Weird time to start a blog about my attempts at being a mountain bike racer, seeing as last Sunday was my last series race.... But I'm going to make a go at it, maybe document training or lack of training and attempts at staying fit over the winter and prepping for the next summer.
Anyways, here goes nothing.
I started mountain biking five-ish years ago. A guy I was dating was big into it and I'm super athletic and he wanted me to ride with him so he bought me a bike. Lucky me! My first time out was a dewy dreary morning with Chris and Carl (Carl was the guy). I had a hard time keeping up, specially as where we were riding at the Camden Snowbowl is a ski slope, small but very technical climbs, about 800 or 900 feet elevation gain from base to top. I took my time as it had been YEARS since I'd been on a bike and was just getting the shifting and such while trying to maneuver tight uphill switchbacks, rocks, and roots. Finally we cut across the mountain and I was able to keep up a little bit better. Then we came into a bunch of bridges. I fell off the first bridge I went over luckily for me there was no water running and it wasn't very high up. From that point on I tried not to be scared of them but they did freak me out a little bit. I had fallen several times and just gotten back on the bike and kept going, I was determined to not let this mountain biking beat me. Then came "the bridge" it crossed a stream and was about three feet above the ground. Remember how I mentioned that it was "dewy"? Well I hit this bridge after a small down slope and wiped out on the bridge. The rear wheel came out from under me slid off the bridge and I went sliding across the bridge. Carl and Chris ahead of me heard me go down and came back to check on me. I gashed my shin on the edge of the bridge and ripped open the side of one of my hands from the pinky to my wrist. I got up much slower than the other falls. They asked me if I was okay, I of course said that I was. Chris offered me one of his gloves and I used it for a little bit but it was "A" WAY to big for me and "B" got just as slippery from the blood still coming from my new wound. I had said I was okay, but really my shins and knees had taken quite a beating and finally I had to admit that I was hurting and ready to be done for the day. The guys understood and told me I was a trooper for that being my first ride.
Even with my first ride on a bike going spectacularly awful, I fell in love with a new sport. That relationship ended but it gave me a love deeper than I had experienced since gymnastics, a love for single track, the outdoors, hard falls, and two wheels with a self propelled motor.
Peace::Love::Pedal Grease
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