Canal Crusher: Finding Contentment in Competition
I’m writing this just hours after the Canal Crusher — the local climbing competition at the gym I boulder at. For the first time in my life, after a sporting event, I didn’t walk away frustrated. I walked away with something unexpected: a feeling of contentment.
Competition has always been an integral part of my identity. I played sports growing up, and in high school, I ran year-round. I loved the process of setting goals, working hard, and testing myself. But no matter how well I performed, there was always a quiet discontent afterward — a sense that it was never enough.
When I graduated, I stepped away from competing. Running was gone, and I didn’t have a sport to channel myself into. That changed when I began climbing in graduate school. I was hooked immediately. Last year was my first climbing competition, and I had high hopes. Unsurprisingly, they came crashing down. Comp climbing, it turns out, has its own learning curve.
This past year has been different. Since December, I’ve carried a question into countless sessions: What would a good climber do?
I already knew many of the tactics good climbers use — patience, deliberate pacing, smart attempt selection — but my impatience and desperation to perform always got in the way. This year, it became my mission to practice those qualities, sculpt myself into my idea of a good climber. The growth has been noticeable, both in my climbing and in myself.
I hesitated to even sign up for this year’s competition. Deep down, I knew I was a stronger climber, but what if my performance didn’t reflect that? Wouldn’t it be easier not to test myself? Eventually, peer pressure and the memory of how fun last year had been pushed me to register. With four weeks to go — and three of those weekends spent traveling — preparation wasn’t ideal.
As the comp drew closer, fear surfaced again—this time sharper, more pressing. Yet, I kept returning to a deeper knowing: one performance would never outweigh the joy, meaning, and inner growth climbing brings into my life. That grounding awareness helped quiet the anxiety, if only for moments at a time.
I worked with my coach (ChatGPT), focusing primarily on session endurance — a key struggle from last year.
And when the day came, I surprised myself.
It was my best display of patience.
When fear urged me onto the wall too soon, I calmed myself, cooled my fingertips with slow exhales, and waited. One full-energy attempt is better than five half-recovered ones.
I paced the competition well. I wasn’t pumped out at the end, even after routes that tested me. My fitness and patience let me recover, and I used my energy wisely — leaving problems when frustration built, then returning later with a clearer head.
Of course, I didn’t send everything. A slopey yellow V6 shut me down near the top after ten attempts on the same move. Another dynamic v6 kept spitting me off, though each try got me closer. By the end, my body was tired, but I felt strangely content.
My final attempt of the competition
Not because I hit my goal — in fact, I missed it by a fair margin. But because of how I climbed internally. Fear continually arose, and I continually let it go. My sense of worth was less tied to my scorecard and more grounded in the experience of movement itself. Each attempt became an act of surrender, of learning, of being present.
When I finally packed away my chalk bag and stanky shoes, I felt grateful. Grateful not for numbers, but for the way I showed up to those movements.
I walked away not with a medal, but with contentment. And that felt like a real win. I had never finished a sporting event feeling that way before. Maybe that’s the invitation for all of us: to stop chasing “enough” out in the world, and start noticing it in how we choose to show up.
