Find a Hill and Run it
If you are one of my former athletes, you likely just snickered or looked down and shook your head when you read that title. It is something that I have said over and over throughout my coaching career as an answer to various questions or as a direct mandate. Sometimes it made sense and other times whoever I was talking to would look at me like I had a third eye in the middle of my head. I can’t blame anyone if that answer left them with more confusion than clarity in certain situations. I can admit that at times, it just didn’t seem to make sense or fit the question being asked. “Hey coach, I’m so stressed out, do you have any tips on how to handle all that I have going on?” Why yes I do… “go find a hill and run it”. In a scenario like that, I can see why I would sometimes get a funny look from the person asking the question. I could go into great detail, there is plenty of science to prove that physical activity and exercise can improve mood and boost mental clarity making us more efficient at solving our problems and tackling life’s issues. Science is cool and all, it was always one of my favorite subjects but I’m really more of a “story” guy.
Much like my dear Grandma Willyoung who seemed to only have one remedy for anything that ailed me growing up, I would find myself years later providing a similar perceivably aggravating answer to most questions asked to me. I recall the day that it all came to a head, and I finally questioned my grandma on her remedy, I was about 9 years old. You see anytime I would bring any issue or ailment to her attention; she had the same response… “go grab a bottle of ginger ale and pour it in a glass”. It didn’t matter what the issue was, stomachache, headache, cold, cough, sad, hyper, constipated… it was always the same answer. Although at times I would get annoyed because I knew that answer was coming, I didn’t normally mind too much. At the time ginger ale was certainly not my favorite drink but I learned to enjoy it and I actually did feel better after drinking a glass, at least a little.
One day in particular, while I was at grandma’s house and as I was playing outside, I had a small gnat fly directly into my eyeball and it got stuck in there. I tried for quite awhile to get to it out but to no avail. I grew more and more annoyed and aggravated when I finally decided to go inside and let her know the issue. I recall saying something to the effect of “grandma I got a stupid bug in my eye, and it won’t come out”. She said, “go grab a bottle of ginger ale and pour it in a glass”. The annoyance and discomfort of what I was dealing with made me lash out in a way that I had never done with Grandma Willyoung before “this is stupid, ginger ale doesn’t work for everything grandma”. She was old, white haired, and using a walker but she was as tough as they come. The mother of ten children, she had seen it all over the years and was certainly no pushover. “Do as you are told” she barked, and I did… quite expeditiously.
I remember thinking how pointless and stupid this was, drinking ginger ale when I had something stuck in my eye. I poured that glass of ginger ale and began to raise it to my lips to take a drink when suddenly she said, “you need to listen, I didn’t tell you to drink it! Fill it way up to the top, clear to the rim until it is about to spill over”. Once that glass was filled clear to the top she said, “now put your eye down there until it almost touches the surface and try to keep it open”. I muttered under my breath “this is so stupid” to which I received a glare that would have made a grown man back down. I don’t know if you have ever put your eye a centimeter from a freshly poured glass of ginger ale, but it doesn’t feel great and it is pretty much impossible to keep it open. Each time I would attempt to pull my head back or blink she would tell me “just a few seconds more.”
It felt like torture, but finally she said, “ok look at me”. As I looked up at her with a tear streaming out of that eye, she reached toward me and swiped that tear away, along with the bug that had been stuck in my eye right with it. She held that finger up and showed it to me and said, “look at that, I guess it wasn’t so stupid after all”. She gave me a big grin and sent me off to finish that glass of ginger ale on the porch and off I went without a care in the world. The discomfort from the bug was a distant memory already and I was as happy as a clam.
You may already be wondering after reading that story exactly where I am going with all of this, but I’m getting there I promise! You see, as a young man in that situation with grandma all I focused on was the ginger ale and it seemed ridiculous to me most times that it was always her answer. I wasn’t yet capable of identifying or deciphering greater concepts outside of the sphere of my own selfish world. I didn’t grasp that this woman had been on earth for 80 plus years at the time, survived the great depression, raised ten children, lost her husband, watched some of those children sent off to wars, and experienced more adversity than I could ever fathom. This was a woman with a vast amount of knowledge and resiliency, but to me at that time she was just little old grandma.
It would take me many years to understand that her go to remedy was not really the ginger ale at all. It was her experience, empathy, and intelligence that did the bulk of the work, the ginger ale was merely a physical representation of all of that. If I was hurt or sad, the ginger ale couldn’t possibly fix that, but coming from grandma it made all the difference in the world. It was the comfort and familiarity that came with the sweet taste and fizziness that I learned to love. I really only drank it when grandma knew I needed a little magic. As a matter of fact, without permission, I wasn’t allowed to even touch those mystical bottles of ginger ale. She was simply utilizing a tool to help take my mind off what was bothering me and redirecting my focus.
Grandma learned a thing or two through her life experience, she didn’t really think that ginger ale was medicine, but she also knew that without something to take my mind off what was bothering me, she was not likely going to be able to help me get better no matter what the issue was. I didn’t really need to know all of the details back then of what was going on. I didn’t have to understand the deep concepts that I do now to have been impacted by that little moment and countless others. I just needed grandma, a distraction, and a reward and it usually made things all better in my little world.
