No one ever wants to talk about it. I get it, there’s a stigma around having acne. I have no idea why, because if you have the tiniest number of pimples they can all potentially be solved with one drug that for some reason everyone seems ashamed to mention until someone else admits they’ve been on it. At least that’s my experience. I wish someone had come up to me in college and shouted JUST TAKE ACCUTANE WE ALL TRIED IT because then I wouldn’t be juggling its fun side effects with climbing. But I had an attitude. My face wasn’t actually bad, it was just that I picked at bumps and blemishes no one would have ever noticed. Acne medication wouldn’t help that, that was just me being fidgety and bored in class, on planes, in the car, at a desk job. I wasn’t the stereotypically pimply kid, I don’t know what it’s like to be constantly told to wash your face or change pillowcases or coconut oil or honey and all the complaints my pimple ridden brethren have about others trying to give advice and miracle cures. Sounds annoying as shit. Anyway, I finally went to see a dermatologist about healing scars, and she just looked at me and said “well why not also stop the bumps? Then you have nothing to pick!” as I stared back at her, because could it be that simple? The answer (for me) was yes. With smooth cheeks and a smooth fivehead forehead, there was nothing to pick.

Anyway, I did some googling, and everyone who talked about accutane online seemed to have had extreme experiences with it, one way or another. It’s not life or death (usually, no promises – I’ve heard some rough stories). I honestly think I’ve had a pretty average experience with it, possibly slightly more highlighted by my lifestyle – half of the side effects I never would have noticed without climbing. Extensive information on accutane and climbing was even more scarce, so here’s exactly what I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with over the past few months, and my 10 favorite tips if you’re considering it while climbing.

And that doesn’t even start to cover rock climbing or dry tooling. Your palms will disintegrate, your knuckles will be shredded and bloody every time they touch rock (dry tooling was brutal), you’ll get blisters faster and deeper because of how thin your skin is and just to spite you they’ll rip off immediately leaving you stranded on the third pitch of a 5.9 climb wondering if you’re ballsy enough to stuff your freshly exposed weeping underblisters into a dirty, dusty crack (I mean you didn’t really have a choice, plus they’ll get numb eventually, plus it’s a little funny) Or hobbling along a glacier wondering if the situation could be improved by just not having feet to begin with as the soles of your feet burn through your boots. And then you’ll lose your breath trying to shift into second gear in your car with fingers you can’t bend while pressing the clutch with a foot that is basically one big blister. And then the entire bottom of your foot will come off a few days later. Oh, and everything takes months to heal, even if you leave it alone. So start carrying band aids and neosporin everywhere.

And there are the muscle aches, and the persistent dehydration. Imagine having the flu, except for random 60-120 minute spurts whenever your body feels like screwing you over, probably at the most inconvenient times possible. And you better start carrying an extra liter of water, or a filter, and a bladder instead of a water bottle or else you’ll have to alternate your every-30-minutes-sunscreen-breaks with every-15-minute-water-breaks, because you woke up incredibly dehydrated meaning you started your climb incredibly dehydrated meaning you basically aren’t going to be hydrated until Monday which means you aren’t going to feel very good for the next 48 hours.

Things my dermatologist has said:

   “Oh, honey.” (like every time I’ve walked into the room)

    “We need to keep you out of the elements.” (multiple occasions)

   “You’re the second person I’ve seen today with high alpine burns!!” “But it’s 7:30am!” “Yeah, you’re the second person I’ve seen today.” (12 hours after I returned from my Rainier double whammy)

   “Honey, your lips are practically falling off your face.”

   “No sunburns?!” “July weather was lousy. Not much climbing.” “Great!”

Or my beloved mother, when I visited the fam back home after I gave up blow drying & straightening my hair because everything is too harsh for it for the time being:

   “You look like you have dreadlocks.”

Well, shit. But hey, at least I have shiny nice skin, and dreadlocks mean I’m not actually balding.

I’ve been lucky with side effects. These are all a pain in the ass, but they’re all temporary and none are lifechanging. For me, it’s already worth it 100x over, and I wish I had done it sooner. All I needed was for one person to say oh I’m trying this, or oh I had huge success with this. I honestly think that 50% of the people I’ve told that I’m taking Accutane have been on it, some with great experiences, some with terrible experiences. Your mileage will vary. All I know is if I had known how many people had done it when I was 16-18 and all of this started, maybe my teenage attitude would have given in and I’d have done this years ago instead of waiting until my mid 20’s. What was I doing at age 16? I can only assume I was busy being indoors, because I can’t remember anything that interesting.