In the beginning, climbing felt less like a sport and more like a series of mistakes.
Everything felt off. The holds didn’t make sense, my body didn’t move the way I expected, and things that looked simple weren’t. I’d watch other people move through the same sequences smoothly, almost effortlessly, and then try it myself and feel completely out of place. I’d fall, reset, try again… and get the same result. Sometimes worse. There was this constant feeling that I was missing something obvious, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
At first it felt like I just didn’t understand the sport. But after a few sessions, something started to change. The movements began to feel more familiar, and there was less hesitation—even on moves that felt a little sketchy at first.
What stood out to me about climbing was how normal failure was, even though I was doing everything in my power to avoid it. I wanted to get to the top without falling, and honestly, I feared the fall tremendously. Sometimes it was unexpected; other times you’d feel it coming, and that fear would just start to grow inside you as you lost your grip. But no matter how hard I fought it, no one makes it to the top of a climb on their first try. Somehow, that realization eventually made the fear feel like just part of the process.
After a while, the falls started to feel different. Not something I liked, but something to look at once I was back on the ground. What happened there? Why did that move feel off?
I started noticing that same physical commitment showing up in other places. Dirt biking felt different on the surface, but the mental side was the same. It was more about timing and control—putting everything together perfectly for one clean corner, one fast lap, or the perfect landing. The air, the speed, the moment right before you commit… when you know it could go either way—and it certainly went the other way a lot.
And the first time you get it right, it sticks with you. You want another one. Then another.
And the misses… you start paying attention to those too.
That’s when something started to feel familiar. Not the sport, but the way I was going through it. I had seen this before—just in a different context. Starting from zero, repeating the same things, paying attention to what changed and what didn’t.
At some point, it stops feeling like failure and starts to feel more like trying to figure out a new puzzle. There was a lot of freedom in that. I found myself spending more time being curious and looking at things—crashes, falls, bad laps, bad days—extremely differently. They weren’t as frustrating or discouraging. I stopped chasing the outcome and started paying more attention to what was actually happening.
