Around 3 years ago, I walked into Don's bike shop in Rialto, CA, and said to my boyfriend Russell "I am not spending any more than $600 on a bike, what if I don't like mountain biking?" And that was pretty much how things started, with my solid little hardtail Trek 4300. Little did I know that 2.5 years down the road I'd be racing downhill and thinking about going pro. I'm not so much surprised that I liked mountain biking right away, I've always been an adrenaline junky of sorts, but what surprises me to this day is how fast you can progress as a mountain biker. One of my favorite parts is that it never gets boring because you can always just push a little harder or go a little faster, or jump a little farther.
So, how did I really get here? Part 1 is about a little trip to Mammoth that was made not more than a month after that faithful trip to the bike shop...
I think Russell decided he should throw me in head first to the sport of mountain biking, taking me to Mammoth after I had only been on my bike about 3 times, some would argue that this was a bad decision, but I am starting to think that maybe it wasn't. I think if you're going to like mountain biking - I mean really like it, not just do it because you want exercise, or do it because you want to spend more time with your boyfriend, you are going to like it right away whether it hurts you physically or not, and you might as well see what lies ahead for you if you get better, rather than just climb up boring fire roads or ride along flat paths, not realizing what fun you COULD be having until somebody deems you "ready" to try something harder (ie - more fun). I realize this is probably a controversial statement, so I welcome comments...
So, both of us kind of nervous I think, we made our way up the mountain - him in his full face and pads and big hit bike, and me sporting the ol' spandex and a 25$ Canadian tire helmet. Needless to say I did not know what I was getting myself into. My first run down the mountain was supposedly the "easy" run - Trail Home. This run sucks. It sucked then, and it still sucks. I fell about 50 times on the way down and broke all my fingernails on one hand and was bleeding and bruised. So... I went and cried in the hotel room for a while. I think Russell thought it was game over. My stubborness however, won, and I was bound and determined I could beat this darn mountain. I got back out there and got back in the Gondola and gave it another shot. And I still fell a lot, but this time it was slightly better, and the next time it was slightly better again, and by gosh I felt like I might actually be getting the hang of things by the time we did the "off the top" run - which by the way is very scary when you're a newb and it's windy out. I'm sure I was painfully slow, but I think Russell was just happy that I wasn't sobbing in the bedroom and was actually starting to appear as though I was having a good time.
By the end of the weekend, I was loving it, and though very much bruised and broken, I knew I would be back for more...
No comments:
Post a Comment