I started climbing in February 2015, at the behest of friends who insisted it would cure my irrational fear of heights. I was hooked by the end of my first session.
The combination of creativity and technical understanding required to read and send a problem was instantly appealing. Within a week, I'd signed up for the first gym membership of my life. Within a year, I'd had every form of tendonitis and tendonosis a climber can experience, a pair of A3 pulley injuries, and a handful of V6s and V7s crossed off my tick list.
Injury drove me to sport climbing. Unable to crimp without searing pain, I aimed to compensate by developing some of that
technique that I'd heard of from rope climbers wandering through the bouldering pens. While I'd TR'd some in the past, the constant intrusion of the rope had left me disinterested in anything but bouldering. Leading changed that. The adrenaline rush of clipping while pumped, the intricacies of rest timing, and the economy of motion required to send long, hard routes made it feel like an entirely different sport.
Hooked on leading, I eventually found myself climbing with a pair of mountaineers. They convinced me that I wasn't having enough Type II fun and should at least try trad climbing if I wasn't going to join them in walking slowly uphill.