I was once told that climbers can only date climbers—that’s supposedly the only way it’ll work for us. What a bold, fat, sad lie, seemingly concocted to keep us from dating outside our inner circle. Or at least, that's what I thought at the time. Once upon a time, I had a boyfriend. We did the typical things: going to the movies, eating at The Cheesecake Factory, and having mediocre sex. Then, a rock showed up in my life, and I decided that rocks and my fingers would be the center of my identity. I sometimes wonder who I was before I got into climbing. Was I a runner? No, I hate running. A weight lifter? No way, conventional gyms seem scary. And no, pickleball wasn’t even on my radar.

Since my last relationship, I haven't dated any climbers. They seem unstable, and I know because I'm unstable too, so naturally, I've been avoiding it. Am I expected to date another rock climber, knowing that maybe one day they might want to be a homeless, van-dwelling vegan while I might opt to be a homeless, van-dwelling meat-eater? There's no way it would work. He wants to eat lentil soup, and I want bacon in the mornings. Climbers are a strange breed; you never know what you're going to get. They wake up early when it's usually cold, throw on four layers that haven’t been washed since last summer, and their underwear... let’s just say they have holes in all the wrong places. How do I know that? Well, I haven’t dated another climber recently, but that’s not to say I haven’t let another climber’s gear find a snug place in my rack.

On top of that, climbers live off tuna pouches (unless they're vegan) and Clif Bars, so when they lean in for a kiss, you can catch the aroma of tuna with cracked pepper lingering on their breath. Why do I have to date another climber? Is it because they're the only ones who will understand why we want to touch rocks for hours in the cold, hike up steep trails, and don a harness that makes my ass look awesome? No one else will get it, not a single person who hasn’t turned climbing into their identity. Climbing isn’t a hobby you can half-ass; it’s all in or nothing. That doesn’t mean you have to sell all your belongings and live out of a car, but I think climbing is truly one of those sports where you have to try because it's not easy, and then you end up selling all your belongings and living out of a car because you want to make the hard look easy.

Picture this: You wake up one day in the Utah desert, nestled in your Toyota Highlander. There’s frost on the windows and a beat-up gallon of water next to you, adorned with toothpaste stains around the mouth. Why would anyone who isn’t a climber want anything to do with this? Yet, there’s a beauty to this weirdness, the sheer madness of climbing. It’s about those silent mornings when everyone is huddled in zipped-up puffer jackets, hands clasping cups of instant coffee. One moment you’re biting into an egg burrito from the trunk of your built-out car; the next, you’re lighting up a spliff at the crag. It’s the camaraderie and the company we keep that sets climbing apart from any other sport. We're all out here, willingly shoving cams into cracks and whispering to ourselves, “That’s so good!” afterward.

To outsiders, this is not normal; it’s problematic, uncomfortable, and this lifestyle might seem a bit irresponsible. How can I date a guy whose whole personality revolves around being a finance bro, especially when I actually use my Patagonia vest unlike this imaginary man I’m not even dating? Yet, in a way, it makes sense—maybe, just maybe, to share those moments of intimacy with someone who truly understands. Someone who gets why we trade normal lives for this unorthodox lifestyle of cold, sleeping in built-out cars, frosty windows, tuna pouches, and Clif Bars. However, there’s also something to be said for the balance brought by having a partner who isn't a climber. A non-climber can introduce fresh perspectives and new energy that might not only challenge our usual routine but actually entice us to settle down and sign a lease. Oh yeah, they also might show us a new Netflix show. They might not share our passion for rocks, but at least I'm not a lonely dirtbag climber chick.

So maybe they were right, whoever told me that years ago: only climbers need to date other climbers. It might not hold true for everyone, but when your fingers start to look like they’ve been banged up by a jackhammer, finding a partner who finds that attractive might be a tad difficult, so it only makes sense to date your own kind. In the end, the rule isn’t set in stone; it’s more about being genuine, finding someone who shares your passion, your quirks, and your interests. And if you're a climber, well, sorry about that—you just need to find another climber. And if it happens that you fall in love with a non-climber, well then, that’s your next project: turning them into a cam-jamming, portable-stove-cooking dirtbag.