It's all downhill

Relationships forged in difficulties outlast the challenges

A couple of nights ago I needed to get out for a walk, but it was kind of late and it was darker than usual because of the Daylight Savings Time change. My husband was relieved when my teenage son Mark was willing to tag along and keep me safe.

We have a regular little route, Mark and I, where we take our walks. He likes to ride his skateboard while I try to keep up, clipping along at my usual walking pace. Most of our path is relatively flat with the exception of the last half mile or so which has a gentle downward slope all the way back to our house. So, at the end of our walk, encouraging him to go on ahead of me, I called out, “It’s all downhill from here, Buddy. Enjoy!” Wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, if, from here on out, his life would be a downhill ride he could just enjoy? But, alas, going downhill is a temporary thrill, a hiatus from all the uphill climbing required for us to grow. 

Lonestar, a country music group, puts it well in their song, “Mountains."

I've been around and I've noticed that

Walk-in's easy when the road is flat

Them danged 'ole hills will get you every time.

Yeah, the good Lord gave us mountains so we could learn how to climb

And climb we do! All of us. 

Years ago, I had a casual Sunday afternoon phone conversation with one of my brothers. At that time, his children were in the middle years and mine were still relatively small. His were performing the lead roles in plays, and mine were throwing up at night; his were reading great books and scoring goals in soccer games, and mine were rubbing butter into the carpet and giving themselves homemade haircuts. He summed up his end of the chat by saying, “So, I guess everyone is making progress.” 

Progress? The concept seemed absurd. Progress seemed to have no place in my world. In fact, at that moment I couldn’t even imagine what it would look or feel like. We were struggling to just keep our kids healthy, fed, and out of mischief while trying to keep our own marriage and sanity intact. The good Lord had given us plenty of mountains, and everyday life was, indeed, an uphill climb. It just didn't feel like progress. (Coincidentally, years later, this same brother was in a terrible car accident, and I spent several days helping him and his family climb their “mountain” of recovery.)

Why not coast when we can? Why do we have to climb so often, so much?

Once, my sister was counseling another family member having difficulties with a junior-high-age child. My sister recalled her own daughter having similar teenage troubles and praying that the challenges would go away. “Then I realized,” she said, “I was praying for my daughter to be a wimp.” Indeed, without fighting our uphill battles, we would all be wimps.

It turns out that learning to climb is best done with others. Long ago, as a freshman in college, I happened to walk into a large hall where Henry B. Eyring was speaking. He was mid-speech when I joined the meeting, but the short part of his talk I was able to hear has always stayed with me. Apparently, someone had interviewed a group of people who had nearly lost their lives while trekking a very difficult, mountainous terrain together. What had they learned and what they could remember about their journey? Interestingly, not one spoke of the mountain itself; all spoke of the people they were with that day. Relationships forged and memories shared by facing “mountains” with others outlast the challenges themselves.

I met such a challenge last year when my friend Judy invited me to participate with her in the Amtrak Century, a hundred-mile bike ride from Irvine to San Diego. I was worried. Somehow, my childhood recollections of biking consisted mostly of downhill rides. Up to that point, biking meant freedom and happiness; it meant hopping on a banana seat while chewing Chiclets and taking off for adventures yet unknown. “Conditioning,” on the other hand, sounded serious and difficult; it sounded like it might suck the magic out of biking. Nevertheless, I consented. 

All summer long we trained around the Bay Area. In the end, those hundred miles covered in one day—punctuated by many unavoidable uphill climbs—turned out to be a pretty decent challenge. However, when we look back on the experience, Judy and I don’t talk much about our sore muscles, the missed turns, and the other “mountains” we climbed. We do remember the fun we had training, the beauty we enjoyed, and the thrill we felt completing the ride together.

The other night, when given the chance to go ahead and coast home, Mark chose to hang back with me and chat instead. It turns out the buzz of riding downhill wasn't as enticing as the idea of just being with me. Nice. I hope he'll choose to hang with me during his uphill climbs, too, because climb he will.