Downhills are not earned

This August I rode the Colorado Trail, an epic journey beginning in Denver and ending 500 miles later in Durango. The trail is best characterized as one that follows ‘the path of most resistance’. I want to share what I learned along the way, but first, I need to frame it correctly.

I have never struggled physically with any sport or endeavor I have competed in, from my first triathlon at 14, to military school, to my bike racing career. I didn’t always win, but I always finished. In fact, in the 23 years my wife has known me, she only recalls me ever saying ONE thing was physically difficult for me. That one thing was this ride. I’m not ashamed to say that there were tears every day for the first five days. In fact, at the end of day two, I thought there was no way I could finish. The humility that came out of this was intense, but that is a story for another day.

In leading up to the ride, everyone was shocked when I told them the details: 72,000 feet of elevation gain is extreme, and most people would fixate on this fact. I was always quick to point out that the ride only had a net gain of 1,000 feet – meaning, we started at 5,800 feet and we would end at 6,800 feet. “What goes up, must come down” and that is what I was focusing on. True, we were going uphill. A lot. But we would be going downhill too, and that would be where the reward was, or so I thought The first couple of days this held true, and while I was struggling with altitude sickness and heat exhaustion, my mental framework was solid. Then we got to the real mountains. 

Our first really big pass to go over came on day four; we had to ride from 9,800 feet up past 12,200 feet, but we rode about one-third of the climb on the day before so we went into feeling overly confident. We got up early, planning on getting a solid start and enjoying our first big downhill of the trip. The ride up was hard, and we pushed our bikes often, but we made it to the top. A side note: it was 35 degrees and the wind was blowing 40 mph at the pass, so we just kept riding so we would not be so cold – anti-climactic for sure. As we started the first downhill, I knew we were in for it. It was wet, rocky, much steeper than the uphill, and UNRIDEABLE. What the heck? This was supposed to be the easy part! Being an eternal optimist, I thought there is no way they can all be like this. So, the next day, we had to cover three big passes and (supposedly) they all had big downhills, at least that is what the segment profile showed. As we cleared the second pass and got ready for a big downhill, I was breathing (barely) a huge sigh of relief. Except, I found myself riding for less than five minutes and walking again, walking downhill. How in the world will we finish this ride if we are walking downhill? Where is the payoff? I am pretty stubborn, so I was still holding out for physically and emotionally simple downhills. Little did I know they did not exist on this ride – at all. 

Around day 10, as I was again pushing my bike up the side of a mountain, I came to the realization that the downhill cannot – nor should not – be my motivation. First off, it was not an earned experience; no amount of uphills could earn me the right to what I was envisioning in my head. Second, it was not guaranteed. While the route profile showed you going downhill, nowhere did it say that is was going to fun, easy, or simple. Third, by focusing on the downhill, I was missing so much of the beauty of the uphills.My motivation had to shift. I was stuck in the future, somehow hoping to ease the pain of the present, yet being drawn into the present was exactly why I began this journey in the first place. 

As I began to contemplate this mental model, my experience shifted dramatically. My mood and energy also shifted in an amazing way. I found myself being surprised when something was ridable and fun. I found my attitude for each day more balanced. I found out this mental model, while hard to get to, provided room for more joy. The reality of my expectations would never line with the realities of the trail; it seemed so obvious in that moment. Yet, when we build mental frameworks to help us accomplish large tasks, we often do not realize what that does to our ability to stay present, purposeful, and aligned with our life. In short, it is much harder to tear these frameworks down than build them. As I went into the last 150 miles of this ride, I had a completely different experience than the first 350 miles. My completion of the ride was no longer defining me. I felt free and weightless. I am not saying I did not still struggle a lot; however, the struggle was mixed with the most amazing beauty I have ever seen. The uphill became my reward and the downhill, if it came, was an unearned gift. 

As you do the incredibly work that you do, consider, just maybe, that the hard stuff is the good stuff. If you can figure out how to find peace and satisfaction in the midst of the hard stuff, the downhills will refresh you so much more. If only for the simple reason that you are not basing your effort on something in the future and which is not guaranteed. 

I love you all and hope together we can find joy in the midst of the long uphill!