I will NEVER forget the moment when Lia went into surgery. We were allowed to accompany her to the elevator, on her little hospital bed pushed by two nurses. It was the most difficult moment in our lives. The fear of never seeing her again was overwhelming. In her presence, I didn’t allow myself to have dark thoughts, but once the doors closed and Lia left, I collapsed. I clung to the shoulders of my partner Jeremy, who was also crying. This feeling of total helplessness came over me and I could only think of one thing to do to pass the time during these next four hours: go climbing to avoid thinking.

Lia was born with a heart defect. This was discovered on the second day of her life thanks to the treatment of jaundice at the maternity hospital in Bourg-Saint-Maurice.

You can imagine that this beginning was quite dramatic. Barely did she arrive on this earth, we were already confronted with the possibility of losing her. I felt like I was in a bad movie: ambulance heading to the neonatal unit in Grenoble, me sitting in the passenger seat, with our little Lia in the back in a neonatal care box, watched by two doctors. We had to leave Jeremy behind because there was no room in the ambulance. I called my big brother Arno crying on the road, something I do when I’m at the end of my rope. Arno is always very calm, he is a father of two, he was able to sympathize but also to talk to me calmly and with a clear mind and a pragmatic attitude.

Once in Grenoble at the Neonat, the shock was even more severe: We had just moved from a very small maternity hospital to this large modern center, with medical equipment everywhere. I felt like fallen out of the little cocoon we had created during the birth, but at the same time I was relieved to know she was in good care. The cardiologist Dr. Lachaux identified an aortic valve malformation through an ultrasound. Instead of being tricuspid, it was unicuspid and quite narrow. These kinds of aortic malformations are quite common, 1% of newborns are born with a heart malformation, but when it happens to you, your world collapses.

We had to stay two days in Grenoble where Lia was under surveillance 24/7. Jérémy managed to join us with his parents shortly after the cardiologist’s diagnosis. In spite of our great sadness and exhaustion, the maternal instinct had automatically settled in me. I had to breastfeed my little one, feed her every four hours, day and night. I had to give her love and send her positive thoughts. I was lucky enough that my delivery went so well, I didn’t have any injuries or fissures which allowed me to be there for her 100% in machine mode.

After two days we were able to leave the NICU. Lia was stable and in rather great shape, despite her issue. It was the diagnosis that was hard to swallow.

A malformation that remains for life, with a first open heart surgery in the first three months to improve the functioning of the valve. Then several operations until adulthood, always to fix the valve and then eventually replace it with an artificial valve once Lia would be done growing.

This diagnosis destroyed our dreams overnight: Our life was going to be shaped by visits to the hospital, with several heavy interventions, with a permanent fear of losing our child. We, who had planned to roam the world with her, to keep up our beautiful life in the open air, it all fell through and we were going to spend our life at home, close to a hospital.

Jeremy wanted to sell our Unimog Andrea, I stalled.

The first three months of Lia’s life were very special. The doctors warned us to be very vigilant about Lia’s condition and to protect her from almost everything. The idea was to first allow her to grow as much as possible so that she could gain strength before the first surgery. Every week we had to go to Grenoble to Dr. Lachaux to follow the evolution of her heart. The indicators were rising quite fast at the beginning because little ones evolve at a crazy speed and her left ventricle was having more and more trouble pumping blood into that little aortic valve. By the third month it had stabilized a bit. From the outside, Lia was still doing great and that was the weird part: on paper we had a sick child but in reality, everything was fine. For the first six weeks, after every visit to the cardiologist, I cried. Little by little, we got used to this new life and the new life we were going to have. I quickly let go of the idea of traveling and instead invested in our little house to make it a cozy little nest. I had been traveling all my life and settling down somewhere gave me the calm and stability I needed to deal with the challenges of Lia’s health.

During these three months, we wanted to offer our little girl a beautiful life, while protecting her. We took her outside as much as possible around the house, showering her with love and confidence. Jeremy and I both received immense support from our environment: Both our families and friends gave us moral support like we had never known. This little girl erased any tension we may have had between us and made us go back to basics.

The older Lia got, the closer the time of the surgery got, the more fearful we became of losing her. I often found myself crying, I needed to get the emotions out through tears. But I also found comfort in climbing. Every time I found enormous joy in it, and this activity was a kind of therapy for me. I always came back refreshed and filled with joy and hope.