Fast forward about seven or eight years from that day and I would learn a valuable lesson about another kind of “medicine” from one of my coaches. That lesson would be the beauty of finding a good hill and running it until your legs and lungs just couldn’t take it anymore. Franklin High School Coach Fred Blackhurst would often take his football and track athletes down 15th street hill to the bottom of Miller Heights where he had mapped out an absolutely grueling trail for us to run around the neighborhood. Hills so steep that you thought that they would never end, about two miles of pure torture. Truth be told, I rarely was ever able to run the whole thing without stopping at least once, but Coach Blackhurst was normally running right along with us and always seemed to pop out of nowhere the second we would slow down to a walking pace “JUSTIN, no walking!! Champions are made when no one is watching” I can hear his voice saying it in my head right now. I repeat that phrase and many of his others to this day anytime that I feel like giving up or walking on a long run.
Sometimes he would have us all pile on to a bus during practice and drive us down to that hill, but it was the Saturday voluntary hill runs that I remember the most. Coach Blackhurst would say “Anyone who wants to get better, meet me at the hill Saturday at 7:00 am”. There was a core group of us who rarely missed a 7:00 am hill run. I desperately wanted to get better, and I also didn’t want to disappoint one of my hero’s by not showing up. So, there I would be, 7:00 am on Saturday doing something that I really did not want to do. I did not ever one time wake up and think oh boy I can’t wait to run the hill, but I went though almost every time. Much like when I didn’t want to hold my eye to that glass of ginger ale, it wouldn’t take me long to realize that although I truly hated every single step of the run itself, I felt amazing in every way afterwards. I was alert, energized, happy, excited… I felt accomplished, strong, mentally clear, and never had a negative thought once it was all over. I didn’t know the science back then, so to me it was all due to the hill.
I always felt like Coach Blackhurst was proud of me for being there. He never missed an opportunity to point out that I was getting bigger, faster, and stronger and it was translating to my ability on the track and on the football field. Amazing things began to happen as I gained confidence and saw the improvement in myself from running those hills.
A few buddies and I would find ourselves running that hill on our own time. While others were out doing unhealthy things or simply not doing anything, we would be at the hill, standing at the bottom groaning and not wanting to start, but there we would be. If we had a bad day, it was like we knew the hill could fix it. If we felt like our competitors were outworking us, or if we just needed a boost, we knew the hill could give it to us. The more we ran that hill, the better we got as athletes and as strange as it may sound it made us better people. Our mental toughness started to become our greatest strength and we began to blossom into pretty darn good athletes, all things that Coach Blackhurst told us would happen. If you ran that hill with all that you had, there really wasn’t anything else in comparison that could break you, certainly not the strain or pressure of a contest or game. I hated running and I still do, but I loved what that hill did for me. I love what Coach Blackhurst did for me, he along with other coaches and my parents turned me into a resilient young man of character who refused to be outworked and it carried over into my adult life to help me through many difficult times.
Running hills would become a staple of my workout routine as I left little Franklin PA and headed to the huge campus of West Virginia University on a track and field scholarship. Morgantown West Virginia is nothing but hills, so it was pretty easy anytime I needed a boost to just “find a hill and run it”. It didn’t matter if I was sad, mad, bored, etc. the hill could fix me. Sometimes I used it as a form of self-punishment when I felt as though I was losing my edge or getting lazy. That is exactly what it felt like during the workout, pure punishment, but afterwards it was always a strong sense of accomplishment and a mood boost like no other.
It would often cue up a memory of my coaches applauding my efforts. I even grew to crave that painful feeling that’s comes along with pushing your muscles to their limits. Perhaps it was a force of habit, but I began to learn that the pain always led to positive outcomes for me, both mentally and physically. I would continue the practice of running hills once my track career was over and I do it to this day.
Just as Coach Blackhurst had done with me, I would go on to implement hill runs as a staple of my coaching philosophy and training regimen when I became a coach. I often run them with my athletes, just like Coach Blackhurst did with us. Not only to push them and make sure they are putting in their best effort but to also give them that sense that their coach isn’t some guy that just barks orders, he gets in there and works right beside them. I doubt that I’ll ever make as much impact on anyone as he did, but if it gives me the chance to even be half as effective as he was, I’ll do it until my body gives out. 50% of Fred Blackhurst is better than 100% of almost any other coach in my opinion.
I can’t count the number of amazing conversations and breakthroughs that I have had with athletes that all started with running that hill with them. I understand that there will never be a one size fits all approach that has the same benefit for everyone or impacts them in the same way. If that was the case everyone on my team would have run that hill voluntarily. “Find a hill and run it” likely just flew over a few kids heads throughout the years. However, I do know for a fact that it has absolutely benefited those who took it to heart and utilized it as intended. Much like my grandma’s ginger ale, the hill was merely a distraction meant to redirect my thoughts and feelings, a tool to help get me where I wanted to be. The real magic was in the experience, lessons, and love of the person behind it all which led to the feelings that made it all worthwhile.
Coach Blackhurst put us through other crazy workouts that tested our limits, like pushing his truck back and forth across the school parking lot, sets of “Heywards” that often felt like they would never end, last man standing competitions where we would take an Olympic barbell and rep out different exercises until only one young man remained and was able to lift that bar just one more time. All those things were great and grueling, but nothing compared to “The Hill”.
Hills are a funny thing, not unlike life in many ways. Sometimes we stand at the bottom, looking up and wondering. Wondering what’s at the top and pondering if it’s worth climbing it to find out. There’s almost always more excuses to not do it than there are reasons to just take off and find out for yourself. The ascent can be painful and downright excruciating. Sometimes you get to the top only to discover more hills and that is where some people stop, discouraged by the pain of the climb and the disappointment that what they sought was not up there. However, if there is a champion somewhere inside you and a mentor who knows that it is there, the pain and suffering of the climb will eventually become a gentle swell that carries you to great heights and unlocks potential that you never knew existed. That’s what I got… and that’s what I want for everyone.
