Beyond The Morning News – I Will Make It Up This Stupid Hill, If It Kills Me

I know I’m not the most physically active person out there. You don’t need to hear it from me, though. Just ask any gym teacher, sports coach, summer rec leader, or family member that had to deal with me growing up. Some of them have stories.

One soccer coach referred to me as “The Tree” for a full season because… well, I just stood there. In my defense, I only joined the team for the free ice cream social at the end of the year. Priorities.

I actually have two school-sanctioned “mile runs” that, to this day, I still have not completed. I refused to cross the finish line both times on the final lap. Whoever’s running the clock on those runs may very well be keeping time to this day. I don’t envy them if they are. The earlier of the two runs began in 2001.

Among the anecdotes, I’ve also amassed a collection of last-place finishes, picked-last-for-the-team stats, injury fake-outs, and a working reputation with various medical personnel. I can’t say I’m particularly proud of this collection, but it is what it is. I knew from the get-go that I wasn’t going to make the Olympic track and field team. But I also knew that first place at your run-of-the-mill relay race was also out of the cards. It didn’t bother me that I’d never get the gold. What bothered me was that I wouldn’t be taken seriously if I couldn’t excel at everything that I did.

It didn’t dawn on me until later in life that I didn’t necessarily have to become Florence Griffith Joyner in order to “stay active,” or whatever the heck my doctors keep telling me to do. I didn’t even have to scout out a pair of adult cleats and join a rec soccer league. I could just… take a walk. It was that simple.

Of course, life likes to complicate things. I slipped and injured my knee at a concert in 2019, which required surgery and months of rehabilitation. My doctor wanted me moving as soon as possible after surgery, and let me tell you: those first few steps were brutal. The walks began- slowly- after I was cleared to go off crutches.

There’s a great line from the Netflix series BoJack Horseman that came to mind during those first few walks:

(Photo: Reddit/Netflix)

Did I heed the Jogging Baboon’s advice? Not in the slightest. It’s easy to just tell someone “just do it!” and go about your day. I had the desire, maybe even the intent, to make a stupid little walk part of my routine. I’d go if others asked me to join, but beyond that… it was hard to get on board. Back when I worked in NY, I didn’t even have the energy to make lunch most days. How in the hell was I supposed to get some physical activity in? It didn’t matter, I thought at the time. Nothing did. All I wanted was to get in bed and have sleep for lunch, and also dinner. Rinse and repeat.

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Fast forward to a few weeks ago. My eating and sleeping habits have improved exponentially. I’m gearing up for a cross-town trek on a Saturday, because it’s nice out. I’m a sucker for a good body of water. I love the feel of a salty sea breeze as I soak in the sun. Gas prices are just high enough where I’ve justified not taking my car out to my end goal. Off we go.

I’ve been weary of inclines since the knee injury, but I’ve walked part of this route before. The first hill? Not a problem. The path on Google Maps looked like a straight line from Point A to Point B, so I didn’t think much more as I trudged onwards. I saw the second hill in the distance, and began to question why I didn’t bring a bottle of water along. The thought came to me as I passed a convenience store up that hill, but decided not to act on it. I could wait.

I summitted the second hill, ready to tackle some flat terrain and maybe some downward slopes towards the water. I checked the walking directions once again on Google Maps- still had a straight beeline to the bay. Excellent. But I noticed a small note underneath the next turn I was going to take. It said “use the stairs.” Up at the top of hill #3 was a small set of stairs, maybe 5 or so steps. Bit of an odd note, I thought. 5 stairs won’t hurt.

Things began to take a turn about halfway up this hill. I knew I was getting sore, and I was really craving a ice cold bottle of water. I took a quick sit in a shady area just before the stairs, and went back to Google Maps to make sure I had read that note correctly.

Spoiler alert: I did. But I was not prepared for what came next.

Looking at the map again, I began scratching my head when I noticed that the roadway veered off to the left. The directions were telling me to go straight. Where were they taking me? I did see a sidewalk up ahead, but I thought it was part of an apartment complex or some other private property. Worst case scenario, I thought, I could just turn around and take the roadway up to the next section.

I limbered my way up those five steps, crossed the road, and naively sauntered my way down the path. It came into focus, almost taunting me as I got closer. The Final Hill was full of stairs. It reminded me of this:

No, I wasn’t out walking in the Bronx. This was right here in Bellingham. Local folks: if you know what stairs I’m talking about, feel free to laugh, shake your head, or judge me as much as you want. I was very ill-prepared, and I knew it.

