Let the Hill Come to You

 Spending more time in the saddle this past season has meant that I have also spent more time pedaling my bike uphill.  Hill climbing is one aspect of cycling that brings with it varying levels of sentiment - some feeling very strongly about the sense of accomplishment that comes with cresting a climb, while others dreading the moment that their front wheel starts to tip upwards.

I will admit, I do not hate climbing hills.  I do not always enjoy climbing them, either.   What I have grown to appreciate is the commitment that hill-climbing requires.  As you see the incline looming ahead of you, part of your brain starts to decide whether this is going to be a hard and sharp experience or more of a long grind.  Next is deciding on gearing and how to approach the start of the climb - for me, this is art and science and I feel a sense of pride when I get it right, and a sense of "maybe next time" when I get it wrong.   As the incline begins, it is a bit like jumping into the deep end of the pool - once your feet have left the ground you are going to get wet; once the road starts to tip upwards, you are going to start to climb.  

Finding a rhythm is crucial and is mind over matter.  I cannot begin to count the number of hills that I have tried to power up or attack, only to find myself limping slowly to the top.  It can be so hard to just relax and settle in, and yet that is exactly what is needed.  My friend shared with me some climbing wisdom that he was given by a tour guide on a trip in Italy "Let the hill come to you".  Ever since he shared that with me, those words have been knocking around in my head.

Letting the road unfurl ahead of us is sometimes so hard to do.  It can be so tempting to try and quickly pass through times of difficulty or change by powering through, putting our heads down and just pushing really hard in order to get past whatever the obstacle is that we are facing.  How do we feel on the other side of it, though?  Does it feel like we have made it through in one piece, or are we left feeling a bit shattered for all of our hard effort?  

There is a climb that we face on many of our weekend rides, and it has been one that kicks my butt every time.  It is not a long or hard climb, definitely not anything remarkable, and yet I found myself dreading its approach every weekend.  We were analyzing it one day, trying to determine why it is so awful, and came to an interesting conclusion.  The hill has a set of train tracks that are located at what seems to be the top...but when you cross the tracks, the hill keeps going!  You can't clearly see that the rise continues past the tracks when you are at the bottom of the hill, so I would always just tell myself that I needed to get over the tracks and then I'd be fine, and would push to get there only to realize that I was still working and starting to feel the grind.  Realizing that the hill is not over when I thought it would be (or should be) helped me to pace myself and leave enough gas in the tank to get to where the road finally levels off.  I started to let the hill come to me and instead of trying to make it over as fast as I could, I allowed myself to settle into some discomfort and know that this section would not last forever.  

I will be the first to admit that I have had a life-long tendency of hurtling myself into change and into hard things head first and with enough momentum to try and power through them as quickly as possible.  Yes, this has worked, as far as getting me through some tough moments, but at what cost?   When I reflect on the times where I have settled into a pace that I can sustain while working through hard times, I realize that although I may encounter more uncomfortable feelings or moments, I am left feeling more whole and intact when the hard efforts are behind me.  

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