In the last week of September, we got the call from Lyon to tell us Lia was going to have the surgery the following week. We had already gone to Lyon to meet the surgeon Olivier Metton. A tall man with giant hands. I couldn’t take my eyes off his hands during our first meeting and I wondered how he was able to operate on little hearts with his giant hands. But in his gestures and his way of speaking, there was something magical and I had full confidence in his and his team’s ability to fix Lia’s little heart.

Yet despite my great confidence in Lia’s good care and life more generally, my heart stopped beating when Lyon called us to announce the date of the operation. We met online with the anesthesiologist and my knees were shaking non-stop. A week later we were driving to the hospital. On the way down to Moutiers, I felt like I was paralyzed. I had to stop and hand over the wheel to Jeremy, I had lost control of my body and my movements.

On October 4th, we went to the hospital: X-ray, ultrasound, blood test, blood pressure, temperature… it was a long afternoon. At night I slept with Lia in her room, Jeremy slept in the “Maison du petit monde“ (House of the small people), an accommodation for parents and family of hospitalized children.

During that night, all anxiety disappeared. Lia’s feedings were very gentle and she stayed in my arms for a long time. I felt the strength of this little girl and the calmness she had in her. At six o’clock, Jeremy came to us crying. He had spent the night alone in his room, tears of sadness flowing non-stop. Lia was lying on her bed and Jeremy put his head on her stomach and cried. That moment, she made a new gesture: she caressed his head, his hair, as if she wanted to assure him.

After two disinfectant baths, it was time to send Lia to the operating room.

Dr. Metton had explained to us exactly what was going to happen with Lia in the OR the month prior. After the general anesthesia, her chest was going to be opened up and her heart was going to be replaced by a machine. The idea seemed pretty crazy and unreal to me. She was going to have a tube in her neck to inject medication and take real time blood checks. Then the surgeon would go and check the problematic valve and decide on the spot what to do: Enlarge the valve, make it more functional, close it and hope that there would be no leakage due to a too large opening of the leaflets. Then close the chest, remove the machine and start her own little heart again. The whole operation would take 4 to 6 hours.

We found ourselves in the hallway of the hospital, the elevator had left with our little girl and we knew exactly what she had to go through. It was the most difficult moment in my life. I was suspended in a void, bearings lost, helpless, vulnerable and so fragile.

My lover and I had made a plan to get through the next few hours and we followed it. We took our bikes, a backpack with slippers and gym shorts and went to a block room that was close to the hospital, M-Roc. It felt good to be active. Cycling under a blue sky cleared our brains and the climb afterwards was the best thing to do to keep our minds off Lia‘s surgery. Once our arms were done, we forced ourselves to stay for a bite despite our lack of appetite. I was eating, looking at my phone next to the plate, waiting for the phone call from the surgeon that would come once the operation was over.

And finally, the phone rang:

“Dr. Metton on the phone. The operation went very well! Lia even gave us a nice surprise: I discovered that her valve is completely normal, but that at the exit there was a kind of tissue ball that created a blockage effect. I removed it and I dare to say that her problem is fixed once and for all. This little one is really amazing, in my 25 years in the business I have never seen this before. You can feel lucky, what a nice surprise!”

And then we burst with joy, our tears flowing, our hearts relieved. I called my family, I had trouble speaking, my voice interspersed with tears and laughter. The bike ride home felt like a release. Jeremy in front of me, I tried to keep up, he was going so fast!

When we arrived at the hospital, Lia was still asleep. We discovered her with hoses and cables coming in and out of her in all directions, as we have been warned. The sight was not very pretty at all, but we were prepared and it was much less difficult to see her in that state than anticipated. Lia looked good, with a nice complexion, the big scar on her chest hidden by a bandage, her hands still tied to prevent her from tearing the cables by reflex when she would wake up. After half an hour, she came to slowly. We were there, right next to our little girl who had just produced a small miracle. It was like a rebirth. She was in pain, but her broken voice wouldn’t let her cries come out. After just a couple hours more, they were able to remove her breathing tube, she had undergone the operation very well and was able to breathe on her own. That same day around midnight, she could already take her first bottle with mom’s delicious milk, pumped with the famous milk pump.

Jeremy and I took advantage of the first two days when she was in intensive care to take care of ourselves a bit. We slept two full nights in the Maison du petit monde to regain our strength and we accepted to leave Lia in the good hands of the doctors and nurses. She was still very high on pain killers and slept a lot. On the third day we were able to transfer her to another ward and from then on one of us could always be at her side. Lia was recovering at an incredible speed; every day we were able to remove more tubes: the pee tube, the three drainage tubes, the pacemaker wires, the central line and on the fifth day after the operation, we were able to remove the bandage to see her pirate scar. She was looking as beautiful as ever and a few hours later we were allowed to go home.

