I used to think climbing was simple: you pull, you fall, you get back on. For four years, that was my entire philosophy. I didn’t know much about climbing technique, history, or even how my own body was supposed to move — and honestly, I didn’t care. I just enjoyec climbing.
But injuries have a way of forcing you to pay attention to the things you’ve been ignoring. They make you confront the parts of your body, your movement, and your habits that you never questioned. And that’s exactly what happened to me.
I’ve been climbing for four years now, and compared to many climbers, I wouldn’t say I know a lot about the sport — not its history, not the physiology, not even the intricacies of movement. I mostly just show up to the gym and pull on. If I fall, I try again. And again. And again. Usually, I end up telling myself either “I’m not strong enough,” “I’m not tall enough,” or the classic “This climb is just shit.”
What I rarely asked myself was: “What is my body not doing, and what can I do to make it work?”
When it comes to injuries, I think a lot of us approach them the same way:
- “I’m not strong enough.”
- “Maybe I’ve been climbing too much.”
- “Maybe I’m tired.”
In my case, I had a left-wrist injury for about two years. I told myself all the usual things: “Maybe I have a weak left wrist,” or, “Maybe the climb was funny and I tweaked something.” And maybe some of those assumptions were true — but the real problem was that I never did anything about it.
I never questioned why.
I just hoped I wouldn’t feel it next session.
If the pain appeared, I’d climb a bit less or avoid certain moves. If it didn’t hurt, I climbed normally and pretended nothing was wrong.
A New Insight Into My Wrist
After two years of lingering pain, I finally went to a hand-specialised physiotherapist. She gave me an insight that genuinely shifted my understanding of climbing:
If your body reacts slowly to movement, your muscles work overtime to compensate — and that’s when injuries happen.
Suddenly, everything made sense:
- why it’s easier to get hurt when you’re tired,
- why catching a hold even a fraction late overloads the muscles,
- why my wrist was always the first to go.
I also realised something during my own climbing: sometimes I throw for a hold using mostly my pulling strength instead of coordinating with my hips. When I do use my hips properly, the load on my arms — and therefore my wrist — becomes much lighter.
And I don’t think this applies to every climbing injury or every climber. I’m not a high-grade climber, so I don’t know how universal this is. I just wanted to share the insights I received.
To improve my wrist reflexes, the physio gave me two exercises:
- Wrist balancing on a ball— knees on the floor, both wrists on the ball. You can increase difficulty by lifting a leg; the further the leg extends, the harder it gets.
- Slosh pipe exercise— holding half water filled water pipe, with one hand in the centre and keeping it straight. You can increase difficulty by closing your eyes.
But to be honest, I wasn’t doing these exercises consistently. I didn’t fully take them seriously… until things escalated.
The Chain Reaction
It started with wrist pain.
Then my left elbow started hurting.
Then my shoulder.
Then my neck.
And then, bizarrely, even my left toe and ankle.
Suddenly my whole left side was falling apart.
The Scapula Revelation
So I went to a different physiotherapist for another perspective. What she said completely surprised me:
“You might not be engaging your scapula properly when you climb, and that might be putting extra load on your wrist.”
It wasn’t that my scapula were weak — I simply didn’t know how to use them. Engaging them felt strange at first, but once I started scapular activation exercises: such as shrugs, bent arm rows and Thera band external rotation.
- my neck pain eased,
- my shoulder pain disappeared,
- and I finally understood how much strain my wrist had been taking from lack of shoulder engagement.
She also gave me strengthening exercises for my wrist and thumb: wrist extensions, isometric thumb extension and flexor lowers exercises.
Suddenly the pieces started fitting together.
And Then… the Toe
I’ve never had toe pain in my life, but I noticed my foot shape changing. My climbing shoes were pushing my big toes sideways, especially on the left. So now I’m using toe spreaders at home and doing calf raises to strengthen my ankle.
It’s a new problem and I’m still figuring it out — but honestly, that seems to be the theme of this journey.
What This Journey Has Taught Me
This journey has been messy, frustrating, and full of moments where I felt like my body was betraying me — but it’s also been unexpectedly eye-opening. I’m learning that climbing isn’t just about how hard I can pull or how many climbs I can fit into a session. It’s about understanding the way I climb, the way my body responds, and the small compensations that build up over years. I'm now starting to see that:
- it’s a whole-body movement system,
- everything is connected,
- and injuries are often symptoms of deeper patterns we don’t notice.
I used to ignore pain and hope it would disappear. Now I’m learning to listen.
I used to think strength was the answer. Now I’m learning that coordination, awareness, and timing matter just as much.
I used to think my injuries were random. Now I can see the patterns — and I can choose to change them.
I’m still navigating my wrist, my toe, my shoulder, and everything in between. But I’m no longer climbing against my body. I’m climbing with it. And that shift — that partnership — might be the most important thing I’ve learned so far.