I looked up at the light at the end of this tree-lined tunnel. I could make it up there, probably. But I was definitely losing steam. One landing at a time, I decided. I could make it up this hill. Even if it tries to kill me.

The first two or three flights were rough. Not rough enough to make a full stop, but it still wasn’t pleasant. I kept looking up at the clearing at the end. I made it up this far, I kept telling myself. It would be pointless to turn around and go home. However, the regret of not getting a convenience store water bottle was starting to get to me. I knew something was off. I still wanted to get to the top. Maybe if I just took a quick breather…

I sat down on the steps, three landings from the top. Things began to spin. I felt incredibly nauseous. All I wanted to do was lie down. I’m in public, though. I can’t lie down. Should I go home? Or call an ambulance? I would definitely kill for some water. If I went to the convenience store, got water, and came back, I’d be ok, right? Woah, ok, my stomach is turning. That’s not cool. Something is definitely off. Maybe if I sit here in the shade for a few more minutes, I’ll be fine. No one’s here, though. What if someone finds me like this?

My body chose to forego whatever my malfunctioning brain was telling me. I woke up 10 minutes later- head resting on the last step of the landing, body sprawled out. Certainly not my finest moment.

As I lay there, on a landing of this hellish staircase that tried to take me out, staring at the cleanest lamppost I’ve seen this side of the Rockies, I knew that the only way out was up. There’s no way I could turn around at this point. Screw the ambulance, I can sit up again. I didn’t feel dizzy anymore. A man and his dog passed by, heading down. The dog made it a point to stop on every single landing, just like I did on the way up. I don’t know how that inspired me to get back up on my feet, but it did.

I got up and traversed the last three flights of stairs. Was it worth it?

You tell me.

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You’d think the story ends there. See, the view was nice, but the goal was to get to the water. I damn near skipped my way down this massive hill because I was relieved that I didn’t have to climb any more hills. The water was so close, I could taste it. Nothing else mattered. I made it up The Hill That Tried To Kill Me. All the spoils of the sea were mine to behold.

What I failed to realize, in those moments of pure bliss, was that I would eventually need to get home.

Let’s take a look at that elevation map on the way there (in blue):

Right before the peak is where I went down. And look, there’s another path that could take me on fewer hills on the way back. Did I know this at the time? Nope! Here’s the road I actually took back (also in blue):

Let’s set the scene once again- I’ve had a grand old time on the water. I went through three full glasses of water at a nearby restaurant, and I even got a to-go cup for the trek back. By the time I properly hydrated, it finally hit me: I needed to climb back up The Hill That Is Taunting Me.

I found myself, once again, staring up the roadway from the bottom of a behemoth hill. I had already conquered this hill. It can’t kill me again. I began telling myself, out loud: I will make it up this stupid hill, even if it kills me. The more I said it, the more motivated I felt. Up the first incline we went.

I was so transfixed on making it to the water that I neglected to notice just how steep this huge hill was. I can take this as slow as I want, I pled with myself. There’s no rules. No one’s rushing you. You’re in no hurry to get home. You just need to get home.

The great part about taking things slow is that I could actually appreciate all the intricate gardens on the way up. Folks on this particular road had old license plates dangling from tree branches, antique gates with signs requesting its users to “be gentle,” and flowering vegetable gardens in meticulously raised beds. The sun still felt glorious, even as I continued to pant up the increasingly treacherous inclines. The to-go cup of water was a lifeline. I took careful sips every time I passed a stop sign.

Just past the halfway point, I took a quick rest on a bench. It wasn’t quite golden hour, but the day felt like it was beginning to wind down. I could still feel the salty breeze from the sea, now as picturesque as it was from the very top of the hill. There was a calm in the streets- still vibrant and lush with greenery. Further down, airy laughter from a summer barbeque echoed up the street. Even though I knew what was still to come, I was at peace. I had accomplished what I had set out to do. I took the walk. I climbed the Hill That Attempted To End Me. I went somewhere new. I rewarded myself for taking on this incredible feat.

I got up from the bench and stared up at the stop signs ahead. They shrank into the horizon. The same steep slopes that I had gleefully skipped down earlier were now my next obstacle. Maybe they should install stairs here instead of sidewalk, I thought, quickly burying the idea in the back of my mind. I was determined to finish the walk and head back home.

I took a deep breath, looked up at the horizon once more, and told myself that I will make it up this stupid-a** hill, even if it kills me.

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(Photo source: IMGFlip)

If you’ve gotten this far, I’m not dead yet. I’m very much alive. Sore, but alive.

Now that I’ve determined I can climb a 361 ft. elevated path, I think it’s time to take on Mount Baker. Who’s with me?