PROFILE: STEPHANIE LAUDENKLOS

Some say she's awesome, others simply state the obvious: "Steph is a badass." Though both distinctions are accurate, this UNL Climbing Club President is dedicated to her work as a climber and a community representative.

Laudenklos has an infectious enthusiasm for the sport she came to in January of 2008. Her background as a high school pole vaulter and hurdler only helped her to make the best of her climbing passion. She attributes her foray into the sport to "the boy of the time," but it's clear she comes to it on her own terms.

With climbing, for Laudenklos, it was love "on-sight."

Thirteen years of dance, 8 years of gymnastics, and her recent work in yoga have honed her into an aggressive yet graceful climber. Watching her ascents at the wall or on the rock, one comes to understand the true meaning of "grace under pressure." She's intuitive and calculating in her route assessments, yet delightfully sensible and logical in her approach. She never flails, wails, or bails with even a hint of self-incrimination. For Laudenklos, it's the quiet and focused challenge of pursuing her personal best that makes climbing both a challenge and an affirmation of what she values most in life: Her faith, the people climbing has brought to her life, and fun.

One shouldn't, however, confuse this fun, friendly, and God-lovin' graceful rock chick for a softy. Her competitive nature and natural gift in the sport have made her, in less than two years, a formidable foe on the Plains climbing circuits. Laudenklos won two climbing comps her first year in the sport, the UNO Bouldering Intermediate division in 2008, and the Climb Iowa bouldering Advanced division 2008. Just this year she placed 2nd at the UNL Sport Climbing Comp Advanced Division 2009.

The 21 year-old UNL senior has maintained a grueling academic schedule while working at a local veterinary clinic. In October, she submitted her applications to veterinary programs across the country. Her aspiration to become a veterinarian has put her in a very competitive professional school arena this fall. But deep down, this Columbus, Nebraska native wouldn't have it any other way. It's the challenges in life that keep her going.

Despite the pressure of school and working a serious job, Laudenklos has come into her own as a climber. To her, climbing is a mental and spiritual manifestation of deeply held personal beliefs because to climb is to also meditate, to focus, one the best parts of self and God.

Steph Laudenklos at Penitente Canyon, Colorado.
(Photographer: Doug Lintz)

"Just being outdoors in general is an ultimate connection with God and His creation," Laudenklos said, "So climbing gives me that opportunity to get out and worship in that way."

Laudenklos cites the "very liberal and karma-believing" nature of her climbing community as yet another influence in her overall faith. Though the multi-faceted spiritual and religious views of others make what Laudenklos terms, "evangelizing" difficult, the diversity only affirms her belief in both God and her ability to be a good listener to others embarking on spiritual journeys of their own.

"I have been amazed at how many people I have met through climbing that feel comfortable talking to me about their spiritual struggles because they know how strong my faith is," Laudenklos said, "So in a way it's given me yet another way to be close to God through His two greater creations: mankind and nature."

But man and God aren't her only inspirations. Laudenklos, when asked about her climbing heroes, nearly swooned when she mentioned Internationally renowned climber Steph Davis (click: High Infatuation). In Davis, Laudenklos said she sees "a bit of herself" and hopes to someday match Davis' contributions to the sport.

Serious and silly, kind and competitive, Laudenklos seems to be poised to pursue this goal. Though she waits now with a bit of nail-biting for veterinary program admission letters, her uncertainty is assuaged by her steadfast commitment to climbing as "a life-long sport." It's in this commitment that she continues to inspire other women climbers at UNL, including the out-of-shape newbies such as myself.

Laudenklos said she fantasizes about climbing in Spain someday, and hopes to deep-water solo in Mallorca like those featured in the film, Perfecto:



With a smile, Laudenklos thinks of this dream with her signature move: unflinching honesty and sensibility.

"I really want to boulder around in my swimsuit," she said.

Fair enough. No matter where her veterinary studies take her, it seems climbing will continue to be the glue that holds this young, inspiring climber together. Keep an eye out for this rising talent. She's going to be rockin' the climbing world for years to come.

HANDY

Take my advice: If anyone ever offers you a shoulder and declares, "Hit me!" - don't.

A very tiny bone in my wrist, like the one pictured above, is causing me some difficulty more than a year after its initial injury. I'd love to blame old age on what is, essentially, my own stupidity. On most days, I don't mind the ache. It's cool to have a reminder of old friends and boisterous evenings rambling through downtown bars. But lately, as I entered the every-other-day climbing schedule, my wrist has been a pain in my ass.

It seems I didn't wear the cast or the brace long enough way back when, so my doc tells me this thing is gonna cause me "trouble from time to time." That time came yesterday when my wrist decided, halfway through a 5.6 ascent I've done many times before, that it just didn't feel like doing anything anymore. Better still, I had been so focused on managing the ache I forgot about the condition of the flesh covering bone. After I'd been lowered and had taken my place on the bench, I looked down and noticed two rather deep blisters.

