To Love and Hate Climbing

So here I am. In transition. In recovery. Semi sidelined from one sport, and digging into another.

With recent hip issues holding my running game on pause, I have been turning to other sport for my release. As of late my brother has been dragging me out to rock climbing.

Now I’m not going to lie, I am not good a rock climbing, in fact, I’m pretty much shite at it.

It is one of the sports or skills that come with a whole world behind it. Going to the climbing gym and wading through the pretentious climbing crowd that seemingly want to be “into climbing” just so they can talk about being “into climbing”. I’m not into all that. I don’t want to stand in a group of 5 moustache clad millennials acting out each action, each move that gets everyone up the wall like some game of charades. It feels like a watered down version of something that was intended for building skills for the mountains.

I suppose this can be said for pretty much everything these days.

Having said that, it is not all bad. I recently met a couple at a climbing gym, with young kids at home, that had managed to free their night up to go climbing together. They were lovely. The kind of folk you would consider ambassadors for the sport. Positive, encouraging, happy to share their stories of trying to balance a life of adventure and home life. No pretention.

For me, it is not a matter of climbing as well as a certain grade, but rather attain the skills needed so that when it comes to bigger mountaineering projects, I don’t find myself 95% of the way up a mountain to be turned back by not being able to tackle a half pitch to reach the summit.

So I will wade through pretention. I will find what I need out climbing, and leave the moustaches to their charades.


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