Since, we have still had check-ups every week in Grenoble. But considering her steadfast evolution, we will soon be able to space doctor visits out.

Becoming a parent is a difficult thing, but also such a beautiful one. In the last four months, I felt emotions like never in my life: Fear, joy, love… everything takes a new dimension and I feel alive like never before.

This difficult beginning with our little one has deeply marked and transformed me. I received compassion from all the parents we informed. We received so much support and love from people we know closely and even from people we don’t know personally. I feel like children bring us together with all the parents in the world, because everyone is worried about their children and everyone can imagine the depth of fear we went through during this heavy period.

Lia is now a completely normal child. We are one month post-op and sometimes I have already forgotten what we have been through. She is so lively that it seems unreal. Sometimes, images of the hospital come back to me and remind me of how lucky we were. I realize that we will be able to slowly return to the life we dreamed of: a life of living outside, traveling, discovering the world… Before all this, I took this way of life for granted. And today, I see it as a huge gift that life has offered us.

I would like to thank two people in particular: the cardiologist Mathias Lachaux in Grenoble and the surgeon Olivier Metton in Lyon. They and their teams are performing miracles daily. They save the lives of our little ones and they care for them with such attention and vigilance. I feel lucky to live in a country where the medical system works so well and at a time when it is so advanced. Thanks to them our daughter has a body that functions normally now and she will be able to lead a normal life. What a gift!

From the bottom of my heart, I would also like to thank every person who listened to our story and took a little weight off of our shoulders by doing so. I don’t wish for anyone to have to go through what we went through, but by writing this story, I would like to be able to offer support if it were to happen to you. Because I too have met parents who were willing to share their story with us, and it gave us hope. Thank you all, thank you life!

Saturday, 2pm.

We were having lunch with two friends and their 11-month old baby. I haven’t stopped dreaming of giving birth. One day has passed since my due date, and the last 10 days have felt so long.

This morning I had pain in my legs, like a nerve was pinched or something.

By the end of the meal, I start feeling my first contractions. It feels pretty soft but regular. I’m excited, day X is beginning.

7pm

I spent the whole afternoon having contractions. They are so far soft and I don’t understand why women complain so much about it (little did I know!). I feel confident but also uncertain. I don’t know at which point we should head to the birthing center. Jérémy is busy in the garage and pops in from time to time. He’s pretty relaxed and we laugh a lot, sharing the excitement and the joy for what’s to come.

I told Jérémy to prepare his bag and 15 minutes later we are on our way to Bourg Saint Maurice, the larger village in our area. In the car, the contractions feel more painful due to the shaky downhill driving. I can’t stay sitting during a contraction, I always have to move to all fours.

I start breathing more forcefully, it helps to take away the pain.

8pm

When we enter the birthing center, which is connected to the hospital, I feel pretty good. The midwife checks me and sees that I’m still pretty early in my labor. She examines the opening of my cervix and uses the monitors to hear the baby’s heartbeat and to observe my contractions.

Everything is looking good but I’m still miles away from giving birth. Since we live far away, the midwife invites us to stay here at the birthing center rather than return home. We feel kind of silly with our little luggage, well packed for over a month. Jérémy orders a couple of pizzas and we have fun eating them between contractions.

July 3th, 1am

I’m lying in my bed and every 6 minutes I have to get up and hang from the bar above my bed. The contractions are starting to feel very intense. Jérémy asks if it’s ok for him to sleep for a couple of hours, he feels useless.

Once I see him sleeping, I feel myself enter another state. I feel high, and the fact that it’s nighttime gives me a feeling of drifting off.

The midwife comes to check on me every two hours. I do my work, she observes me and, with the two sensor belts around my belly, she continues to monitor the baby’s heart and my contractions. She offers me morphine, because this will take hours. I feel a little confused and say “no need” just before the next contraction. Jérémy wakes up soon after and confirms that I don’t want any kind of painkillers.

5am

My body starts producing his own painkillers. I start falling into 30 and 60 second naps between contractions. I’m suffering a lot and wondering how this is doable by half the women on the planet. The effort becomes like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

Jérémy wakes up and I ask him for help. I need him by my side, during every contraction he has to breathe with me. I ask him to fill up the bathtub, and he stays there with me for hours. The hot water helps me relax. I start to poop and to vomit over and over. I can’t eat one single bite or drink more than a few drops of water. My body is starting to make space.

11am

Jérémy and I enter a sort of symbiosis. He can’t leave anymore, as I need him at my side. He is quiet but very present. At the start of every contraction, he reminds me to breath. The pain is violent and my brain starts to drift away to manage it.

