Looking up from the bottom of the hill, the Cog Trail appears to be the largest roller coaster one could lay their eyes on. The trail, which is becoming eerily famous among wrestlers training at the Olympic Training Center, is an incline at the base of Pikes Peak.    Actually, incline is the nice way of saying it.    This obstacle is over one mile high, and if each step were only four inches thinner, one would be rock climbing instead of walking.    Though the Cog Trail is physically demanding, it is the mentally-challenging stages that test one's will.    Past the halfway point, the air thins, headaches begin, and you could almost swear that vultures will be swooping at any minute. You begin to question how far you can push your body, especially if you have never accomplished this feat before. For those of us not yet accustomed to the altitude in Colorado Springs, it is a new and strange environment.    An athlete's only friend on this journey is the old wooden railroad ties to which he or she must cling to. Steps on the climb can range from one inch high to two feet high.    None of the wrestlers on this morning were looking forward to this trip. Some mumbled as they passed me, 'now you know why we hate this thing'. Others seemed to be yelling at God when they had to stop to take a break.    The separation is clear from the beginning. A lighter person will almost always make it to the top of the Cog Trail before a heavier wrestler. When the climb begins, the big guys all make way for the little guys, taking a little more time to set the timers on their wrists.    Others, such as me, have hopes of finishing the climb within 30 minutes, an admirable time indeed. Those hopes were vanished the first time I found out that what I had thought was the peak for the past ten minutes was actually about 500 feet below where I needed to be.    A false peak?! It does not seem fair. Of course, nobody will mention this to a first-time Cog Trail climber like myself. Instead, they only chuckle when they break the news. The chuckle turns back into a frown, though, as soon as they realize they have to climb past the false peak as well.    A ways past the halfway point, wrestlers were on their way back down, passing me. Casey Cunningham had apparently beaten everyone up the trail, finishing in only 25 minutes. I looked up in amazement as to how anyone could finish in that time. I then wondered if I would see the Burning Bush or remnants of the Ten Commandments laying anywhere around. Those possible discoveries may have been the only thing that kept me moving.    I was not the only person climbing the Cog Trail for the first time. Lincoln McIlravy, USA Wrestling's Freestyle Resident Coach, had never made this journey before either. Armed with two bottles of Gatorade and a cell phone, McIlravy made sure he would make it to the top and back to the bottom of the Cog Trail. Whether he made it on foot or was lifted out by a helicopter remained to be seen, though.    Bringing up the rear was Kevin Jackson, USA Wrestling's National Freestyle Coach. Jackson, a Michigan native like me, pressed on all of us.    "You're gonna beat this thing," he yelled. "You are stronger than the hill!"    I was one of the people he was yelling at. He obviously was not aware that I have become more accomplished as a writer than as a wrestler. It didn't matter to him, though. He even used me as a pawn.    "Look at Fuller still moving. Come on fellas, if Fuller can do it, you HAVE to!"    Is that a compliment? It doesn't matter. I had decided, after twice telling Jackson that I was done, that I would finish the climb.    The Cog Trail is draining - both physically and mentally. When the climb is over, one can only hope to feel as good as Rocky Balboa after fighting Ivan Drago. Your muscles ache, your head hurts and your face is covered with salt from sweating.    Surprisingly, I want to do it again.    Editor's Note: John Fuller did finish the Cog Trail. His time is not important for the purposes of this article, however.