Apparently, my enthusiasm for P'UP is a bit beyond my physical reality. Don't get me wrong: This too is part of learning to climb. Though many weekend athletes my age would just don a brace and keep going in denial of both age and wear, I'm more of a realist. I believe my body is a great communicator. It tells me, through cravings, when I need to eat more vegetables and proteins. It also lets me know when I'm tired (first sign: Intermittent babbling and really old jokes). So this ache in my wrist, I think, is my body's way of letting me know it's okay to take a few days off.

Walking from the health center to a local pub to meet friends, I thought about hands and the stories they can tell. I've always been intrigued by hands, focused on them when meeting new people, to see how they're shaped, how they gesture (or don't), and the ways people adorn their hands with jewelry. My favorites have always told stories of the work they do, or gesture wildly and with enthusiasm. But I've also watched the deliberate, still hands of quiet, thinking men as they've reached for a pint or a pen and found them captivating.

I remember every hand that ever hurt me. I remember every hand that ever held my own. I was thinking about this as I stepped onto a sidewalk wet with fall rain and shining with the night. Neon signs reflected the path I walked. Looking down and thinking about my own hands and their stories of writer, painter, mother, cook, and poet I noticed a small, dull triangle floating on a puddle. Stooping to pick it up, I noticed a hint of metallic gold at its center.

In the middle of blue and black marbled plastic were the imprinted words, "Fender Thin." Someone had dropped this guitar pick, and I pondered those hands I had never met. I stashed the pick in my pocket and plodded on, head full of words, perhaps the beginning of a poem, musing night and its wanderers.

Half a block later, I noticed a shiny silver trinket on the sidewalk outside the Rococo Theatre. It was a charm bracelet, the sort of silver Celtic symbol sensitive indie types wear - I've seen them around the wrists of lanky young men with horn-rimmed glasses at the Coffee House - you know, the kind of guys who get tattoos in Sanskrit to prove they're deep thinkers. I looked up and down the street to see if the owner could be nearby. There was no one but me walking about in the rain, so I pocketed the bracelet and let it click and tick in my pocket with that Fender pick.

At the pub, I sat down with friends. When my pint arrived, I held it just to let the chill sink into my flesh. Looking at my right hand, its blisters, and focusing on my wrist, I decided I liked the story my hands were telling. Six weeks ago, I didn't think I'd be sitting around with hands, raw from climbing. I didn't think I'd manage a full ascent before December, let alone "red point." And though I miss, on occasion, my once-delicate, manicured fingers, I doubt I'll ever go back to the file and paint, the feminine ritual of glossing my fingertips.

(Photo: Pre-P'UP hands)

Okay, so for now they're pansy hands, just learning to handle the wear-and-tear of a dream. But someday, my hands are going to tell an epic tale of ascension and discovery. They will testify to the power of rock and will. In the meantime, they'll heal. Tomorrow, I'm baking my contribution to a Halloween celebration. It's the first costume party I've been to in at least ten years. I spent two weeks putting my costume together, and I'm ready to step on out and have a good time. I don't think I would have dared to disco in costume before P'UP, but something I can't quite name is changing inside me.

I can't decide if it's self-confidence or a truce. I can't call it peace of mind, even as it comforts, because it sets my mind aflame with implications and consequences. I've spent a lifetime "stalling for sometime," holding myself back, thwarting my own potential in my personal life. In my working life, I've done quite the opposite but even success can be a hiding place. Maybe I'm just bursting forth from my own long winter. Maybe my soul cried out into the Karmic universe and heard nothing but the silent truth that it was time.

I don't really know. But sitting here, looking at a bracelet and a pick now on my desk, thinking about hands, I've decided I can hold my own. Over the next few days, as my body recovers, I'll think about that 5.7 route. Even as I gyrate to bad '90s pop and suck down "Spooky Punch" at a party, I'll be thinking about Sunday's climbing hope. And really, looking down at my typing hands now, maybe that's what P'UP is all about: hope, the sort of thing born from a challenge that has become far more personal than I ever thought it would.

COMMUNITY

(Photo: Steph and Caitlin discuss matters of social importance)

Until recently, I've been a lone soul. Though I hold my own in large social groups, deep down, I've never preferred that chaos to the one-on-one visits with friends. Climbing has brought more people in my life than I can count, and the sense of community has been both immediate and refreshing. My academic life has been somewhat isolating, and over the years I've spent a fair amount of cash making exodus-style road trips to Boulder to visit friends there. Between those visits, however, have been long stretches of lonely hours, shoulders bent, nose stuck in books.