The midwife offers to check the opening: 4 fingers (about 6cm). It seems unreal that I’m feeling so much pain for so many hours yet my cervix is not further open yet. I stay positive and I don’t allow myself to worry. I compare the situation with a big wall: Don’t’ think about topping out when you’re in the middle of the wall. Take every contraction as a crux in a long and endless pitch. Stay focused and believe that the baby knows what they have to do and how fast they have to move.

4pm

My water has not broken yet, and this is becoming a problem. It has been leaking little by little for more than 12 hours, and I have to take antibiotics to avoid infection. The midwife offers to help reduce the pressure of the fluid with a little needle. I refuse.

6pm

The last two hours have been a little less intense and I was able to sleep and to recover a bit of energy. The midwife is checking the baby’s heart, everything is good. I ask her to help me with my still unbroken water. She takes a very small needle and all the sudden, I feel such a huge relivement. I’m impressed by the quantity of liquid running out in one shot and I immediately feel better. Now the baby can move through more easily.

8pm

I’m almost there. The contractions are very very intense and it is so, so painful. I start crying, just for the pain. Jérémy calms me down and talks to me with his confident voice.

Finally, my cervix is at 10cm and the two midwives lead me to the birthing room.

They installed a traction bar above the bed, so I can take the same position as I did during my labor. But in this hanging position, I don’t feel like I can push hard enough. I start to regret that I refused an epidural, the pain was so intense. In the moment I’m too proud and too busy to say it. I start pushing like I learned in the labor prep courses, but it doesn’t work. After 40 minutes of pushing in this room surrounded by Jérémy and the midwives, I start to panic. One of the midwives calls the doctor, just in case.

When the doctor came into the room and saw me suffering like this, he immediately offered to use the forceps. Jérémy knows that this is his moment: He jumps towards me, jelling into my ears: “No Nina, you don’t need help, you can do it. You worked 29 hours and now it’s not the time to give up. ALLEZ ALLEZ ALLEZ!”

I can’t deal with having Jérémy so close to my ears and I yell at him to shut up. So he goes around the bed to the other side, ready to receive the baby. I change position and end up on my back, laying my legs on the bar.

At this point I was totally desperate and started crying on the midwife’s breast. She gives me very clear orders on how to push. I feel the baby going down and back up, down and back up. I feel powerless to do more but I don’t know how to get the baby out. Jérémy can see the head of the baby and invites me to touch them, but I’m disgusted by that gooey thing. But at the same time I feel obligated to push this thing out.

After one hour in this state, the midwife pulls out one more trick. She inserts her fingers towards my pelvis in order to stimulate where the baby has to move to. And with enormous encouragement and a huge push, the baby’s head finally comes out. Jérémy is holding the head and on the next contraction, he takes the baby in his arms. He’s coming towards me with this little present and is laying down the baby on my chest: “Nina, it’s a girl”.

I feel knocked out. I can’t talk, nor laugh, nor cry. I’m empty. Little Lia is laying on my breast and 5 min later, the placenta comes out, just as it should. Now I feel relieved. Lia gives her first cry and with it, the start of a new chapter begins. We’re a family now.

Giving birth was the biggest event of my life. It took us a while, but Lia made it slowly and steadily in 30 hours. 

I feel so lucky that I was able to have a natural birth, it feels like a very big gift. 

I would love to thank all the amazing midwives of Bourg Saint Maurice: Elodie, Marianne and Alexandra which helped me so much during the work and the pushing at the end. But also Coralie, Aurélie, Laureline, Cyrielle, Nadien, Virginie, Gisèle and Laurie. They did such an incredible job and I felt that I was in best care. It’s funny that at the end I was swearing many times that I would never do this again. Now, 4 weeks later, I see it as the greatest and best event of my life. The pain is big, there is no way around, but it disappears instantly and you only remember it as a miracle. 

And thank’s to Jérémy, who was living this experience to its fullest with me and who never had any doubt in my capacities. These 30 hours made us grow! He also respected my wish to document the experience, even if it was stressful and hard to take pictures while I was suffering. He choose 3 different analog cameras and we’re happy to share those intense moments with you. 

And last but not least, big respect to every woman who has given birth.

I dream a lot. Almost every morning I wake up and remember, for a moment, dreams from the night before. Some say it’s a way for the subconscious to process. Maybe I don’t have enough down time to do it any differently.

I had dreams my first days in Makatea, then they disappeared. I guess, there, I was living the dream.

