Athlete’s Insight: Jesse Grupper

A Climber’s Journey: Learning to Leave it to Love it Another Day
By Jesse Grupper

It's five minutes before I'll have to go in the chair. The stress of the week, the midterms, and the projects float through my head. I feel a nervous emptiness inside and try to cool my nerves as best as I can. "Deep breaths," I think, "just try and have fun."

2016 Nationals

I had let the moves, before I fell, consume me. My focus was on them rather than what was ahead. I got caught up in thinking about my mistakes and worries rather than my potential successes.

In that moment, I could only be frustrated and disappointed in myself. The situation didn't matter, the performance was all that I could think about. "No excuses, it's your fault, get better," swam through my head.

I see my direction in climbing as split between before and after this 2016 National competition. Before, I wanted to be the best climber I could be. I didn't know what that meant, or what that would look like, but it felt like a direction in my life to strive for. I was obsessed, and this had consequences.

For most of my high school years, I thought relationships would ruin my climbing. Partying would ruin my climbing. Excessive friendships outside of climbing would ruin my climbing. Climbing felt like a risk, an atypical direction that needed all my effort if I wanted to succeed. To take this risk, other things needed to be safe. This didn't feel intense to me, it was just what felt true. And I loved climbing—devoting myself in this way felt like I was opening myself up to the possible results that could come with it. Would it be worth it? I didn't know, but this was how I knew I'd give myself the best chance.

Were there days when I went to the gym stressed about school, struggling to meet deadlines, and climbing felt more like a chore? Sure, but the overall goal—being the best climber I could be—always pushed me to show up and to not worry about the lack of sleep, additional stress, or dips in performance that these sessions might bring. The long-term happiness of being on podium X or sending climb Y was all that would matter in the end. Right?

After Nationals in 2016, I asked myself this question a lot. Something had to change. I found myself re-evaluating my relationship with climbing.

Last year, while competing in a final's event, I was called old by the commentator. He wasn't wrong! As a 25 year old, although not past my prime, there are more young competitors than people older than me trying to make it. So, why do I still compete? These reflections and experiences are what led to the realization that I had to change my outlook on competitions. To stay motivated and keep up, being the "best" didn't feel attainable or reasonable as a goal to always pursue. I found myself re-evaluating what being my "best" meant.

I now place myself in my own category, with my own constraints and possibilities. I'm a student, an engineer, and a climber at heart. I don't want to excel at one of these things, but be the best I can be in all aspects of my life. With this perspective, when I walk onto a stage, I feel less pressure. I don't need to prove to others that I'm the best climber anymore. I now know that I've done the work and the reward is that I still get to be there. To climb. To enjoy the moment and continue to improve myself as a person and climber. This is what I can bring to these events.

Competitions are really where this mindset matters most—the ability to remember that you're more than a placement at an event. My coaches would tell me that you can't change how others do, only what you do yourself. And this is the problem with trying to be the best--you can train as hard as you possibly can, but that won't change the ability levels of those you're competing with. This ideology is hard to internalize, but as I've continued to recognize how my own personal challenges are different from everyone else's, I've worked on giving myself some slack.

Self-Compassion—the ability to look at myself as more than just a climber—might be the most powerful tool I've worked on as a long-term athlete. It's made me more confident and comfortable with myself compared to where I was at Nationals in 2016. If climbing has taught me anything, it's that giving myself permission to fail is the best way to open the door to success. When I walk into a final at a competition now, I feel more comfortable failing. I know that it will happen. I can't be my best self all the time—all I can do is try with the situation I'm given.

If you had asked me, before Nationals in 2016, if I was okay to walk away from a gym session under any circumstances, I would have said that was giving up. That you're just making excuses and need to try harder. While at my core, I think that every session counts, maintaining that attitude isn't how you make climbing sustainable in your life. There will be days when you can push through and that's great, but to make climbing last, you need to learn to leave it so you can love it another day.

I wish I had accepted this mentality that falls under self-compassion when I was younger. It would have also helped me in school as I worried about homework, tests, and projects.

Today this is still a journey, as I'm continuing to navigate a full-time job and competitive climbing. I've developed instincts that go against caring for myself first. Being aware of this is helpful. As a younger climber, I wish I had accepted this mindset more. This ability to be kinder to myself. Training needs to ebb and flow to be most effective. It's what I think allows the relationship with climbing to be sustainable.

The craziest part is that it's not just the training that's more sustainable, it will also make you better. I just won my second National Championships in 2021. Best performances, of course, take hard work and require you to keep your nose to the grindstone. However, I have no doubt, this peak performance occurred because of a newfound ability to listen to my body and use that feedback to inform my training decisions. As I came down from the wall in 2016, self-compassion was the opposite of what I wanted to give myself in my training. Looking back, it was exactly what I needed.

Me falling, but also winning at the 2021 YETI National Championships. Photo by Bree Robles.