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Let's be honest: when I first heard that Alex Honnold was going to climb Taipei 101 without ropes, I couldn't decide whether to be amazed or terrified. Probably both.
If you're not familiar with free soloing, imagine climbing a wall that's tall enough to make your palms sweat just thinking about it—except there's no rope. No harness. No safety net. Just you, the rock (or in this case, the building), and gravity waiting patiently for you to make one tiny mistake.
The Numbers That Should Scare You
Here's something that stuck with me after reading about this world: according to experts, free solo accidents are almost always fatal. Not sometimes. Almost always.
Think about that for a second.
The Flatirons in Boulder, Colorado alone have seen 33 free soloing deaths since the 1950s. Thirty-three. That's not a statistic—those are real people who had dreams, families, and probably believed, right up until the end, that they were skilled enough to beat the odds.
And here's the really unsettling part: these weren't careless beginners. The accidents happen because climbers lose focus. Just for a second. Just for one tiny moment of distraction. And that's all it takes when there's nothing between you and the ground but air.
Why Would Anyone Do This?
This is the question that keeps me up at night, honestly.
The climbing community is tiny when it comes to free soloers. Some climbers dabble, but only a rare few dedicate themselves to it. For them, it's not about being reckless—it's something deeper.
Some climbers say free soloing connects them to nature in a way that nothing else can. Without the gear, without the ropes, you're forced to be completely present. Every handhold matters. Every foot placement is life or death. There's no room for distracted thoughts about what you're making for dinner or that email you forgot to send.
Others describe it as a way to wrestle with their mental health. The focus required leaves no room for anxiety or depression—at least during the climb. One climber described it as "the single best therapy" for calming a tumultuous mind.
And some do it simply to push against their own fear. To prove to themselves that they can look terror in the face and keep moving forward.
The Controversy Nobody Talks About
Here's where I have complicated feelings.
When Netflix released "Free Solo," the documentary about Honnold's historic El Capitan climb, it sparked something of a free soloing renaissance. Suddenly, everyone wanted to try it. Videos went viral. Climbers who had never free soloed anything suddenly started posting their own rope-less ascents.
And people died.
Critics—both inside and outside the climbing community—argue that publicizing these feats glamorizes something inherently deadly. They're not wrong. When you turn free soloing into entertainment, you risk inspiring copycats who don't have the skill, training, or mental preparation of someone like Honnold.
On the other hand, free soloing isn't new. It's existed since the birth of climbing in the late 1800s. Banning coverage doesn't stop people from doing it—it just means they do it without the safety education that might come from community discussion.
I don't have a clean answer here. I just think it's worth acknowledging that every viral video comes with a responsibility we don't always consider.
The Art of Absolute Focus
What fascinates me most about free soloing isn't the physical challenge—it's the mental one.
Honnold has talked about how he approaches a climb. He memorizes every single handhold and foothold. He visualizes the entire route, over and over, until he could climb it blindfolded. Then, when he's on the wall, he enters a state of absolute focus where nothing exists except the next move.
This is actually something we could all learn from.
How often do we approach our daily challenges with that level of presence? When was the last time you were so focused on what you were doing that everything else just... disappeared?
Free soloists have mastered something most of us spend our whole lives searching for: the ability to be completely, utterly present.
Living on Borrowed Time?
There's an uncomfortable truth that hangs over the free soloing community: they're playing a game they can't win forever.
Statistically speaking, the longer you free solo, the more likely you are to eventually make that one fatal mistake. Human beings aren't designed to be perfect. We get tired. We get distracted. We have bad days.
And yet, free soloists keep climbing.
Maybe that's the point. Maybe life itself is about doing things that matter, even when—especially when—they terrify us. Maybe the risk is what makes it meaningful.
What Do You Think?
I'll be honest: I can't imagine ever free soloing anything more than a ladder. The thought makes my stomach hurt.
But I can respect the dedication, the skill, and the sheer mental discipline that these climbers possess. And I think there's something worth pondering in their willingness to face death head-on in pursuit of something greater.
The next time you're facing a challenge that scares you, remember the free soloists. Remember that fear doesn't have to be a wall—it can be a door.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go hug my harness. And maybe take up a nice, safe, completely-rope-dependent hobby like... I don't know... stamp collecting?
What are your thoughts on free soloing? Is it art, athletics, insanity—or something in between? I'd love to hear your perspective in the comments below.