Climbing, like many outdoor pursuits, brings you to places you couldn’t imagine existed.

Makatea is one of those. A tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, it’s a mere 6 km by 4 km and part of the French Polynesia.

The atoll is shaped for climbing with 80 m high cliffs on the perimeter of the island. The only way to get there is by boat, a day of sailing from Tahiti when the sea is fair, or longer and wilder when it’s not (which is what we got).

In the 1960s, some 3,000 people lived on the island, working in a mine. The island was rich in phosphate and for many years, money was flowing from the natural resource.

Then, the mining came to an end and work moved on. The mines, the houses, the shops, the trail system, the port… all since abandoned to rust and decay.

The 80 people still living on the island are marked by its history, but nature has since taken over, and the jungle hides most of the mining structures. It covers many things, except the damage done to the island’s people.

Our mission was to bring climbing, caving, and other outdoor activities to the island to help build eco-tourism as a viable resource. We’d brought together a good crew and were working closely with the mayor’s son, Hai Tapu, who is himself a climber. Years ago, he’d recognized his islands’ potential, but in Polynesia, everything moves slowly. Now he had 10 of us to help for an entire month, equipped with our drill machines and a few hundred bolts.

In the month before I left, I had doubts. What if the project failed? What if the climbing was dull? What if nothing happened aside from watching a few old fishermen fish? At some point I simply had to trust the experience.

I’d pictured our crew arriving on this remote island, living from what mother nature had to offer and camping in the total wilderness. But the 80 or so people are connected to the rest of the world in their own way. Despite the rich soil (there are coconut trees everywhere), only a few people grow things. Once per month, a ferry arrives from Tahiti to deliver food. Modern houses and a school make up the community.

We began the project next to the harbor. We camped at night and ate coconuts around the clock.

The sea cliffs here offered an excellent playground. We opened two new sectors on rock similar to what you find on Kalymnos or Turkey. We bolted in the morning until noon, then the sun hit the cliff. After a short nap, we explored the island’s incredible nature. The first obvious thing to do was go snorkelling. Among the pristine coral reefs, we swam with what seemed like billions of fish, a few turtles, and many curious sharks.

The sea is a big part of Makateas’ culture and daily life. We saw their top spear fishermen in action. The harbor is big gathering zone for the community and playing with the children helped us get to know them better.

After 10 days, we moved camp to the other side of the island. Here, the wind and storms hit straight-on which makes the place so wild and beautiful. The rock is also different. We found 40 m pure blank walls, with perfect pockets and cracks. Above the sea, we equipped routes on steep and perfectly shaped rock—quality far above what we could have ever expected.

Given the abundance of birds living in these cliffs, we payed careful attention when choosing the cliffs that we wanted to bolt, to ensure they weren’t near any nests.

In addition to opening new routes, we developed a school program with the kids. We taught them about global water scarcity, resource conservation and caring for our planet. Every day, a new climber would bring his or her thoughts to the conversation. On my day, we planted three mango trees and created a play, which the kids showcased at the end of the month.

The cherry on top of this crazy month was the event at the end. Two hundred people arrived from neighbouring islands to experience all the outdoor activity the island had to offer. For four days, we guided groups through different climbing sites, and went caving. We tested the new via ferrata that others had installed and a new zipline. We gave tours of the old phosphate mines which look today like an enormous battlefield.

Every night, people played guitar and sang around the campfire. The entire village came out.

I was amazed to see the evolution from our first day to the last. Introducing something new to the island, even something deemed positive, had felt strange. But seeing all these joyous people celebrating the beauty of nature and sharing this great feeling of living something unique, made it all feel so right.

Back in Europe, I started dreaming again. Our busy daily life, with its information overload, its lights and noise, was too much for my brain to process. So my subconscious had to start working again. Sometimes I think Makatea was only a dream. I forget how the deep calm I had felt. But, like my dreams each morning, I try hard to remember.

En francais:

Wogü is a multipitch route located in my dear Rätikon. When my ex-partner, Cédric Lachat, asked me last winter if I would be interested in climbing that route with him, I was psyched to check it out.

Beat Kammerlander’s masterpiece Wogü has been free-climbed only 3 times: by Adam Ondra in 2008, Edu Marin in 2016 and Roland Hemetzberger in 2017. I liked the opportunity to have Cédric as a rope gun since Beat’s routes are famous for high exposure. Why not let him figure out the holds, and then join to play the climbing game with him.

We planned to make a movie, showing how we had evolved differently since splitting up back in 2014 and looking at where we each had ended up today. Despite our separation, we kept up a high complicity when it comes to big wall climbing.

