Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

commonly translated to mean, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." yesterday i embarked on a quest not unlike Dante's. i got on my most stable means of transportation. while i did not have my own Virgil to guide me, took off riding, looking for a place that could bring me to the 7th inner circle. i went looking for my hell.

what i found, however, was surprisingly similar. it was the closest thing i could find on earth. instead of posting those famous warnings at the top, the sign read, "HILL: USE LOWER GEAR." and you know what? that was good enough for me.

after riding miles and thousands of feet of elevation gain, i felt a push, no, a pull on my bike. it wanted to go down that hill.

call it curiosity, call it exhaustion, call it gravity. we descended. it was steep. it was a short lived, intense high. i knew i could not just descend that once. i knew i had found my personal "hell".

i got to the bottom of that hill, and was determined to make it back to the top.
1. first climb was great. my heart raced, endorphins flowed. the descent only added to this joy.
2. second climb - even better. with a clear idea of how fast i could go down, the sting in my legs was completely ignored.
3. third climb - i was hooked. addicted to the idea of making all 7 rounds, bringing my body as close to hell as this hill would allow.
4. my legs hurt. they begged, they pleaded to quit. but upon reaching the top, i got the same exhilaration, that same thrill that would inevitably curse me with another ascent.
5. at this point, it was my pride at stake. could i really quit, coming home disappointed and with nothing to blog about? again, my legs screamed.
6. have you ever seen someone sweat? this was no normal sweat, it was the sweat of complete exhaustion. it was the sweat of sweet victory. it was close, but the last 100 yards of this climb something terrible happened: my legs turned to stone.

i made it to the top, giving my bike everything i had and more. that 6th climb was hard. but i had one more to go, if i wanted to use Dante as a metaphor in my post.

7. the seventh circle. the seventh hill. by now, my feet seemed as if literally cemented to the asphalt. each cycle of the peddles was a personal victory against the hill. we worked in unison, the bike and i.
i stood up. 200 yards to go.
shift up one gear.
put all your weight into each mash into the peddle.
pull up with every ounce of strength with the opposite leg.
look up. look down.
you're close.
100 yards to go.
time slowed.
blood rushed from every crevice of my body to my crying legs.
the tunnel started its sinister enclosure on my vision.
50 yards to go.
49 yards to go.
victory could not have come any slower.
48 yards to go.
everything you have. put it to the hill.
think of the children.
what children?
think of whatever is making you do this.
my brain played tricks on me.
the tunnel tightened.
you can do it.
i thought of nothing. nothing could make me continue, but my own drive.
10 yards to go.
it was so close. that sign, translated to read, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

i would beat it.
i would make it though all 7 circles.

i'm not sure what happened after that. but i do know, i made it to the top of that hill for the 7th time.

i made it through all 7 circles of hell, and punched through to the daylight.
they were enjoyable, at first. the thrill was worth the pain. however, around climb #4, my body rebelled. it tried to stop the ascent. it tried to fight the mental addiction i had created.

don't try this at home, folks. hell is a scary place.