This all started in fall 2022, when I first tried Warlord (V12/13). During my first few sessions, I couldn’t stick a single move in the bottom section. I had previously done the stand start, Sitten Sideways (V10), so I knew the lower half would push me. But I didn’t realize just how long the psychological battle with this sequence would last.
After five sessions of total shutdown, I stepped away from the climb for the winter. I trained. I focused on other goals. And when I returned in the spring, I could barely pull off the ground—but I was excited. Warlord still felt impossible, and that was exactly what drew me in.
A New Way In
The original beta for the first move required using a right heel and deadpointing to the lip of the roof—catching an incut pinch with my right hand while pulling down on a slopey three-finger dish. I wasn’t even close.
So I studied the rock. I searched for another way. Eventually, I found a heel hook much deeper in the cave, farther right than the original beta. This new position pulled my center of gravity inward, deep into the cave. With full-body tension engaged, I could now reach statically for the incut pinch.
The first time I stuck it, everything changed. For the first time, I believed Warlord might be possible for me. That moment marked the beginning of a much bigger challenge: a multi-year battle with the crux.
Unlocking the Crux
In the next few sessions, I struggled to exit the cave and reach the stand start. I wasn’t strong enough to use the original beta to match the pinch. But eventually, I found a method that worked. By combining a deep drop-knee with a kneebar in the roof, I could cross around the pinch and slowly unwind into the stand start.
Ecstatic, I now had a method. I just had to master its micro-subtleties.
This move became the most complex I’ve ever made. It required full-body tension, patience, focus, and control. The key was breaking down my body into five independent components—each moving with intent, not as one single unit.
The Move
The moment I secured the pinch for the first move, the real work began.
I sank into my upper body, creating stability by retracting my shoulder blades together. Staying locked on my right heel, I carefully placed my left toe into a precise divot in the hold. Pushing through my toe, I pivoted my left hip, turning my knee into the bottom of the roof.
As soon as my knee made contact, my left heel flipped to a toe. Grabbing a tiny crystal with my toe, I created the tension needed to stabilize. Then I engaged my right calf, drove my right toe down, and felt my hamstring pull my right hip toward stability.
I pushed through my left foot, driving force into the roof at such a sharp angle I could feel my kneecap crimping a spike in the stone. Then I engaged my glutes, pressing my hips and lower back into the roof to reinforce the tension from my legs.
Once that tension settled, I dropped my left hand into a subtle press hold—just enough to settle everything. If my lower body was placed correctly, I didn’t need to palm it. I could continue rotating my left hand around the roof and precisely reach for the slotted rail of the stand start.
As soon as my fingers made contact, I flipped my right hand to an undercling on the pinch. That allowed me to compress between both hands, delicately release the kneebar, and complete the crux to enter the stand start.
Flow State and the Send
After a few sessions of refining that movement, I found myself landing in the stand start comfortably. One day, I clicked into a flow state. I moved through each sequence with control—and suddenly, I was grabbing the finishing jugs.
I had just sent Warlord (V12/13)—my hardest climb to date.
Toward Mastery
Next came the king line of Lorimer: Kang the Conqueror (V13). But before I could take it on, I had to sit with something deeper.
I needed to understand what mastery really meant.
That pursuit—refining a single movement until it felt effortless—kept me engaged long after the send. It became a psychological battle of its own. And it lasted all the way until January 2025.
Warlord gave me a new sense of belief. I’d always questioned what I was capable of as a climber—but this climb didn’t answer that. It only deepened the question.
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