No matter where you go on this trail, there is always an uphill. Of course, this view (below) is looking downhill but you see where it leads, down through the tunnel of trees? That's the trail rising up another hill. The easy part is always be behind.
The trail-head is on top of the hill and there's always the joyful run down, but down is hard on the body. It pounds the nerves, the joints, the sockets. Downhill is not easy but it is faster.
So you wind your way down only to face a rise. Getting to the top is slow, hard work. It takes effort. The hills are at such a pitch that both going down and up are a chore.
Even if one gave up and turned to go back, guess what? It's uphill again. Might as well go forward to get back to where you started, back on top of the hill.
Sometimes you get lucky--the ground is dry. Sometimes you get mucky. But you keep moving forward to the end. On top of the hill.
My map tracker shows where I've been but it doesn't show the hills and the valleys. It doesn't show the mud and the weeds and the snakes and the deer and the woodpecker and the turtles in the pond. It doesn't show the quiet and the solitude and the wind in the trees or the rock in my shoe. It shows where I've been. And if you've been there, then you too can look at the map and say, "I know that place. That's where you have to jump across the creek because the boards have rotted on the makeshift bridge."
It's only a couple of miles, but the hills--they are everywhere. And they are unforgiving. Which is why they can stretch 45 minutes into what seems like hours. But they can be conquered. They won't lay down, for the hill always rises up. But if you work for it, sweat for it--if you want it, they will show you who you are, what you are made of. They will show where you are weak and where you are strong. They don't care about you, but they can be rewarding.
