Climbers Are Just A Bunch Of Ballerina Shoe Wearing Sissies These Days

Pebble pulling plastic wrestling femboys getting off on each other’s whimpering as they struggle through their rock dance routine. And don’t even get me started on those "training plans." Training? We trained by getting up to the cliff, looking at it, and saying, “Well, this is gonna suck.” This ain’t a yoga retreat, it’s the vertical battlefield. Back in my day, we didn’t place bolts, we earned them. By hand. In the rain. On lead. One agonizing, soul-questioning tap at a time. Every bolt was a tiny metal monument to suffering. Not this grid-bolted sport-climbing playpen nonsense. You know what our training regimen was? It was called “doing terrifying things repeatedly until you got good or died.” Pull-ups? We did those by accident when the aid piece below us blew. Climbers aren’t what they used to be.