What to Know Before Joining a Climbing Gym

Last Updated on July 2, 2025 by Michael

You’re thinking about joining a climbing gym.

Stop. Just… stop right there.

See that person dangling from the wall like a confused spider? The one making noises that sound like a whale giving birth? That’s your future. That’s you in three weeks. Except less graceful.

Nobody tells you the truth about climbing gyms because Big Chalk doesn’t want you to know. Your friend who climbs? They’re in too deep. They can’t save you now. They’ve already named their favorite holds. They have FAVORITE HOLDS. These are literally just plastic lumps screwed into a wall.

But sure, sign up. What could go wrong?

Your Hands Will Never Forgive You

Those meat clubs at the end of your arms have been pretty good to you, right? They open pickle jars. They type passive-aggressive emails. They pet dogs.

Well, kiss that goodbye.

Climbing holds were designed by someone who clearly got rejected from art school and decided to punish humanity through colorful torture devices. These rainbow-colored implements of destruction will introduce your fingers to entirely new dimensions of pain. We’re talking about hurt that transcends the physical. Spiritual hurt. The kind of hurt that makes you understand why evolution gave us the ability to cry.

The morning after? Comedy gold. Your hands will look normal but operate like they’ve been replaced with decorative prosthetics. That coffee mug might as well be coated in butter. Your phone becomes a bar of soap. You’ll develop a new relationship with doorknobs – one based on fear and respect.

The Secret Language of Delusion

Walk into any climbing gym and it’s like entering a cult compound where everyone speaks in code and genuinely believes that hanging from their fingertips is “fun.”

Someone will walk up to you and say something like: “Bro, that pink one in the corner is mad heinous but if you heel hook through the crux and gaston the sloper, you can probably send it. Just don’t barn door on the throw.”

…What?

They might as well be speaking Klingon. Actually, Klingon would be more useful.

• “Send it” – Translation: attempt something wildly beyond your abilities
• “That’s pretty crimpy” – Your fingernails will need therapy
• “It’s all juggy” – The holds are big (you’ll still fall)
• “Trust your feet” – Useless advice from someone watching you panic
• “You’re so strong!” – You are visibly struggling and they pity you
• “Almost there!” – You are nowhere near there

Fashion Crimes Against Humanity

Your regular gym clothes? Adorable. Wrong, but adorable.

Climbing fashion exists in an alternate dimension where wearing shoes that could double as medieval torture devices is considered normal. Where grown adults wear beanies indoors in August. Where having chalk handprints on your butt is a fashion statement.

You’ll need:

• Pants so tight your circulation gives up
• A $90 tank top that looks like it survived a blender
• Shoes designed by someone who hates feet
• Chalk. So much chalk. Chalk on everything. Chalk in your car. Chalk in your dreams. Your grandmother will find chalk at her house and she lives three states away.

Those climbing shoes? Let’s talk about those. They’re supposed to hurt. If your toes aren’t folded like origami, they’re too big. This is considered normal. Podiatrists drive Ferraris because of climbers.

Small Humans Will Crush Your Soul

Picture this: You’ve been working on a route for an hour. An HOUR. You’ve analyzed every hold. You’ve planned your moves. This is YOUR moment.

Enter: a six-year-old named Brooklyn.

She’s wearing a tutu. And light-up Sketchers. She’s literally eating string cheese WHILE CLIMBING. She scales your project route like it’s a ladder at a playground. At the top, she yells “MOMMY, THIS ONE’S BORING” before doing a backflip off the wall.

You’ll stand there, three holds up, existence shattered.

Children operate under different physics in climbing gyms. They’re basically gecko-human hybrids with the grip strength of industrial machinery and the confidence of Fortune 500 CEOs. They campus routes you need a spreadsheet to plan. They’ll dyno gaps you couldn’t reach with a jetpack.

The Great Deception

“It’s just climbing! Like going up stairs but more fun!”

No. It’s like going up stairs if the stairs were on fire and hated you personally.

Muscles you didn’t know existed will announce themselves. Loudly. Your forearms will feel like someone filled them with angry bees. Your shoulders will file for separation. Your back will communicate only in Morse code (spoiler: it’s just screaming SOS repeatedly).

But here’s the real betrayal: your TOES will hurt. Your toes! The lazy little piggies that have done nothing but exist in your shoes! They’re suddenly load-bearing infrastructure and they’re NOT happy about their new job description.

Economic Ruin, But Make It Vertical

That membership fee is just the entrance to financial hell. It’s like a gateway drug, but for your wallet.