But then COVID-19 arrived and I took the decision to spend the lockdown in France with my boyfriend and 4 other friends in a small mountain town. No climbing for a total of 6 weeks. Time for a new life experience, like so many people around the world (read more about it on the “confinement chronicles”). 
Wogü was getting nearer and I got swiftly back to project mode after such a long time enjoying life and drifting a bit.

Preparing a big climb is something I love to do. What I like the most is organising and setting up all the things we needed for the projects. Making climbing movies is one of my favourite things in life and that motivation helped me a lot to stick to the project of getting into that hard core 8c multipitch route. Because, full disclosure, my climbing level for a route like Wogü was miles away at that time. However, my doubts about the feasibility of the project because of my weak climbing shape were quickly washed away by the idea of supporting Cédric as much as I could and as well as managing the logistics of the film project.

Climbing level apart, I also had some doubts about spending so much of the Spring time with my ex during. The previous winter, when Cédric and I had decided to climb Wogü together, I was single. Little I did suspect that I would meet “that boy” shortly after and end up spending a few months of lockdown with him. Needless to say, my priorities changed quite a lot between the planning of Wogü and I felt some tensions before it all started, although I got full support from my boyfriend Jérémy.

Then the day arrived to get going and by the time Cédric and I were done climbing the very first pitch of Wogü, all my doubts had flown away. I felt again this deep complicity with him while being on the wall, this endless trust and support. It was simply great and way above my expectations.

That was certainly due to the fact that we were totally alone in the Rätikon, a place I love so much and I know so well. The energy up there is magical, powerful and everything is simply pretty. Every time I’m there, touching this pure limestone I feel at home. The film crew was top notch, everyone on the wall was an expert and had confidence in the gear and the ropes we set up. We also had a clear storyboard for the film. Cédric was his usual climbing-machine and guided us through all these hard pitches. Since I had almost zero expectations on my climbing level, I was simply satisfied with every movement I could manage and with little expectation usually comes greater enjoyment.

I had no pressure and so much energy to put into the project overall. The more we spent time on the wall, the fitter I got and the more I could fully express myself in the climbing, which was good for our synergy on the wall. Despite the enormous level difference between Cédric and I, I could figure out tricky sequences which helped both of us and guided Cédric to his very clear goal of making a ground up ascent. He fell twice though, trying a ground up, at the third pitch, a very bouldery 8c.

Time passed, we got more and more dialled in and confident and learned to be more strategic. I freed some pitches here and there, while Cédric got closer and closer to freeing the entire piece. But then I somehow started to feel strange one day, while trying to free pitch 7, another 8c.

I’ve struggled for the last year with my menstrual cycle, and recently it had become more and more of an issue. On this day, a problem with my contraceptive device caused a huge amount of bleeding, pain, and fatigue. My energy level dropped significantly, but I really wanted to support Cédric as he was so close to send.

Three days later, it finally what happened. He started climbing at 5pm, machine mode full on. I belayed, jumared, managed the logistics so he could just focus on climbing and performing. On a little ledge, just before the final hard 8c pitch I almost passed out, but the big drive of Cédric and his perfect climbing was reason enough to support him until the summit. I was so impressed by his performance, zero mistake, perfect execution. It was very beautiful to watch and my physical problems apart, it’s one of the most incredible moments him and I have shared. Climbing ground up without a single fall has been by far one of the biggest performances of Cédric.

Nina Caprez & Cédric Lachat at the end of WoGü

Nina Caprez & Cédric Lachat at the end of WoGü

Needless to say, after that he and I for different reasons, were simply destroyed. We still had to work on the wall for another couple days to complete the filming project. Those days felt like very hard work for both of us, but we had to finish the job.

Nina Caprez – Marc Daviet – Cédric Lachat

Happy and relieved, we completed the project and had a huge fondue party at the hut with the whole crew.

It took me over a month to recover and now looking back, I realize many things. It has been the first time where I clearly experienced the differences between male and female climber. I can see how rich and complex it is to be a women and also how complicated and painful it can be. But as always, I trust life. There was a reason why it all happened and it really helps me to accept.

Yes, things changed in my life, I have other priorities now. Which doesn’t mean that I won’t stick to climbing, at all! Also, it has been the first time in my career that I fully supported someone and that I was able to take a step back while being more giving and compationate with myself and others around me. I don’t know if I have to go back to Wogü. I don’t need to know the answer to be honest. I just listen and see where it will all take me…

I felt so lucky to work with so amazing people on that project and I would love so say thank you to:

Cédric Lachat, my climbing partner who saved my life many times

Mathieu Rivoire, for being the most creative and funnies director ever

Guillaume Broust, Marc Daviet, Julien Christ and Leonard Bernard for the super efficient filming and taking pictures on the wall

Jérémy Bernard for the great support and drone shots

Mama and Bea for being the best Parduzerhütten “chefs”

And everyone being involved and helping out!

