Everyday Dirtbag Entry #109.

I once heard a boulderer tell me that all he needed to train hard and climb hard was “a good group of bros. Dudes who threw down.” He went on to say that “having a sick crew” was the most essential element.

And I was thinking about that.

So I guess my bros would have to be my five and nine-year-old daughters. Three or four days a week, me and that sick crew throw down on the plywood in the garage. We hit the slag and mash slimpers.

We each have a proj.

We get shut down.

They amp me.

I amp them.

One of them sends.

The other sends.

I send.

That’s how we roll.

And I love that a five-year-old girl makes the exact same high-pitch whine noise as a twenty-two-year-old bro who’s about to fall.

And I love that my nine-year-old yelled, “Spot me! Don’t touch me. No, spot me!” like everybody else does in that situation.

But that’s just my crew, son.


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