(Photo: The bench fills up on Climbing Club nights)

This evening, I attended my first "climbing club" night, a two-hour climbing social with a trip to our favorite pizza and beer bar afterward. I "red pointed" for the first time, climbing clean and without beta, that "Flip-Flop Climb" route I didn't quite finish on Sunday. Having laid waste to the 5.6 routes, I'll be taking on a 5.7 corner route on Thursday. Our club refers to a "red point" climb for both lead and non-lead climbs, so don't be too impressed. I wasn't lead climbing (today).

(Photo: Ryann gets her nerd on while Papa Al eats pizza)

I also used my new harness and loved getting home without the usual bruises across my thighs the Rec's harnesses have given me. I'm discovering it's the little things, like decent padding and a good fit, that matter. Yesterday, to celebrate my Sunday success, I bought myself a charming medium chalk bag - a welcome replacement for the too-deep "I.V. bag" style that came with my harness package. Just a six weeks into this experiment and I'm becoming a "gear ho" - spending far too much time cruising the Internet for steals and deals. I've just broken in my pair of La Sportiva Nago shoes, and I'm already checking out the end of season bargains, like the Evolve closeouts. A host of hikers and climbers are on sale, even the aggressive Talons are on sale for $49, a significant bargain considering the shoes retailed for $125 earlier this year.

(Photo: Doug and Steph listen to climbing tales)

I'm not buying, though. Not this time around. When I start hookin' my heels, though, I might find just the right incentive for another expenditure (who needs groceries anyway?). Just this week I've had to replace my climbing pants. The old ones, both a pair of yoga stretch capri leggings and a pair of "boyfriend" jeans I dearly loved are now too big. I've lost a full dress size in just the last three weeks, something I didn't anticipate. In fact, when I walked into the store and found myself purchasing a regular size large instead of a plus size, I was rather shocked (however pleased). I haven't bought clothing from the regular women's department in more than ten years.

(Photo: Caitlin and Steven anchor the table)

I'd tout my weight loss numbers, but that's a violation of the Project Up goal. Ultimately, this project is about relearning body image and respect through activity and nutrition. It's not a diet or even a weight loss-centered effort. P'UP is an attempt to consider an new lifestyle and attitude. Whatever weight loss I have is a byproduct, not the focus, of this fun. So I don't bother to step on the scale. I figure the fit of my clothes will tell me everything I need to know.

Thanks to my climbing partner, Ryann, I was able to develop fingerboard skills my climbing daughter didn't know about. So on top of "smokin'" her boyfriend on the wall, I got to show her that her old mother had a few tricks up her sleeve. I think it's important to keep your teenagers on their toes.

"How in the hell did you learn about this when I didn't even know about it?" she demanded, hanging from the top of the fingerboard.

"What can I say?" I said, "When I couldn't get up, I learned to hang. I bouldered. Whatever I could do, I did."

"Dork."

"Jerk."

Ah, our mother-and-child bond is a loving one.

I then showed her how to do a hanging ab workout, and earned her (begrudging) respect. She couldn't say so, of course. The surest way to gage your impact on a teenage daughter: If you do something and she goes silent, you know you've rocked her world. After her boyfriend reclaimed his dignity by doing 15 pull ups from the fingerboard, they left and I shambled after the Climbing Club gang for a slice of pizza and a couple of pints.

(Photo: The gang unwinds with pizza and beer at Yia-Yia's)

Steph and I celebrated my red point route with a Guinness, talked shop, and shared stories. Jamie, an experienced climber I admire, tore up her hands on a 5.8. She showed me the blisters and open wounds, grinning. Pain is a funny thing among this group - we seem to celebrate our owies. It reminds me of my years as a competitive softball player, when bruises and scrapes were proof I had delivered. Now, as I wince holding my morning cup of coffee or slip into nirvana when holding a glass of ice water, I feel connected to all my climbing friends through the common bond of tender callouses.

And those stiff shoulders in the morning? The stiff forearms and aching wrists? Braggin' rights, baby.

Watching the club gang at Yia-Yia's, I realized how fortunate I was to fall into such a fine group of people. They're positive, affirming souls, the kind who help you celebrate both your small and big victories. They offer encouragement and advice, support and reminders that we're all learning to do this thing we call climbing. Never in my life have I met so many good people at once. Meeting such beautiful people has been an unexpected gift, and I doubt I'll ever feel the way I did last week. My biggest lesson this week, it turns out, was a focused examination of Self and Community. And all I had to do to make this progress was to shed my perspective, the limiting lens, and reach out to others.

I don't even know why it had once been so difficult. I only know that I am happier now than I've been in a long, long time.

Some of the women discussed a winter tour of indoor climbing gyms, a four-day weekend trip that would take us from Iowa to Missouri, then to Kansas City, and back to Lincoln. We're planning an "All Ladies" climbing night in November, and doing all we can to help our favorite femme fatale, Steph, keep her mind off of her pending vet school applications. This sense of community investment in each others' lives wasn't something I expected when I started this project. What I thought was a personal inquiry is fast becoming a community experience. This is pretty magical to me, and I'm grateful for this time with these people.