In the world of climbing, we chase seconds. We chase millimeters. We chase that fleeting moment when your fingertips find the perfect edge and your body moves as one with the rock. But outside the gym, away from the crash pads and the ticking clock, there is another kind of pursuit. It is slower. Quieter. It asks nothing of you except patience.
I recently watched a Chinese drama called Pure Time of Love (纯真年代的爱情). It is a story about young love in a simpler era, before smartphones and swiping right, when people wrote letters and waited weeks for a reply. The title stayed with me. Pure time. It made me think about my own relationship with climbing—and specifically, with two simple tools that have become my companions in that pursuit of something genuine.
The Hangboard: Where Strength Meets Stillness
Let me introduce you to my Two Stones hangboard. It hangs on the wall of my small apartment, a silent sentinel made from a single block of natural hardwood. No flashing lights. No digital timers. Just wood, grain, and the promise of incremental progress.
At first, I hated it. Every session was a negotiation with pain. Ten seconds on a 20mm edge felt like an eternity. My forearms would scream, my shoulders would shake, and my mind would race through every excuse to let go. But gradually, something shifted. I stopped fighting the board and started listening to it.
The Two Stones hang board is deceptive in its simplicity. Its edges are rounded with an R5 fillet, meaning they curve gently rather than bite into your skin. The pockets—for one, two, three, or four fingers—are polished smooth, eliminating sharp edges that cause unnecessary pain. It is almost kind. And yet, it asks you to surrender. To hang. To breathe. To be still.
That stillness is a form of pure time. There is no phone buzzing, no notification demanding attention. There is only the grain of the wood under your fingertips and the quiet conversation between you and gravity. In those suspended seconds, strength is not built through force but through patience. You learn that holding on is not just about physical power. It is about trust—trust in the edge, trust in your body, trust that if you stay just one second longer, you will emerge different on the other side.
The Brush: A Ritual of Respect
If the hang board is about building strength, the Two Stones brush is about preserving what matters. It is easy to overlook such a humble tool. A handle, some bristles—what is there to say? But like the quiet gestures of love in that Chinese drama, the brush performs its magic in the small, unseen moments.
The Two Stones climbing brush comes in two versions: one with a plastic handle for efficiency, and one carved from hardwood for warmth. I chose the wooden one. It fits perfectly in my palm, its weight balanced, its surface smooth from being sanded and polished by hand. The bristles are a hybrid—stiff nylon to dislodge chalk and rubber, softer natural fibers to leave the hold clean and untouched.
Brushing a hold is not glamorous. But it is a ritual. Before each attempt on a project, I pull the brush from my chalk bag and sweep the edge clean. The motion is slow, deliberate. With each stroke, I am not just removing chalk. I am clearing my mind. I am resetting my intention. I am preparing the way not just for my fingers, but for the next climber who will touch that same rock.
The drama Pure Time of Love reminded me that love—whether for a person, a sport, or a piece of wood—is expressed in care. The brush is that expression. It says: I respect this rock. I respect this route. I respect the person who will climb here tomorrow. In a climbing world that often obsesses over grades and sends, the brush returns us to something purer. It asks us to slow down, to clean up, to leave no trace except the memory of our effort.
The Dance Between the Two
The climbing hangboard and the brush seem like opposites. One builds; one cleans. One demands suffering; one offers rest. But together, they form a complete practice—a way of moving through climbing that is intentional, grounded, and respectful.
The hanging board teaches you to endure. On days when life feels heavy—when work is hard, when relationships fray, when your body does not want to move—you look to that wooden edge. You hang. You count the seconds. You realize that you can hold on longer than you thought.
The brush teaches you to care. After the session, when your fingers ache and your ego is humbled, you pick up the brush. You clean the holds. You prepare for tomorrow. You learn that strength without care is just destruction.
A Pure Time
I think that is what the title of that drama means. Pure Time of Love is not about grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It is about the small, consistent acts that build something real over time. A letter sent. A hand held. A promise kept.
For climbers, that pure time exists in the quiet moments with our tools. It exists in the 2 AM hangboard session when no one is watching. It exists in the act of brushing a hold before a friend attempts a problem. It exists in the respect we show the rock and each other.
My Two Stones climbing hang board and brush are not the flashiest gear in my bag. But they are the most honest. They do not lie about my weaknesses or exaggerate my strengths. They simply wait—patient, wooden, steady—for me to show up and try again.
And in that waiting, in that pure time, I find something rare. Not just stronger fingers. But a quieter heart.
Training Tip: Start your hangboard sessions with 5-7 seconds on larger edges, resting twice as long. Between sets, take 30 seconds to brush the holds clean. Use that moment not as a distraction, but as a meditation. Let the brush clear your mind as it clears the edge.
Your project can wait. Your strength will come. But these small, pure moments—they are the love story climbing never tells you about.