There is something funny about hiking becoming cinematic. A person goes up a trail, points a phone at the view, adds the right music, and suddenly a sweaty climb looks like a life-changing film. Social media has helped sell that version of the outdoors, but it is not the whole reason people keep going back.
For college football players, or former players who spent years inside the sport, hiking can offer something different from the field. Football is loud, scheduled, measured, and watched. A trail is slower. Nobody cares about your ranking, your snap count, or what strangers think of your last game. That may be part of the appeal.
Fans often connect college football with rankings, rivalry weeks, and NCAAF betting, but the quieter off-field stories can say just as much about the people who play the sport. Hiking is one of those interests that makes sense once you think about it. It is physical without being football. It is competitive if you want it to be, but peaceful if you need it to be.
The pull of the trail
One of the clearest examples is Addison Gillam, the former Colorado linebacker whose hiking story went well beyond a casual weekend walk. DNVR reported that Gillam had set out to hike the Appalachian Trail, a route that runs for more than 2,000 miles from Georgia to Maine.
That is not the sort of thing someone does because they need a nice profile picture. Long-distance hiking takes patience, discomfort, planning, and a willingness to be bored for stretches of time. In a way, that is what makes it interesting for someone who has lived inside football since childhood.
Football gives athletes structure from a very young age. Practices, lifts, meetings, film, travel, treatment, and games can shape almost every week. A major trail offers a different kind of structure. The goal is simple, but the days are not. Weather changes, energy changes, and the body has to keep adjusting.
That may be why Gillam’s Appalachian Trail plan feels less like a random hobby and more like a personal reset. After years of organized football, the trail becomes a place where progress is still earned, but no coach is timing it.
When football legs meet mountain miles
Hiking also shows up in team settings, especially around programs based near mountain culture. Colorado football once drew attention when a large group from the team went on a mountain hike, turning what might have been a normal bonding activity into a public story.
That kind of team hike makes sense, even if coaches and operations staff have to be careful with planning, safety, and local rules. A trail strips away some of the usual football hierarchy. A starter can struggle with elevation. A freshman can surprise people with endurance. Players who might not talk much during drills can end up walking next to each other for an hour.
Actually, that is probably the reason why hiking works better than some forced team-building exercises. It is hard to fake. You either keep moving, complain with everyone else, or find a rhythm. By the time a group reaches the top, the view feels earned in a way that a conference room exercise never does.
For college footballers, that physical challenge can become part of the attraction. Hiking uses strength and conditioning, but it does not feel like another football workout. There is no playbook, no whistle, no position coach correcting footwork. Just the next slope, the next switchback, and the decision not to turn around too early.
The wilderness side of the story
Not every football and hiking story is peaceful. Former Kentucky wide receiver Scott Mitchell made headlines after a regular hike at Runyon Canyon in Los Angeles turned into something much more serious. Reports said Mitchell and Davanh DiMarco saw a suspicious man near a burning tree, and Mitchell helped stop the man until authorities arrived.
That story is not a hobby profile in the usual sense, but it does show how outdoor spaces can pull former athletes into unexpected moments. Mitchell was not on a field. He was not wearing a helmet. He was simply on a familiar hiking route when instinct and old athletic habits suddenly mattered.
It also says something about why many athletes enjoy trails after football. The body still wants movement. The mind still responds to challenge. Hiking gives both without needing a scoreboard.
Social media probably plays a part too. A dramatic ridge or desert path looks good online, and athletes know better than most people how quickly a good image can travel.
Hiking gives players a way to test themselves without being judged by stats. It lets them be active without performing for a crowd. It can also become a major hobby because the rewards are simple: better endurance, clearer thoughts, and the satisfaction of reaching somewhere under your own power.
There is a reason trail stories stick with people. They make athletes look less like polished sports figures and more like regular humans trying to get outside, clear their heads, and find a different kind of challenge.
College football will always be built around noise. Bands, stadiums, rankings, and pressure are part of the deal. But away from that, it is easy to see why hiking attracts certain players. The trail offers effort without spectacle. It gives them a place where progress is measured in miles, not highlights. For footballers used to being watched, that kind of quiet can be the real luxury.
