Country strong

We met entirely by chance, two summers ago, at the foot of Flint Mill Trail on Holston Mountain.

He was a young man, maybe mid-20s. He had gotten out of his jeep just ahead of me as I pulled my car in at the trailhead. We were the only two humans using the trail that day (not an unusual occurrence on this particular trail).

The young man wore no shirt. He was clad only in shorts and shoes, no doubt to display his immensely muscular upper body. His arms appeared to me to be nearly as big as his legs.

“Wow!” I said as I shook his hand and introduced myself. “How much can you bench?”

“On a good day, about 440,” he proudly answered.

“Have you ever swung a 100 lb. kettle bell?” I asked him.

“No, I almost never lift that light of a weight,” was his answer.

Then it hit me; if I could get this young man to hike along to the top with me, I could perhaps teach him a valuable lesson about real life “functional” strength.

Flint Mill undoubtedly has the steepest stretch of trail I’ve ever encountered, at least for any reasonable continuous distance. A hiker must climb an incline of more than 40 degrees for much of the trail, with some of it reaching a cliff-like 60 degrees. Indeed, a cliff is what much of the trail can rightly be called. I’ve seen many a fellow hiker turn back, unable to make it all the way due to the extreme effort required.

(For more than one reason, Flint Mill Trail can be called a “bear” of a hike. Over the years I’ve sighted more of our local and relatively harmless black bruins near this trail than anywhere else on the mountain. I suppose that to be due, at least in part, to the steep slopes harboring a huge harem of healthy red oaks that give birth to millions of delicious and nutritious acorns each fall.)

When my newfound friend and I reached the beginning of the steepest part of the incline (the final 70% of the hike) I stopped, looked at the young man and said, “I’m gonna go pretty fast from here on out. See if you can keep up with me.”

He suddenly snorted. Just like a big buck. I honestly think he thought I was just joking with him at first.

Since I said nothing else, he smiled and said, “Go ahead. I’ll keep up.”

As the old saying goes, “to make a long story short” … about twenty minutes later I arrived at the big beautiful overhanging rock at the top of the trail (where you can gaze out over the lake and even see downtown Bristol, plain as Pete, on a clear day). My young friend was scarcely in sight behind me. The only reason I was not twice as far ahead is because I began to feel a bit “sorry” for my new friend. I didn’t want him to suddenly die from a heart attack or a stroke, instigated at least somewhat as a result of my challenge.

Not only did I easily reach the top well ahead of him, but I did not fall prostrate to the ground upon my arrival - unlike my strong young new friend.

You see, I knew a secret. I knew that his body was highly adapted to benching huge amounts of weight with his chest and arms - a feat that I could not match, even had I wanted to (which I most assuredly did not). His strength, though quite immense, was very narrowly and specifically adapted. It was not at all “functional” for hiking up steep mountain inclines.

I also sensed that this young man didn’t do a lot of stamina cardio-type exercise (specifically strengthening his heart and lungs). I’m not sure how I could tell, but once you’ve seen a lot of these young guys, you just kinda can.

If anyone I knew on this planet was “made” for climbing up Flint Mill Trail at a steady full speed, I knew it was me.

I’ve scaled Flint Mill up Holston Mountain several hundred times over the years, most times at a fairly fast clip. I also hike our local Steele Creek Park woods multiple days each week, often attaining about a thousand feet of total elevation over the course of each hike.

And I go hard. Every time.

My resting pulse rate is usually anywhere from 48-50 beats per minute, which means my heart and lungs are in great functional shape. Rather than rip off my shirt and show my arms and chest to pretty gals, however, I’d rather be able to climb mountains well all day.

Speaking of the ladies, I’ve hiked with several my age who can generally keep up with me on most mountain trails. Hiking with these gals, I find it no wonder that women often outlive men by several years. I’ve hiked alongside so many wiry-strong grandmothers who have lived well into old age that I can’t remember them all.

But I can count on one hand the men I know with big bulging triceps and skinny legs whom I’ve seen grow old healthy and well.

Speaking of strength, I also do “kettle bell swings” five mornings each week at home. I use a 100 lb. kettle bell. It only takes me ten minutes - and I do it while catching up on the morning news, or listening to early ‘70s music. I swing ten repetitions without stopping. I do four sets of ten swings each day. Do some simple multiplication from there and you have over a million pounds of iron each year that I swing through the air, strengthening exactly the same muscles (look up “kettle bell swings”) that I need to hike up steep mountain inclines well.

Kettle bell swings build “explosive” type “functional” power and endurance. Yep, precisely the type I need to climb steep mountains. In fact, there may not be a more perfect exercise for building this type of strength in all the world (other than the actual act of climbing such mountains).

Try kettle bells at home, my friends. Even swinging a 10 or 20 pounder will strengthen your core and lower back like few other things will - and maintaining strong cores and backs helps us prevent sooooo many injuries as we age.

As an added functional “real life” benefit of the kettle bell swings, I can personally tote a heavy red sackful of goodies from door to door when I play Santa to nearly two hundred needy Bristol homes each Christmastime. Best of all, I can easily carry my grandchildren around without hurting my back (or anything else).

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So (knowing all this) I knew my new young hiking friend - who could likely pick me up and bench press me off the cliff at the top (if he weren’t so tired by the time he got there) - was beaten before we even started.

I have spent the better part of my 66 years literally “adapting” my body to climb steep mountains well.

This fine young man, though he had put countless hours into pumping iron with his upper body in a gym, had likely never given much of a thought to the “functional, real-life” strength of climbing steep mountains.

There is strong.

And then there is functional strong.

In the old days, those possessing real-life functional strength and power were often referred to as being “country strong”.

My dad and his brothers were numbered among such people.

Time after time, I saw Dad grab two bales of hay (one in each hand, both at the same time) and throw them both up onto the back of a truck. By the way, this is something I could never do. Not even once. To me Dad was the epitome of functional strength - and I never knew him to grab a barbell or kettle bell in his life.