The wrestlers have a single rule: don’t stop. They are reminded of the words repeated often by the assistant Greco Roman coach Momir Petkovic.

“Forget technology,” he says. “It comes down to how much you want it. If you’re in the middle of nowhere, with nothing, you are going to find your way out. You will find a way to become a champion.”

From the bottom, where a no trespassing sign greets them, visitors head north. The first time, no one warns them of the secret. They reach it about two-thirds of the way up, a false peak that from the bottom appears to be the top, one last trick from the Incline gods.

Kevin Jackson, the freestyle wrestling coach and a gold medalist at the 1992 Olympics, wasted all his energy getting to the false peak his first time up. A 65-year-old woman passed him in the final stretch while his wrestlers clapped and cheered.

The Incline is a lot like life that way, Dantzler said. Just when he thinks he has it figured out, there is always another lesson, no matter the strategy or number of attempts.

“Once you think you’ve done it all in terms of training, you come back to the Incline,” Dantzler said. “You need to scratch the bottom of the barrel, get splinters under your fingernails and dust in your eyes. You need to come back with Incline rash.”

An inoperative garden hose sits at the top, one last cruel joke. Olympians pause there for the panoramic view, or run wind sprints, or compare times.