Calm on the outside, racing on the inside

Last weekend I participated in an indoor rock climbing competition—Adventure Rock's Quick on the Draw. It's an annual event that I'd done a few times before, although the last few times were somewhere between twelve and twenty years ago!

Since then, my training priorities have shifted. For a long stretch, climbing took a back seat while I focused more heavily on Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Over the past year or so, though, I've been back to climbing fairly consistently.

Most Friday afternoons look roughly the same: a few moderate climbs to warm up, a couple that feel a bit more challenging, and—if things are going well—maybe one that feels hard. The routes change and the order varies, but the intent doesn't. My aim isn't to do anything flashy, but rather to just get steady exposure to slightly more difficult problems over time.

Calm, Anxious, or Excited

During the competition, my regular climbing partner—who was competing later in the day—mentioned that I looked really calm.

That was nice to hear, but I told her it was only partially true. If I looked externally calm, cool. But I certainly wasn't internally calm.

For context, my average heart rate throughout the three-hour competition was 122 beats per minute, with peaks up to around 168 during multiple climbs. During normal training sessions, both of those numbers average about fifteen percent lower.

My body clearly knew something different was happening.

Standing at the base of the wall, looking up at routes I hadn't touched yet, I could feel the familiar sensations: elevated heart rate, tight focus, the subtle but unmistakable understanding that I was about to do something I valued.

In the past, I would've labeled those feelings as nerves or anxiety and tried to relax.

This time, I did something different: I took a deep breath and silently said, "I'm excited—this is my body preparing to do something I care about."

Then I started climbing.

Why "I'm excited" as opposed to the much more commonly recommended, "Just try to relax"?

Because, physiologically speaking, anxiety and excitement are almost exactly the same.

Both are high-arousal states in which the body mobilizes energy, increases heart rate, sharpens attention, and produces sweaty palms and stomach butterflies.

And that's why advice to "just try to relax" misses the mark. Not only is it extremely difficult to make those sensations disappear, it's also unnecessary. Those feelings aren't a problem to eliminate—they're simply the body preparing to deal with something meaningful.

That's where "I'm excited" comes into play. What separates anxiety from excitement isn't the physical sensation—it's how we interpret the situation around us.

When we're anxious, our thinking revolves around "what might go wrong".

When we're excited, it changes to anticipation about "what could go right".

Not so coincidentally, that mindset shift expands our awareness and often causes us to act in ways that produce the "right" outcomes instead of the "wrong" ones.

Same sensation. Different lens. Better results.

Training vs. Testing

When the competition wrapped up, I'd topped out four of the five rope climbs and four of the five bouldering problems. I finished fifth out of forty-two competitors in the Advanced division and missed a first place finish by about two inches on the final bouldering problem. (The gap between first and sixth place was quite small.)

Still, I walked away more satisfied than disappointed because the competition felt more like an expression of my consistent training than a referendum on my ability.

This is where the distinction between training and testing matters.

Training is about focusing on actions you can control—showing up, managing effort, and accumulating reps.

Testing, especially in the context of competition, is usually not completely under our control. (As the army maxim goes, "The enemy gets a vote.") Instead, it's simply an expression of qualities that our training efforts have produced.

This doesn't mean that results or outcome are unimportant. It does mean that our efforts are most effective when they're focused on what is under our control—how consistently we show up during training and the stories we tell ourselves during testing.

When training shows up

As a final aside, my climbing partner competed extremely well. She's been climbing once or twice per week for about a year, following a similarly steady, unspectacular approach. Last year—only a few months into climbing—she finished mid-pack in the Recreational division. This year, she finished first.

Her results didn't come about from dramatic changes. Just consistent training expressed on testing day.

We're both excited to get back to that training on Friday.

Putting It Into Practice

Think of an upcoming "test" that you expect to encounter—a presentation, difficult conversation, competition, or other challenge that is meaningful to you.

As you prepare for the experience, consider adding a quick routine to your plan for when the butterflies start:

• Take a deep breath.
• Say—aloud or to yourself: "This matters to me. This is my body preparing. I'm excited!"

Then focus on the rest of your preparation—or training—and let the outcome take care of itself.