People do all kinds of wild things these days in an attempt to feel better and restore themselves to their original state: We freeze in cryogenic chambers, slow-roast in infrared saunas, submerge in sensory-deprivation tanks. We eat charcoal and foraged weeds and beige porridges made from ancient biblical grains. We fly great distances to puke and hallucinate at ritual ceremonies in South America. It's as though, collectively traumatized by the monstrous pixelated future we have created, we are in hysterical pursuit of the primal. Lately we seem to be finding it in rock climbing.

“There's an innateness to it,” says Alex Honnold, the most famous climber on the planet. “We are primates. We're great apes. We are hardwired to move in this way.”

If you are a member of recreational climbing's still dominant demographic—à la Honnold, a white male between 18 and 35, though the sport is approaching gender parity and racial diversity is also on the rise—it's probable that you or someone you know has recently caught the fever. Instagram is lousy with glamour shots of attractive millennials sending boulder problems, and celebrity fans include Frank Ocean, Jason Momoa, Brie Larson, and Jared Leto. In the lead-up to the sport's Olympic debut this year in Tokyo, there are more competitions and gyms dedicated to climbing than ever before. The primitive impulse might partly explain the frenzy, since along with running and swimming, climbing has been a basic way the human animal has negotiated its environment for millennia. But the sport's core values—rugged individualism, self-actualization, performance efficiency, crowdsourced problem-solving—also position it as a uniquely attractive recreation for our tech-optimized, permalancing, late-capitalist moment. The arrival of modern gyms tricked out with coworking spaces, REI outposts, conference rooms, cafés, and craft beer (not to mention a built-in like-minded community) has turned climbing into a full-on lifestyle choice: You never have to leave.

Pullover, $950, by Loewe / Pants, $290, by Stone Island / Shoes, $170, by La Sportiva

Fans of Honnold are already familiar with his most legendary accomplishment: On June 3, 2017, he became the first person to scale El Capitan, Yosemite's vertical granite slab, without a rope or safeguards of any kind, as captured in the Oscar-winning documentary Free Solo. Nobody knew whether the ascent was even possible, and it certainly wasn't advisable, and the crew working on the movie—many experienced climbers themselves—had to consider the horrifying prospect that they might actually be making a snuff film. Honnold set out before dawn and summited while the breakfast buffets were still open. His (characteristically moderate) reaction upon making history after 3 hours 56 minutes: “So delighted.”

The word inspiring has been degraded through overuse, but there's no other way to put it: Alex Honnold's El Cap climb was truly, excruciatingly inspiring—a feat that transcended sports and probably even art. In it he articulated the direct confrontation between humanity and eternity that most people dedicate their lives to avoiding. Jimmy Chin, the climber and filmmaker who, with his wife, Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi, codirected Free Solo, helps put the singularity of the achievement into context: “It would be the Hail Mary from half-court at the NBA Finals, except that if you didn't make it, you die.” Then he revises the metaphor: “You have to make every single shot you take in that game or you die.”

A few nights ago, Honnold was bivouacking off the side of El Cap, sleeping under the full November moon. With his friend Tommy Caldwell, a fellow elite pro, he'd spent the season laying a new route up the wall and had returned to strip rope and clean up. Today, Honnold, an in-demand speaker on the corporate/TED/VC circuit, participated in a discussion on risk management for a group of venture capitalists (the partner who moderated is a big ice climber). Now, well after dark, he is at a soon-to-open franchise of Planet Granite, part of the country's largest group of climbing gyms (for which he is a board member), near an industrial park off the freeway in Fountain Valley, California, modeling fashion pants.