My calves are cramping, quads burning and the sweat that had been pooling up in my helmet is now descending down my bangs and into my eyes. Through each breath I manage to mutter the word “push” as if it could actually make my legs work harder. I take a mental pause to ask myself, “What in the world are you doing?”
Mountain biking. For the first time.
For well over a year, the pressure from friends and my husband to take up biking has been building. To try, or not to try, has been circulating through my head along with thoughts of concussions, broken arms and extremely steep cliffs. I consider myself outdoorsy – I hike, snowshoe, snowboard, wakeboard, I’ve even surfed – but bike up and down the side of a mountain? I’m not crazy.
Yet here I am, sweaty, out of breath and lagging way behind as I watch my friend Megan and her two dogs take on Beacon Hill like it’s a moderately large speed bump rather than a 2,000 foot mountain. I dodge roots, rocks and branches as I shift into a lower gear, yet again. I pedal faster to keep myself from tipping over as I wind around another series of switchbacks. Losing momentum, I put my foot down and reach for my water.
“Are you okay?” Megan hollers down. I look down at my own dog, she smiles up at me ready to take on the next part of our climb. “At least one of us is enjoying this,” I mutter before answering my riding coach. “I’m good, Juneau just needed some water,” I lied. Plus, I felt like I could pass out at any moment, but Megan didn’t need to know that.
Walking my borrowed bike up to a level starting point, I continue to climb, pushing with all my weight, just trying to stay on pace and not fall behind. “You got this,” I replay my mantra over and over. “You’ve run three freaking half-marathons; you can make it up one hill. Just push.”
Just push. With each blink I picture myself in spinning class, keeping rhythm. Right, right, right, right….I open my eyes to see Juneau sitting on the trail in front of me. Slamming the breaks, I let out a squeal and catch myself by grabbing onto a tree. “Don’t worry,” I call, reassuring Megan I’m all right. “You’re doing a great job,” she says. “And good news, we’re almost to the saddle which is a good point to turn around and head back.”
Music to my ears.
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I wipe the sweat from my brow and take another swig of water, sharing some with Juneau. It never ceases to amaze me how hot the first 60 degree day in spring feels. I sit tight for a couple of moments, allowing some more experienced bikers to pass us. “Great day for a ride!” they all exclaim, barely out of breath. “Yeah,” I squeak out. “It’s beautiful.”
They pass with a couple high fives and several friendly smiles. [Inhale…sigh…smile] I love bike people.
With a swift push to my pedal, we’re off on the last leg of the climb. Right, right, right, right….
We wind our way passed a number of jumps, and ramps, and bikers waiting for their turn to take those jumps. It’s the kind of thing you see in mountain bike magazines, or YouTube videos. I can’t decide if they’re certifiably insane or brave – perhaps both. But I’m happy to see our trail begins to level out, not so much steep hills and switchbacks, but more casual winding through trees and brush. We have to be close. I look up to see Megan and the dogs waiting for me.
I made it. Looking around, I can see a good portion of the trail system- ribbons of dirt interweaving and cutting through the hillside. A glint of water from the Spokane River is peeking through the trees, beckoning us down. This scenery is well worth the effort.
During this brief moment of rest, I find myself not feeling tired, but exhilarated. Even though my muscles are shaking from fatigue, I am excited to continue on with our journey. I’m ready to take on the downhill, what every true mountain biker lives for – Until I see it.
Riding down a sandy path and curving away from the summit trail, I get my first real glimpse of what a downhill trail looks like. It’s steep- winding, steep and full of obstacles like other riders, and apparently a Frisbee golf course.
“Watch out for Frisbees coming at your face,” Megan warns as we prepare for our descent. Yeah, as if I have nothing else to worry about. Megan gives me some quick advice, which I can barely focus on due to the pounding of my heart in my chest. My palms are sweating.
What I can retain, I repeat over in my head, “Butt back over the back wheel. Use mostly the back break, but the front break can actually help you stop faster. And watch out for Frisbees.”
Got it.
Megan crouches over her bike and before I know it, she’s flying through the trees – taking switchback after switchback like a pro. I look down at Juneau then back to the trail. I’ve had to talk myself off a cliff – so to speak – several times in my life, but never down one. I take a deep breath, and as I exhale I release my feet from the ground and place them on my pedals. Here I go.
All at once the air rushes through my hair, my stomach sinks and I too am flying through the trees. Juneau rushes to my back tire, heeling all the way. Full of adrenaline, I approach the first switchback and fear takes over. Hitting my break, I slowly maneuver around the tight turn, then again as the trail changes direction. With each turn I gain confidence, and hit the brakes less and less.
Squatting over my back tire, as Megan suggested, my quads are shaking, acting as my own personal shock absorbers over each obstacle and bump in the trail. The ground and scenery is a blur. What I had worked so long and so hard to climb is passing by at warp speed.
Sure enough, a red Frisbee whizzes by my head and a “Sorry!” echoes from a short distance away. I try to lift my hand to wave, but my unsteadiness stops me.
“It’s all good!” I yell back.
And it is, because in this moment I am free. Free from thoughts of work, home and to-do lists. I pushed through the climb and now am rewarded with a ride down nature’s rollercoaster. As I dart through the trees, the rest of the world slips away into an inconsequential oblivion. The only thing that matters is the trail ahead and the only things I feel are the wind in my face and the butterflies in my stomach.
Still on my adrenaline high, and with a smile on my face, I approach the bottom of the hill. Megan and her dogs are waiting patiently for us to meet them. It’s at this moment, where pure exhaustion meets excitement, that a sense of accomplishment forms – only after having pushed your body to its limits.
“You survived,” Megan laughs.
“Yeah, and I didn’t even fall. Mission accomplished.”
We walk the dogs and our bikes back to the car – all three panting and dragging their feet. “That’s the best part about bringing the dogs,” Meagan says, “They’re always wiped out after a good ride.”
I totally know how they feel. Despite my fatigue, as we load up the dogs and the bikes, we make plans for our next mountain biking adventure.
By Andrea Nagel
As Featured In: Summer/Fall 2015