The gradient of life's hill to climb never gets any easier

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Every morning at 7:30 AM, John faced the monster. It wasn’t a beast with claws, but a unrelenting wall of tarmac, Powke Lane —a hill so steep it seemed to tilt the morning sun backward.

In the beginning, the hill won easily. For the first few days, John’s lungs burned so fiercely he had to dismount his bicycle at the very first lamppost, pushing his heavy bike the rest of the way up. A few weeks later, through sheer grit, he managed to reach the second lamppost before his thighs surrendered. He kept pushing, week after agonising week, inching his way past the third and fourth Lampposts.

Then came a crisp Tuesday morning six weeks into his journey. Climbing the rise toward the fifth lamppost—his usual white flag moment—John felt the familiar heavy burn in his calves. His brain screamed at him to dismount his bike and take the easy way out and walk. Instead, he gripped the handlebars until his knuckles turned chalk-white, gritted his teeth, and shoved the pedals down, one after the other, step by agonising step, he pushed past the fifth post, grinding forward until he crossed the summit. When he finally reached the top, his legs felt like warm jelly, trembling beneath him. But he had made it. From that day on, John never walked his bike up Powke Lane hill again.

For three long years, John rode that exact route to work. Yet, a curious thing happened: the hill never actually got any easier. Every single morning, without fail, those final meters turned his legs into jelly. The incline hadn’t changed; the pull of gravity remained absolutely the same as the first day he made it.

Decades later, as John reflected on his life, that relentless hill became his greatest teacher—especially in his quiet, fierce battle with OCD. He realised that the intrusive thoughts and the overwhelming urge to perform compulsions were just like that steep grade. The invisible pull toward his rituals felt like a GIANT MAGNET dragging him backward, an unyielding force of nature just like the gravity of Powke Lane hill.

He came to Accept a tough truth: resisting the compulsions would never feel effortless. The magnetic pull wouldn’t magically vanish. But just like that morning commute, it was entirely up to him to keep his feet on the pedals.

Now at 73, John knows the slope is still steep in resisting rituals, but he also remembers the ride back home. Swooping down that same hill after a long day’s work, the cold wind rushing past his face, was pure freedom—much like the sweet relief of living a life unchained from endless compulsions and rituals. Life never promised to be easy, but perseverance of hard times gives us the steering wheel (or the handle bars) to win with every struggle we have in life. John learned a valuable lesson from that Powke Lane commute. Never give up the struggle.

THE END

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