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I’m going to climb 5.14 this year and it’s going to be amazing. In what ways? you ask. Well, when I finally climb 5.14 my life is going to change—for the better. I’m going to get sponsored, move to Catalunya like Chris Sharma and pronounce the crag names with a fancy lisp, never work again, and go around staying in high-end Airbnbs with my crew, eating paella and drinking sangria and posting photos of my journey on Instagram (#restdaybestday) all while major brands give me phat paper to get sendy at the world’s sickest crags. There, I will do even more 5.14s.
Also, I’ll never get pumped again on anything easier than 5.14 because I’ll be a 5.14 climber. All routes that aren’t 5.14 will feel basic, and I’ll style them onsight as my warmups to prepare for 5.14 while everyone admires my skills and wishes that they, too, had climbed 5.14. Someday, after I do enough 5.14s, maybe I’ll even day-flash a 5.14. Stay tuned @my5.14journey!
After I do my first 5.14, I imagine I’ll wake up most mornings refreshed and free of anxiety, depression, or existential angst, do some yoga, check my swelling bank balance and invest in a little Bitcoin, update the socials, eat fresh fruit and organic grains, and then meander through my day at a perfectly comfortable temperature all while bathed in a gentle golden light. Unless, of course, I’m on a 5.14, because you need to be in the shade to grab 5.14 holds—a fact known only to 5.14 climbers.
I also imagine top models will want to date me, and to belay me on 5.14.
I’m not sure which 5.14 to begin with, but probably one that everyone logs as “soft/second go” on their 8a.nu scorecards even though no one wants to downrate it—except on Mountain Project, where they don’t get points—because then it would mean they haven’t really climbed 5.14. I’d like the route to be close by, because sitting in the car too long leads to boredom-snacking. And I’d like the route to be not up a big hill, because if your legs get too muscular it’s harder to climb 5.14. So the route basically needs to be roadside, and within a half-hour of my house.
Another stipulation is rock quality. Call me a “rock snob,” but I’m not willing to climb on choss. My freewheeling, trust-funded lifestyle has let me climb on Yosemite granite, Bishop monzonite, Hueco iron rock, and Céüse limestone, and if even the smallest hint of a crystal crumbles on a hold, I’m leaving a bail carabiner and lowering off. And don’t even get me started on glued holds or “creative cleaning”—everyone knows that real 5.14s have never, ever been established with these tactics.
In fact, I’d like to state for the record that I don’t climb on chipped holds; this is important to me. I’m a purist. What about piton scars? you ask. Well, those were chipped for aid climbing, not free climbing—they were created by the purest of heart, the Golden Age pioneers looking for a way up virgin rock, not by cheaters hacking a staircase into the cliff. I look at it like this: It’s wrong (and illegal!) to break the front window on a Best Buy and steal a TV, but if someone else already broke that window, you may as well head on in and make sure those sweet TVs go to a good home. This seems like a confusing, weird, and elitist analogy you’re probably saying. But I put it to you: Bro, have you even climbed 5.14? Well, I’m gonna—any day now.
Conditions are also crucial. If it’s too cold, my hands go numb and my skin gets glassy. But if it’s too warm, I grease off. Years of research on the #roadto5.14 have shown that my ideal range is from 68 to 72 degrees F, with 20 to 30 percent humidity and a 6 to 8 mph breeze. When I find the perfect 5.14 project, I’m going to leave a remote thermometer up there and check it every morning. If conditions aren’t perfect, I’m not going that day. I don’t want to have to try any harder than I need to; I’m not putting 5.14b effort into a 5.14a. I don’t care if you made plans to come belay me—go do something else, like needlepoint or parkour or haiku or some shit. I’ll be at the gym, training, going full beast mode, so that I’m #readyfor5.14 when condies slap, no cap.
Speaking of trying hard, I’m going to need all the cruxes on my 5.14 project to feel easy. Not that they will be easy—just that they feel easy to me or look easy to you while you behold me climbing. How does this magic happen? you wonder. Simple: training, training, and more training; I’ll need to be mad fit. In fact, the only way to do 5.14 is to train for 5.14, not to get on a 5.14 and figure out the most efficient way to do the moves and then strategize on how to link them and rest between cruxes—that’s just old school and dumb (“OK, Boomer…”). Follow @my5.14trainingjourney on Instagram. Let me know if you like what you see—I’m thinking of becoming a climbing coach as soon as I can find a place to rent in Lander or I stop flunking the Lattice Test. Or, you know, do a 5.14.
I realize this might sound like a lot of terms and conditions and that maybe I sound “high maintenance” and “crazy,” but this is my 5.14 journey, not yours. According to my calculations, there is precisely one route nearby, in condition for one week in April and one week in October, that meets my needs, so I’m synching up my training schedule so that I’m peaking at those times. And if the route, condies, and my fitness don’t all line up, then I may need to postpone. We’ll see. There’s always next year.
Bro, to be honest, this is all starting to sound like a lot of work. In fact, I kind of wish I’d already climbed 5.14. Then I’d have that first 5.14 under my belt and the confidence to do others and my life would be so amazing. I wonder, would anyone really notice if I just said I’d climbed 5.14, even though I haven’t? Like, has a climber ever done that? You’d believe me if I told you I’d climbed 5.14—right? I mean, the route is all but in the bag, just as soon as everything starts going my way.
Matt Samet is a freelance writer and editor based in Boulder, Colorado.