Because it's There.

“Because it’s there.”

-George Mallory (when asked, "why climb Everest?")

Have you ever had someone tell you that you “weren’t good enough,” or that you “can’t do that?” If so, I’m glad for you. I genuinely am glad that someone took the time out of their day and yours to supply you with some of the best advice that you have ever received. They have just given you fuel to your “rocket” that in my mind, is worth more than gold.

Of course, the advice that you take is different from the advice that they intended. This past summer, I had just finished a dusty, long, and hot trail run along the red-dirt trails that dart over and around the small mesas outside of Lyons, Colorado. The area is known for it’s mountain biking, but I had taken the time to drive down from Estes Park, where I lived, to get some lower-altitude vert on my legs. It was towards the middle of the summer, and I wanted to get a little stronger for the long approaches of the alpine climbing season that occupied most of my time at the end of each summer in the Rockies. I pulled the handle on the tailgate of my truck, let it down slowly, and sat down. I began to untie my shoes and peel off my socks, revealing a hearty line of dust separating my bare leg from where the socks had covered on my lower calf. As I began to take off the other sock, I heard a few hikers walking by near me. One of them stopped, turned to where I sat in the parking lot on the tailgate of my truck, and asked about my time on the trails that day, “pretty dry and dusty out there today, huh?” the middle-aged man asked. I nodded as I finished taking off the second sock, and then replied, “yeah, pretty hot too.” I looked up to make eye contact with the stranger. He continued inquisitively, “where’d you go today, son?” I smiled, studying the gentle wrinkles on the outside of his face. He couldn’t have been more than fifty years old, his accent gave away that he was a tourist visiting the area, “I ran from the Pictured Rocks Trailhead to the Hall Ranch Trailhead, and then back through Heil Ranch as well.” It was a big day for me, certainly a long run. He stepped back a step, almost as if a way to show surprise, and then opened his mouth again, “that’s a good amount of distance there, took you a few hours, eh?” In truth, the route itself only took me about two hours of running total. I had no more than that planned for the day on my training schedule, and I was happy with the amount of distance and vert I passed over in that amount of time. I shook my head gently and smiled at the man, “only out there for about two hours or so.” He nearly took another step back with a sort of mimicked surprise as the last time, “How?” he paused for a moment, looking me over, “you’ve got quite the upper body to be running that fast! Don’t you think your arms are a little big for distance running?” I was taken back by his confidence. I laughed, “perhaps!” Then stepped down from the tailgate, got in my truck, and drove off without another word.

More fuel to the fire. More things to think about that will make me go for one more mile on the trail, or for another hour on the bike. More things to ponder over when I’m feeling a little “too tired” after my run one day to lift. Or “too weak” to hit the hangboard at the climbing gym for a while after flashing a few routes. Another thing to make me smile wider when I finally land a jump that I’ve tried three times before on my snowboard in the park. That man in the parking lot didn’t know it, but with his gentle empty criticism, he gave me a gift. The gift of being able to prove him wrong. I used to let the negative things that people would tell me about my accomplishments or goals get to me. The words that they would speak felt like acid running through my brain whenever I would remember their opinion, or what they had to say about a running or climbing goal of mine. It used to eat me from the inside out, filling me with stress, anxiety, and diminishing my confidence to such a point that I believe others picked up on it as well. I heard their words over and over again, “you’re not fast enough,” “you’re going to need to cut a little more weight,” or, “Let the big dogs go after things like that.” They repeated in my mind for years, turning me to a point where I was nearly too toxic for anyone to be around me. The problem was in how I was interpreting what they had to say.

Regardless of what anyone intends with their criticism or opinion in that respect, the only thing that matters to me is how I interpret it. Someone could tell me as they have before that “you’re not fast enough to do that,” and while they mean to simply tell me that I cannot do it because I am not fast enough, what I can take away from it is that I must train to become faster. I used to take the things that others would say in that respect as fact, when in reality, I should interpret it as a catalyst for action. A point of introspection as opposed to a point of self-hatred. There are plenty of people out there that have nothing better to do than speak words of hatred, negativity, and toxic poison into other’s lives. It’s up to us, up to me as an individual with my own independent thought to be able to change those things that are said, and use them as something that can make me grow rather than wither and die, as some of the things said are meant to do.

Towards the middle of my first season of collegiate running, shortly after the end of Cross Country, and right after the start of Indoor Track, I had a person on the team that I was reasonably close with at the time, who I had also roomed with, sit me down and tell me to give up. He told me that I was not fast enough, that I would not accomplish anything of worth during my collegiate running career, and that it was downright disrespectful to others on the team that I was trying to run with them. Did the words hurt me? Of course they did. I considered him my friend. What he said to me began to eat away at not only who I considered of myself as a runner there, but who I considered myself to be as a person. I awoke nearly every morning after that moment for months believing that I was a person undeserving of the affection of others simply because of what he said. I began to believe that I was nothing, because what he said made me feel like nothing. Until during a Saturday morning recovery run alone at the end of the spring Outdoor Track season, did I decide to try and change my thinking.

Following my run that morning, I finished my final conference race of the season strong, with a confidence at the end of the race that I had not felt since a half marathon I ran on my own nearly a year beforehand. I went on to piece together the highest mileage training summer of my life, regularly putting together eighty and ninety mile weeks together with little even the niggle of injury. Were some of those runs hot, long, and exhausting? Yes. Yes they were. Did I have some sort of “breakthrough” Cross Country season following that summer? No I did not, I actually had trained so hard that it was better for me to back off during that XC season in order to have some sort of energy to race track, which I enjoyed more. In the scheme of my collegiate running career it didn’t really do much of anything, but what it did do is plant the seeds for a way of thinking that I apply to my training now that makes me successful. It taught me how to start to find confidence in myself through the doubt of others.

I now am a mountain athlete, living in the beautiful and wonderful state of Colorado that is my home. I have had the pleasure over the past couple years to be able to run, climb, ride, and snowboard across several breathtaking states as well, including those of Arizona, California, Utah, and Wyoming. Years before I would have never considered myself to ever be able to end up in such an advantageous position. I am here now though, not only by the unending blessings of God, but by the foundation that I changed in my thinking during that time. I began to believe in myself. Not because others overwhelmingly did, but because it was simply the only way to succeed.

I have climbed routes with spectacular partners in conditions that others have downright told me are “stupid,” or “not worth it.” Those days are some of the sweetest memories of my life. I have had people that I attended college or high school with tell me in sincerity years later that they “never believed I would be doing what I am now.” They always saw me as the one that wouldn’t amount to much, or someone that would simply drift off into the limelight, doing really nothing with my life until I was absorbed into the well of obscurity. I’ve had the blessing of being able to see things that few have had the opportunity to lay eyes on, I’ve breathed the thin air of some of the higher peaks in North America, all because someone told me that I couldn’t.

I’ll implore you this-let them say what they will. Allow them to doubt in front of you, and then let it feed your passion to accomplish it. Do not do what you do out of anger, nor revenge, but do it because they think you can’t and you know you will. This entire essay isn’t to say that I haven’t had an entire wonderful group of people rooting for me all the time. I have people that believe in me and support me, and they know I love them. They know who they are. But instead of just living off their praise and dying off of the ridicule of the others, use both to your advantage. You’re worth that and so much more. I laid in a hospital bed once, a while ago, and a few of the people there with me doubted that I would see dawn. I will see the light of the next day, and I will feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my skin. I will see dawn. You will too.

***All Photography and Writing Property of Trent Hillier.***