Don't you hate hills?

No.  I hate the wind.  Every hill has a top and most of them have a corresponding downhill somewhere.  A mountain can torment you like a Drill Sergeant but it's more bark than bite because soon enough you'll get the last word while coasting down the other side.

The wind is something different altogether.  It is the very essence of evil.  There is no "other side."  It can suck the spirit out of the most irrepressible optimist.  It can come from 360 different directions and only a dozen of them are good.  It can blow you into the traffic or into the ditch.  It can burn your face and chill your coffee at the same time.  It can blow dirt into your supper or your supper into the dirt.  It can make a grown man cry out for his mother's love.  It shows no more remorse for it's bitter business than the crocodile shows for a gazelle.  It could convert the Pope into a whining, nagging malcontent.  It could change direction at any time and by doing so, change your life from that of a chain-bound prisoner to a vacationing yachtsman.  But it won't.  At the end of the day, when you're too tired to roll out your sleeping bag, it stops.  But first it sends a message to the mosquitoes that they can come out now.  I hate the wind.