Man Cuts Off Friends for Lack of Obsession With His Project

“Springtime drips with blooms of fresh blossom; warmth returning to thaw the soul of lost autumn.”
—Me, after spending winter in sad, icy dribble

But now! It is finally time for the annual pilgrimage from cold, snowy misery and tedious board game nights with friends to rock and … well, nothing else ideally. So come out of the bouldering cave, ye patrons of plastic, as it is time to completely blow off all of your friends who don’t climb! And let’s agree to not feel bad about it, shall we?

We have tried countless times to incorporate our non-climbing friends into the climbing community. I remember graciously taking that reluctant coworker on his first outing to show him what this whole “climbing” buzz was about. Honestly, who could say no to the allure of a three-hour drive to bucolic Tennessee for some sport climbing and mediocre Mexican food?

Yet, this reluctant coworker writhed with obnoxious indignance after I “forced” him to stay on the wall and climb. Then he had the nerve to claim I kept him dangling there only to flirt with the cute blonde with the rad Grateful Dead sleeve and her off-leash dog that allegedly ate all his snacks. [Of note, she did not reciprocate the advances, but her dog did come by the campsite later for scraps.]

As I was hollering up my best “You got this!” and “Allez allez!” to demonstrate my loving support in true friendship, he yearned for the dirt, swearing to never join me climbing again and ending a promising career of belaying me on the same move 17 burns in a row.

Or how about my long-time buddy from elementary school? Despite climbing with me back in the day, he had the audacity to invite me to his engagement party, fully knowing I was 62 days into my project with only one more session before my A2 pulley would wither into necrosis, sealing my fate henceforth as a trad dad.

Because I am a considerate friend, I sent him a picture of me finally powering through the sixth microcrux of my eight-foot, lowball masterpiece, with the caption “Congratulations on crushing loneliness like I crushed this future mega classic.” Thankfully, I did not receive an invite to his wedding, so now I have a free weekend in the fall, plus extra cash for a Big Bro and some mushrooms.

And how could I forget that summer fling with the beautiful barista? She was SO interested in guys who rock climbed and LOVED that I was so passionate about the art of contrived movement. [“All the other guys just talk about work and Joe Rogan!”]

While I was at her house, beta dancing through my latest slab project on our second date, she agreed to embark with me on a seven-pitch granite scare-quest. But despite her fawning over my bulging forearms and her admiration for my chalk-soaked wounds, she bailed with little notice like so many other potential lovers before her.

What had she wanted? A gym sesh? A sunset charcuterie atop a classic 5.9 with emotional intimacy and “a moment she’ll never forget”? Please, if she was really into me, she would understand that true connection develops from the painstaking cleaning of my overset stoppers and tenuously placed tricams, 300 feet up the most run-out slab east of the Mississippi. “This is what a healthy, modern romance looks like,” I texted her, without response.

But why must us climbers be disrespected by our friends and romantic interests when they know how important this is to us? They should feel lucky to be in the company of a badass. Before the altar of the almighty send, trivial affairs like dates, game nights, or (God forbid) weddings that tear us away from our spiritual duty must be sacrificed. The rock warrior lifestyle is destiny (not a choice), and they ought to respect it before all else.

So I have had it. This season, I climb for me, and no one else. I will not be hindered by these so-called friends or lovers any longer. If they really value our relationship, they’ll leave me alone when the sun is warm and the rock is ripe, saving socialization for the bitter cold months when I’m horribly depressed and desperately in need of company again.

But until then, all my friends who don’t climb are dead (well, to me, at least).

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