The Descent Into Poverty:

Week 1: “Rental gear is smart!” Rental shoes that smell like a biohazard: $5 Rental harness from the Jurassic period: $5 Community chalk (aka hand disease): $2

Month 1: “Just shoes…” Foot torture devices: $120 “They’ll last forever!” (Six months, max)

Month 2: The floodgates open Chalk bag: $30 (it’s literally a bag) Chalk: $15 (it’s crushed rock, Karen) Harness: $80 (bedazzled belt) Belay device: $40 (complicated metal origami)

Month 6: Full addiction Liquid chalk (“it’s different!”): $15 Chunky chalk (“better texture!”): $20 Fine chalk (“for projects!”): $18 Seven pairs of shoes for different “moods”: $1,050 Approach shoes you’ll wear twice: $130 Solutions that smell like death: $180 Monthly massage membership: necessary Physical therapy: your new hobby That finger strength trainer: $45 Supplements you can’t pronounce: $200/month

Your credit card company will stage an intervention.

The Social Hierarchy Nobody Admits Exists

The Shirtless Philosopher Treats clothing like a suggestion. Grunts with the passion of Shakespeare. Leaves chalk handprints in physically impossible locations. Probably does CrossFit too. Definitely has a YouTube channel with 37 subscribers.

The Beta Sprayer Lurks near struggling climbers like a really unhelpful fairy godmother. “Have you tried…” No, Gary. Nobody asked you, Gary. Gary doesn’t care. Gary has THOUGHTS about your technique.

The Campus Board Cult These mutants don’t actually climb. They just do pull-ups in increasingly stupid ways. They measure their self-worth in hang time. Their forearms have their own zip codes.

The Yoga Pants Collective Stretches for three hours. Climbs for twenty minutes. Somehow crushes everything while maintaining perfect hair. Intimidating in ways you can’t quite articulate.

The Ancient Destroyer He’s 73. He’s wearing New Balance sneakers from 2003. He’s about to flash every route you’ve been projecting since birth. He’ll offer you homemade trail mix. You’ll take it. You need allies here.

Your Body Becomes a Symphony of Complaints

You’ll make sounds. New sounds. Sounds that would concern a medical professional:

• The panic squeak (frequency indicates fear level)
• The effort grunt (part tennis player, part dying moose)
• The surprise success scream (terrifies everyone)
• The failure thud (followed by existential silence)
• The “COME ON!” directed at inanimate holds

Everyone hears everything. The gym has acoustics like Carnegie Hall if Carnegie Hall was designed to amplify human suffering.

Rules They Don’t Tell You

Climbing under someone should be illegal. You will get a face full of chalk, sweat, or worse.

Using holds from different colored routes is cheating and everyone will judge you. Silently. But intensely.

Music without headphones = immediate exile. Nobody wants to hear your workout playlist. It’s all Imagine Dragons and you know it.

Children have right of way because they’re basically tiny wrecking balls with no self-preservation instinct.

“Short person beta” is real and if you’re tall and complaining about a route that a 5’2″ person just crushed, you’ll get no sympathy. None.

Yes, everyone saw you fall. No, nobody cares. Unless you made a really weird noise. Then it’s already on someone’s Instagram story.

Recovery Is Your New Religion

Remember when your body just… worked? Without negotiations? Those days are dead.

Your apartment becomes a makeshift physical therapy clinic. Foam rollers that look like torture devices. Ice packs in every conceivable shape. Heating pads you wear like armor. So much athletic tape you could mummify a pharaoh.

You’ll have Google searches like:

• “normal for fingers to be shaped like question marks?”
• “can you sprain your palm?”
• “do elbows bend that way?”
• “cheap physical therapy near me”
• “cheaper physical therapy”
• “YouTube physical therapy probably fine right?”

The Part Nobody Warns You About

Here’s the thing.

Despite everything – the financial ruin, the constant pain, being repeatedly humiliated by children, your new claw hands, the fact that you now speak in climbing terms nobody understands – you’re going to become obsessed.

Not interested. OBSESSED.

You’ll see buildings differently. Every surface becomes potentially climbable. You’ll have opinions about chalk consistency. Strong opinions. You’ll find yourself explaining the difference between crimps and slopers at parties while people slowly back away.

You’ll become one of them. One of those people who says things like “just commit to the move” without irony. Who owns fourteen chalk bags but sees another one and thinks “but this one has a better closure system.” Who plans vacations around climbing areas.

You’re going to love this stupid, painful, expensive sport with the intensity of a thousand suns.

And when you finally send that route you’ve been projecting for months? When you reach the top of that stupid plastic wall? You’ll feel like a god. For about thirty seconds. Then you’ll see the next route and think “…maybe just one more try.”

Welcome to your new addiction. There’s no cure. There’s only more chalk.

(And remember: when you can’t finish a route, it’s because the holds are greasy. Or you need different shoes. Or the humidity is wrong. Or Mercury is in retrograde. It’s never because you’re not strong enough. Never.)