I could see the post in the distance - the 3.5 mile marker. The point in which my tired legs could turn around, back down the hill and toward my car. I'd been traveling in a vertical direction for what seemed like eight hours and I was ready to reap the fruits of my labor - eighteen thousand four hundred and eighty feet of gravity induced pleasure. As I approached the turn around, I made sure not go a millimeter past the minimum distance. Woohoo, I thought. What an accomplishment! I was half way to seven miles and soon I would be coasting...
The coasting never really happened. As it turns out, the hill wasn't as steep as it had seemed. The steep hill that I'd been expecting in reality was a gradual decline. I jiggled and sweated "down" that hill just as much as I had sweated and jiggled up it. I approached the finish line with muddy shoes and a back drenched with sweat. With a smile, I thought about my recent seven mile journey... Then my legs turned to jelly.
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