The Hill of Truth

Once upon a time, I trained with an intense group of friends who were dedicated to the weekly torture that adventure racing bestowed upon weary participants. We traveled to Oak Ridge several times per month to mountain bike a very technical 8-mile trail located in Haw Ridge at the Life Development Center. Following the biking, we traded our trusty steeds for a pair of tattered trail running shoes and headed back out to run the very same course. The obstacles we faced consisted of short, steep, muddy, slick ascents that set your quads and calves on fire, long, bumpy log bridges that spanned swampy sections keeping you high and dry, and off-camber, rooty turns that had been hacked out of hillsides. No matter what obstacle found its way under our wheels and feet, nothing matched the frustration felt by all when ascending the Hill of Truth, a power-line climb that was long, loose and nosebleed-steep at the very top. No one could make it no matter how many times we tried. We even tried cleaning away the loose rocks and rubble that kept worthy adversaries at bay. It was as though the Hill was lying in wait--ready--to defend its rocky tower resupplying the scree that littered the top. I was determined.

I decided to visit the Hill alone. It was a typical, hot, humid summer day in the South. You know the kind of day I speak of if you have lived here most of your life. The type of day where your underwear decides to rebel against your ass placing itself in a nice, damp wad completely rendering them useless. The type of day where mosquitoes rival small rodents in size and could damn near tear off an appendage beating you to death with it. The type of day where nothing can quench your thirst and you spend the entire 8 miles wishing you could produce more saliva to drum up one more spit to rid your mouth of the dusty film lining it.

 I plugged my headphones into my ears allowing the music to penetrate my mind setting the pace for the day. Zipping up my Salomons and strapping on my hydration pack, I hit the trail. The music eliminated any and all natural sounds keeping me focused on the task at hand--defeat the Hill of Truth once and for all. I meandered through all of the other obstacles really gaining a keen sense of my surroundings sans sound--mud, roots, rocks, hills, logs, descents, holes, swamp. It was surreal. I felt as though I were running through a Mountain Dew commercial. Bringing me back to reality was the close brush with a mountain biker who passed me while I was taking a quick snack break. As he passed on my left, I screamed almost dropping my food and certainly startling him. I quickly regained focus and headed out. Once at the base of the Hill, I stopped and psyched myself up by cranking up the volume a few more decibels. I decided to try something new. Since I could not hear myself and therefore no one else could hear me (of course), I yelled a battle cry all the way to the top. Ridiculous? Perhaps. But it worked. I conquered that bastard Hill and went home with a smile.

What did I gain from this experience? Aside from sore feet and dehydration, a new sense of confidence that carried over into my biking. The next time I rode the Hill on my bike I made it all the way to top grinning from ear-to-ear. Did I make it every time? No. In fact, I still struggled to defeat it each time whether biking or running. It was just that loose at the top. By the way, if you are wondering why it was named the Hill of Truth and not the Hill of Frustration or the Hill of Hell, it was simply because it kept you honest. There was absolutely no way to cheat your way to the top. You had to earn it and earn it--you did.

July's bike clinic will focus on hills and climbing. Check out the advice given by a highly recognized outdoor organization, REI, and utilize this information for your next attempt to conquer your Hill of Truth.

In need of a little inspiration? I leave you with this highly motivating song by Volbeat.