My family, especially my father, has always been deeply devoted to mountain sports like climbing and hiking. I remember that, from a very young age, weekend outings to climb rock walls or hike through the mountains were routine. I also remember how much I hated waking up early on a Sunday, spending the whole day outdoors, when all I wanted was to sleep in and play video games.

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It wasn’t until much later, at the age of 20, that I began to realize there was something about the mountains that drew me in—something that pushed me to climb snow-covered peaks and scale smooth rock faces. To this day, I can’t give a definitive answer as to why this is, and I doubt any climber truly can. There are countless articles that attempt to answer this question, yet none of them seem to capture it fully. The best response to the question of why we climb, I believe, is George Mallory’s famous phrase: “Because it’s there.”

I don’t intend to answer this question either, but I would like to share my perspective on it.

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To Live Is to Struggle

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A crucial part of life is setting goals and the personal growth that comes from overcoming them. Nowadays, it's easy to live a comfortable life without encountering much resistance, and that’s not necessarily bad—but I do think something gets lost when we avoid discomfort at all costs. It might sound paradoxical, but suffering often holds a strange kind of pleasure. Climbing, in particular, embodies this perfectly.

When you climb, every movement demands focus, effort, and persistence. Whether it’s a smooth, nearly impossible rock face or a steep vertical ascent, every obstacle becomes a challenge that tests not just your body but also your mind. There’s a sense of pure satisfaction that comes with each step forward, even if your hands are raw and your muscles scream in protest.

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This dynamic reminds me of Jump King, a game where you repeatedly fail and fall, only to pick yourself up and try again. Frustrating as it may be, every tiny success feels monumental. Much like climbing, the game forces you to confront failure and adapt, pushing you toward a goal that often feels just out of reach.

 

So why do we climb? Perhaps it’s because the act itself mirrors life in its rawest form: a series of struggles, failures, and triumphs. Each ascent, no matter how small, is a reminder that we are capable of more than we think.

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Maybe that’s why I climb. Because it’s there. And because I am too.