The eyes of the Kenyan Masai warrior follow my every move in Lisa Rands' modest Bishop, California, apartment. The 26-year-old professional boulderer may only be an amateur artist, but the depth of the character she has painted is alarmingly real. Rands says she's fascinated by the Masai, who live a semi-nomadic lifestyle with minimal possessions and are renowned for their strength and fighting spirit. Glancing around Rands' sparsely decorated home, which she uses mainly as a staging ground for her constant travels, then later, watching Rands' feet-cutting, physical attempts at the Buttermilks, it's clear that her intrigue with the Masai is more than just intellectual.

From painter to boulderer, from field engineer to climbing bum, Rands is a study in contrasts. Her primary color dipped nails and petite, 5-foot-4-inch frame sit in unlikely opposition to her massive forearms and biceps. And though she's disarmingly demure in a social setting, once she steps on the rock, it's all intensity. This ability to focus -- when she climbs, she's transfixed by each hold -- has helped make Rands one of the most successful women in bouldering. "Your brain can do things," she explains. "It can get into survival mode and be clear of everything else."

It's such moments of clarity, says Rands, when she's ticked some of her most intimidating highballs and gymnastic problems, including the Buttermilk's Plain High Drifter (V11), Yosemite's Thriller (V10) and dozens of other V9s and V10s. That success has translated well at bouldering comps, too. In 2001 alone, Rands earned five first-place competition titles, including the PCA Open and the Southeast's Hound Ears Competition, and -- perhaps most impressively -- a second-place finish at the bouldering World Cup in Birmingham, England.

Long before her bouldering days, on her 20th birthday, Rands envisioned an unforgettable climbing celebration. "I wanted to turn 20 on a wall," she says. With her haulbag in tow, the aspiring aid climber tried to fulfill her birthday wish on Zion's Lovelace Route. When she and her partner realized they'd ventured up the wrong climb, they retreated. But Rands isn't one to accept defeat. As midnight ushered in her third decade, she lay waiting in a portaledge about 10 feet off the ground.

Rands says that at Cal Poly State her motivation carried her. Comparing her spot on the Dean's List and eventual geology degree to her success in climbing, she says, "It's the same thing. You are competing with yourself." The day after graduation, Rands jumped into 60-hour workweeks as an asphalt tester, then a field engineer in western Colorado. The exhausting hard-hat, construction-site existence was a tomboy's fantasy. On weekends, while catching up on sleep on her crashpad at the boulders, she managed to sneak in a few problems -- including her first V9. "That piqued my curiosity," she says. "I wanted to see how far I could go." Leaving the glamour of soil sampling behind, Rands declared herself a professional boulderer.

"I could run faster and do more pull-ups," says Rands, reminiscing on her elementary-school days when she went head-to-head with the boys. But when puberty hit, things changed: "I realized that no matter how much effort I put out, my long jump was nowhere near the guys." Always a competitor, Rands says she simply had to shift her perspective. "I was competing with other girls, not boys, she realized. Two decades later, that same outlook helps Rands keep the rating game in perspective. Resigned to the fact that grades are a consensus of climbers taller than the average female, Rands says she focuses on a problem's quality and moves, not its numbers. "Don't compare yourself to what men are doing," she warns, "and don't listen to anything negative."

When Rands' longtime boyfriend, Wills Young, tried Plain High Drifter (V11), Rands went along. "At first, I didn't think I could do it," she says. "Suddenly, I stuck the (crux) hold," a light bulb switches on, "and I was like, I can do this." Six days and one ripped finger later, she walked away. After two months, Rands finally returned to the Buttermilks to try again, but she was dispirited by the afternoon heat. "I didn't feel good. I thought I had to do it when it was cold," she recalls. Five tries later, Rands ticked the V11 -- her first -- before Wills. In an encore performance, when the problem "felt easy," Rands said she realized that, "I can climb harder than this!"

In Birmingham, England, Rands walked into her first World Cup with the odds stacked against her. Because rain in Fontainebleau had kept her inactive for weeks, she decided to train the week of the competition, when normally she would have rested. She also stepped into the arena blind. "I had no idea of the rules," she says, explaining that the US team (one, counting Lisa) had no coach to attend the pre-comp briefings. "I was learning [the rules] during the comp." And unlike the kicked-back scene of small American competitions, the intense vibe of isolation began to psyche her out: "They take it very serious." Unaware of what was legal to touch, Rands skipped holds, inadvertently making each problem more difficult. "I was so pumped the whole comp," she says, demonstrating how she wildly spun her arms overhead at every rest to battle the lactic acid. In the end, though, Rands still stood in second position on the winner's podium.

"I started painting one of our plants, but it died while we were traveling," Rands laments. Though life as a pro has its pitfalls, Rands makes do. With just a few strokes of her brush, she's given birth to a more vibrant and exotic plant. It's the same in women's bouldering -- Rands continues to achieve the unthinkable, making fantasy a reality. And, she says, the depths of her creativity as an athlete are hardly tapped: "If I'm not strong enough now, it will happen soon."