I Climbed One Grade Harder and Now I’m Insufferable

There’s no better feeling in the world than sending your project. But breaking into a new grade? That’s a whole different kind of high—one that can turn a little … insidious.

In climbing, there are two classic steps to this unchecked progression. Over the years, I’ve seen the overwhelming cycle repeat itself: First comes the hubris, then the fall.

One of my favorite tragic heroes was a climber at my local gym. For the sake of this story, let’s call him “Chad.”

Back in the early 2000s, Chad had just sent his first 5.12b and was dead set on breaking into the 5.13 range. But, instead of building a proper pyramid or refining his technique, Chad dropped a few hundred bucks on a six-week training program: crimp strength, mobility, conditioning, coordination, endurance, and power. The works. Bouldering circuits, campus board sessions, and hangboard routines (this was pre-LED board era) became his religion.

Then, he picked a project in Rifle, Colorado, of all places. One of the most sandbagged crags in the U.S., with slick limestone, brutally specific beta, and long, pumpy routes. Instead of choosing something within reach, Chad went all-in on one of the longest, most sandbagged 5.13bs in the canyon.

Each session ended the same: no links, full meltdowns, epic wobblers. Shoes were ripped off and flung into the river. Chad’s rage was legendary, but don’t feel bad for Chad—feel for his belayer.

Yet somehow, Chad stuck with it. He trained. He suffered. He kept showing up. And by week eight, in a twist of fate, he clipped the chains. His first 5.13b (8a). Because, as his European friends insisted, 5.13a doesn’t count.

This is where the story could’ve gone differently.

Chad could have taken the win, acknowledged the effort it took to climb that one route, and gone back to rebuild his base, slowly developing true competency.

Instead, he chose the second path.

He started calling himself a “5.13 climber.” He sprayed. Hard. To anyone who would listen, especially to the unfortunate souls in the neighboring town. In the gym, at the crag, he’d talk about his send to anyone within earshot. People nodded along, half-listening. It was … insufferable.

Then came the Great Humbling.

Chad jumped on the next 5.13—this one a little easier—to see all the “gains” he possessed. He was completely and utterly shut down. A wobbler was thrown, and a stick-clip may have been lost to the trees.

His mistake? Thinking that one send meant he could now climb any 5.13–that he was a 5.13 climber. Oh, and being truly insufferable.

Chad would’ve been better served by this truth. Be proud of your accomplishments, but understand that success in climbing isn’t linear. Advancement means embracing failure just as much as success. If you can do that—if you can truly accept your reality—your potential is yours to grow.

P.S. That Chad guy? Yeah, that was me.

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