about the purity of movement and toeing the boundary of mental and physical limits. For all of us, at least to some extent, it is an alternate reality and a momentary escape from real life stressors and problems.

Nine times out of ten, I would rather blow the onsight than get the flash. Or at least suss out the beta myself on a bolt-by-bolt "look & feel" run than be bombarded with a slew of suggestions from people with very different builds and climbing styles. It's not an ego thing, it's a learning thing. Regardless of the outcome of that onsight attempt, I will walk away having learned something.

I think what attracts a lot of us to climbing is the rush of solving the puzzle and figuring out a means of navigating through a section of wall. And it isn't our place to take that experience away from someone. For a lot of my friends, climbing also represents a safe space where they are able to be less guarded and more freely themselves. There aren't very many spaces like that. And to tell someone how they "should" climb something without asking first is a glaring reminder that consent (or lack thereof) still exists both within and outside of our climbing bubble.

At the end of the day, we all have to check-in and ask ourselves why we want to give someone beta. Is it for our own egos or for the sake of the other climber? Because this to me IS an ego thing. Showing others at the crag that we have climbed something noteworthy and establishing a power dynamic (whether intentionally or not) between ourselves and the other climber. And I think unless the answer is anything but safety related, then we should take a moment before assuming that the five-foot climber on the wall wants the 6' 4" guy beta. If the climber really wants beta, they will seek it out themselves.