Description
 
Expressen: Quickdraws
Schlingen: Slings
Roter Schlaghaken: Red piton
BH: Bolts
DPB: Deep blue sea
Bis zum Gipfel: Until the summit
Stand auf einem Pfeifenkopf oder Schultersicherung:
Belay on top of a mushroom or belaying on your shoulders 

We all have a different past. We evolved in different ways influenced by our environment and shaped by it.

Obviously, I have dedicated many hours of my life to climbing, and it is a fixed part of my life. It has been an education, self-directed, focused on my body, my mind, and how I interact with my environment. As I have dedicated so much time becoming really good at this one thing, I am finding these days that there are certainly areas of life-education that I need to catch up on.

One of them is learning how to interact with humans. Tough one. I can imagine that during this period of confinement we are all learning more about relationships.  We have all been cut off from our favorite activities. Our freedom to move around, to go out, even close to home, is not the same as before. And many of us live with other people. All the time. The same people. Very close to us. All the time.

I have to admit I have never lived in these circumstances before. Because I have built my life around my climbing, I have kept my home life small and light to allow for nearly constant travelling. I have been following the changing seasons and my changing inspirations, always doing basically whatever I wanted to do with no one else to answer to. I have never found one place where I wanted to stay and to accept the local rhythm all year long. And I have never had a serious desire to start a family or to settle down. Excitement and adventure have been my engine and this life has always fulfilled me. I have had beautiful partnerships over these years, but the relationship has always had to adapt to this way of living that I love.

Staying in one place, with one person, facing a routine, dealing with human emotions and staying committed to a situation even if it costs me time and energy that I would rather spend on climbing and adventures, is a thing I have avoided all my life. The option to escape has always been there, and as climbing is also my work it has been easy to justify leaving.  When tough emotions came up, I took off dancing up a wall. Climbing seemed to be my problem solver, I could get some distance from hard emotional things, and make decisions with a clear head.

Now we are confined. Wow, what a game changer! What an opportunity for me to learn to face things I never faced before: Staying in one place as the seasons change, community thinking and living, no climbing or hikes in the mountains, no walls to climb on, no fans to feed my ego.

About 6 months ago I started feeling things I had never felt before. Somehow a whispering voice has been there, but I had a hard time listening to it because my life as a professional climber was so full. There has been no empty space, no room, no calm period where I could sit still and listen to this whisper.

And then, well, confinement time arrived somehow at the perfect moment in my life. Like I told you before, sometimes I miss dancing up a wall so much that I have to cry. On the other hand, this confinement has helped me see the deeper reasons why I climb today. Climbing is how I communicate with nature, with my environment. I love to touch rocks and play with shapes and body positions, get to know a piece of nature so intimately. I really love spending my time in nature or close to it. Even as I am not going rock climbing, every day I go outside. I’m fascinated by the beauty, the smells and colours of our backyard. I love to see new things growing as the snow is melting, and learn how to use different plants, flowers, and seeds as they appear. My life right now has zero adrenaline, zero “action”, zero “excitement”, and this is rather new.

To live together with 5 people in a small house for six weeks (so far) with zero climbing is so new to me.  I have the impression I am catching up on many lessons that I have missed in my life.

Honestly, I have never felt so calm before, and my mind is very clear (even without climbing). The option of running away as soon as a relationship becomes complicated does not exist. So I slowly start to develop other skills. Whereas I may typically think in terms of “me” and “my projects” first, I accept that “me” is not really relevant. Now it’s about “us.”

I imagine that so many of you are going through similar experiences as I am right now. Even though not everyone has my same lifestyle, we always seem to find ways to escape. Our work, sports, other obsessions, keep us busy and let us avoid the natural challenges of human relationships. Now we’re stuck at home. Some of us with more freedom because they have a garden or live somewhere more remote. Others are in tiny apartments in the city. Some become violent, some creative. Some are anxious, some are calm.

No matter how your personal situation looks, I invite you to see this as a big opportunity to face yourself, to be kind with yourself and the people you’re living with. This isolation can lead us back to essentials, to see what really matters to us. I’m confident that with the right attitude, we will all grow in a beautiful way.

