​Climbing has been a literal life saver for me. To me, it’s not a sport. It’s a passion. 
 
I suffer from severe anxiety, panic disorder and clinical OCD, among other ancillary mental health struggles. But when I’m in the alpine or on the rock, I come alive. All the stoke, exhilaration, fear and sense of accomplishment that climbing elicits melts away all other internal struggles. I’m fully present in the moment, focused on the task at hand. On the rock, I’m only thinking about the next move. In the alpine, I’m fully immersed in the unforgiving majesty of the terrain. No other single pursuit in life gives me more self confidence, pure joy and a complete sense of oneness with the natural world - lost in the sheer massiveness of the geology surrounding me. ​

I’ve been extremely lucky with climbing thus far. Until recently, my only physical struggle has been some sciatica, which hasn’t really affected my outdoor endeavors. This year I even scraped together enough money to hire a personal trainer, who set me up with a sport-specific training plan to get in better shape for some bigger alpine objectives in 2022. Just when I thought everything was moving in the right direction, life threw me a serious curve ball. 
 
In October I was pushing myself pretty hard. After finishing a solo, non-technical snow ascent of a local peak, I was feeling pretty good about my training trajectory. The following day my right knee started swelling. Although this had never happened before, I chalked it up to overtraining and took a few days off. Except it didn’t stop. It got so swollen and tight over the next week that I couldn’t even put my full body weight on it. By the end of that week I was using a crutch to get around, and ended up in urgent care, where I got an orthopedic referral.

The author Natalia Tune on Shuksan, Sept 2021

Fast forward to mid-November. By this time the right knee had gone down, but the left one had swelled up. The orthopedist appointment consisted of x-rays, physical assessment, ultra-sound and draining 60+mL of fluid out of the left knee for testing. Tests came back showing a high number of inflammatory cells, which led to a rheumatologist referral for late January. With my diagnosis still being inconclusive, there is a 50/50 chance I have either Rheumatoid or Psoriatic Arthritis. To be completely honest, hearing those words from the orthopedist sent me into a downward spiral of googling worst case scenarios, bouts of crying, grief and wondering if this would mean the end of my climbing career. ​

Since then I’ve had a heart-to-heart with my doctor, who told me to try not to worry (impossible), and that no matter what happens, we will find a way for me to keep doing the activities I love. I’ll likely have to modify my speed, how often I rest on an approach or summit push, and my post-climb recovery time will be longer in duration. 
 
All of this has made me reassess climbing culture.

Rock climbing and mountaineering are pursuits that have increasingly become not only prohibitively expensive, but also elitist and classist on a social level. Our social media feeds are so inundated with images of pro climbers who have made training their full-time job, middle- and upper-class folks who are able to adventure practically full time, and an overall theme of “if you aren’t climbing hard, you’re not doing it right.” 

Knee effusion fluid aspiration at University of Washington Sports Medicine Eastside Speciality Center

This leaves little space for those of us on the margins of the climbing world; those of us with physical limitations, chronic illness, injury or disability. The disparity is further compounded for those of us in the LGBTQ and BIPOC communities. (Getting misgendered constantly in outdoor spaces is another article entirely.) Our stories are not placed in the center, and our bodies are often looked at as less capable. The climbing world needs to continue to move towards being more inclusive, accessible and intersectional. 
 
The hard truth is that ableism is rampant in the climbing world. 
 
Despite this, when climbing is your light, your passion, you find a way. I will personally continue to climb with whatever body I have. 2022 will see me tackling Tahoma (Rainier), and other alpine pursuits, as well as continuing to climb and develop routes in Washington State. But to do this I recognize I need to find and surround myself with like-minded people.
 
I know there are plenty of us out there. I know there are those who recognize that the human spirit and the sheer experience of climbing and accomplishment with another take priority over elitism. I know there are people willing to look inward to modify thier own perspectives on climbing, welcoming a diversity of others into their fold, recognizing that diversity makes life "come alive." I know there are climbers struggling with health-related diagnoses and aren't sure how to continue, but also know that they will. We simply need to connect with each other, sharing experiences, lifting each other up.

Natalia on approach to climb Ingall’s Peak, Sept 2021.

Natalia Tune projecting a new route in eastern Washington (5.12a), Oct 2021

Here are some questions for not only my own climbing community, but every climber: 

• Will my own climbing community still include me on their trips or join me for my own climbs if I am no longer able to hike, climb or move as fast and efficiently as I used to?
  
  
• Do you prioritize climbing with only people who measure up to your physical standards and abilities (aka ableism)?
  
  
• If you do climb with folks who are differently abled, do you check in with them and encourage them, or do you make them feel like they aren’t trying hard enough?
  
  
• Do you hold conscious or unconscious bias towards climbers whose bodies don’t look or function like yours?
  
  
• Are you able to modify your speed, take more breaks or make other modifications to the way you engage in outdoor activities so that you can still include your differently abled friends?
  
  
• Do you publicly praise the resilience of those of us with physical limitations or chronic pain, but still avoid inviting us on your trips because, in practice, you actually view us as a burden that will slow you down? 

Shuksan, Sept 2021

The fact is, we are out here doing all the things, and will continue to. The problem isn’t our ability as climbers or mountaineers. The problem is the pervasive culture of climbing that still centers the most fit, accomplished and aesthetically pleasing bodies. It’s not seeing ourselves when we scroll through our social media feeds. It’s the fact that, overall, climbing groups, pages and magazines are still centering able bodied athletes. This isn’t to say there aren’t people out there doing the important work of making inclusion a priority, but we still have a long way to go - and that long way begins with us as individuals, in the kinds of social media feeds we like and support, in the messages we propagate in our own personal feeds, the magazines we subscribe to, who we choose to include in our climbing circles, and how we treat those in our presence. 
 
What the climbing world needs is more compassion and less judgement; more inclusivity and less toxic, elitist attitudes; more acceptance and less body shaming. Climbing isn’t just about how fast or efficiently you get to the summit or send your route. It’s about creating a culture where climbers of all abilities are celebrated for our accomplishments and welcomed in each other's spheres. 
 
If my words have resonated with you, please feel free to reach out. I am currently looking to build more belaytionships with inclusive climbers. I hope you are too. 

You can reach Tal via DM on their Instagram @alpineactivist