And another thing about hills…

I’ve been on vacation, so the blog has been on hiatus, but now I’m back and ready to follow up my hill post.

First, I should clarify one point: I advised keeping “perpendicular” to the ground when it would have been more accurate to say “plumb”. Imagine you are a plumb-bob, hung on a string from heaven – you remain upright, neither crunching forward into the hill or leaning back to slow yourself down. I really did not intend that you should be defying all laws of gravity by maintaing right angles with the ground regardless of the grade of the hill. Make sense? Good.

Now, I’d like to share a little hill story from my vacation…

I was in Maine last week, staying in a little community called Bayside. It can be found mid-coast, between Camden and Belfast, situated on Shore Road which hugs the coastline for 5-6 miles. The terrain is ”gently rolling”, much like the Charlottesville area. It’s a pretty perfect route for me.

My first run was to be my “long” run for the week. I didn’t have mileage markers, so I decided to just go out 40 minutes and return for a relaxed 80 minute run. Since it was my first run on this route, I didn’t know quite what to expect. All was good and uneventful until I reached the 35 minute mark – almost at my turn around point.

I found myself at the top of a hill that goes down and curves around sharply to the left, so that I couldn’t see exactly how far or how steep. There was, however, one of those yellow road signs that warn truckers about steep grades and checking their brakes. That did not bode well.

I had a decision to make. I could turn around and head back at this point. That would still be a very respectable run, and only cutting myself short by 10 minutes. Maybe I could even make it up on the other end – but I know myself.  The reason I like an agressive out and back course is that I have no problem getting to the halfway point, and once there, I have no choice but to finish. If I were to cut it short here, there’s no way I would make it up on the other end.

As the angel and devil on each shoulder debated the point, I couldn’t help but think about all the advice I’d been smugly flinging around about hills, and what a loser I’d be to chicken out on this hill now, even if it was in the privacy of my own vacation run.

So I barreled down the steep grade and around the curve. It eventually bottomed out and I began ascending another, more modest hill. I reached my 40 minute mark and knew it was time to turn around and face THE hill from the other side. It wasn’t immediately in sight, but I came back around that curve and that hill rose up before me like the Great Pyramid of Tenochtitlan .

It had been lightly raining. The morning fog was burning off and steam was rising unearthly from the pavement. I half expected to see the hounds of Hell waiting for me as I crested the hill, snarling and slobbering and greedily eyeing me to determine if I was weak enough to pick off or too weak to be any fun. I employed my best hill running techniques (which now included visualizing vicious dogs in hot pursuit) and before I knew it, I was up and over. No dogs. No pain. No throbbing, bursting, bleeding. None of that.

So I’m glad I didn’t cheat myself. Maybe Sarge was right. It’s not a hill. The mountains to be moved are mostly in my head.