Last night we had an amazing dance party in our little house in the mountains. All six of us dressed up, we made dinner and spent a good while sitting and eating and chatting. Then we turned on the sound system and had a proper late night dance party for Eline’s 22nd birthday. It’s amazing to see how different my life looks like since the confinement has started. I rest a lot. Once a day I have a Pilate session with my friend Ann from California. Some days I go for a run or just a simple walk. Sometimes it happens that I do some pull ups (imagine!).

 
Mostly, though, I just enjoy chatting with the friends I live with, or calling other friends and family on FaceTime. I read more than usual. I work on my French, my English, and my singing. I play Scrabble for hours and hours.

I have this feeling that there will be a “before” and “after” COVID-19 era. I can’t imagine that the world is simply on standby right now and that after a couple of weeks we will go back to the old reality.

To be truly honest with you, and I told you this already in my recent post, the confinement has arrived at a perfect moment in my life. I’ve been struggling over the last few years with certain things that I might rather not face. Now I have the space to think about them.

The world has been moving fast and I haven’t been able to resist its rhythm. I found myself running after every task, restless. I could feel myself becoming frustrated and yet I didn’t know why. I see now that it was related to the way I was doing things, always pushing to do all of the things. I can imagine that during this confinement, some of you are realizing the same.

Up until the confinement no matter what I was doing, I was thinking always about the next step.

Also, I’m in my mid-thirties now and my needs have been changing. I’ve ignored them because my desire to climb hard has always been my top priority. I’ve climbed and pushed myself hard this way since I was 17. I love hard work and giving my best. It has always made me feel satisfied and content.

Since the beginning of 2019, my mind has been consumed by the idea of free climbing The Nose. If you know me just a little bit, you know that the routes I love most are those which are not so famous. I am drawn to routes that are in radical, remote places, new routes, or rarely-repeated, hard old-school classics. Even if I am not physically the strongest climber, I can always rely on my strong mind set to do incredible things.

The Nose is not my style of project, as it is possibly the most famous (and crowded) route in the world. But once I start something I simply can’t stop until I have given it my very very best effort. This is how The Nose became my unlikely obsession. In 2019, I trained almost all year. All my thoughts and intentions were dedicated to this iconic route situated in the Yosemite Valley. I slept with the topo over my bed, and Lynn’s “It Goes Boys” quote pasted on my door.

I pushed myself so hard in training, even though I could tell that my body was getting tired and that my heart was not always in it. Never before in my life had I trained for so long (a full year!) for one single route. When I left Switzerland for California in October, 2019, I knew that I was in the best shape of my life, physically. But at the same time I had never felt so fragile in my mind. Somehow the opposite of “Nina style.”

As soon as I arrived in Los Angeles I had a total meltdown. You can read all about it here in my Nose blog. But trust me, it was rough.

I somehow managed to get my shit together and perform on the Nose like I never had before. At the end, it was not enough and I failed. Failed, yes. Normally I believe that in climbing, there is no failure as long as you tried your absolute best. Plenty of times in my life I have tried a route and not sent. Like for example in 2018 with Melissa in Madagascar. We clearly did not send the route we had come for (Tough Enough), but hell, we climbed our asses off and the trip was a huge success, chain or no chain.

But this time, on The Nose, I felt failure. It has taken some time and reflection, but now I think I know why. My motivation was not from my heart. I climbed the route to satisfy my ego, to prove something to myself and to others. And that’s exactly why I felt failure. I hate to sound so negative. I learned so much from working that route. I grew in so many ways as a climber and I think as a person. But failing to send felt different this time.

On top of that, I fucked up my health, before and during the trip. Since returning to Europe, my recovery has been slow. It took me a couple of months to get rid of my toe fungus and my feet are not the same anymore, they hurt a lot. I lost weight during The Nose project, and now my body is taking back what it needs.

This confinement is a really good opportunity to listen to my body in a different way. It’s not the first time that my body has tried to tell me these things, but it may be the first time I listen. The big challenge to me now is to settle into myself, and to trust in life. I try not to analyse or to judge, and I simply observe.

I cry sometimes because I miss climbing so much. At the same time, I feel like my body is enjoying this break. It is incredible to see how much time climbing takes up in my normal life. I give so many hours to my passion, and I don’t regret a moment of it. I am taking this opportunity to catch up with my other interests, do mental exercises, and enjoy time. However long we are in confinement, there is no doubt that I’m going to climb all my life long.

I can see how challenging this situation is for all of us, and also how much we can learn from it. I truly believe that life will be different “after” the corona virus, and I’m very curious and excited to see in which direction we’re going to evolve.