I doubted that I should even go today, but outside encouragement and my own desire to remain positive and optimistic got me out the door to the Gripped Racing “Intro to Racing” clinic at Schaeffer Farms.
I’m a beginner mountain biker, so what I need right now is to focus on fundamentals, not to jump ahead to worrying about racing. I knew this. But the whirlwind of an unexpected birthday present and an invitation to join the Gripped Team made me think that I better get my ass in gear and jump in with both feet.
In my brief past experience, anything I attend labeled “clinic” means that not a ton of riding happens, so I decided to run 10 miles this morning to get a workout in. In addition, I get riddled with anxiety before riding by myself, let alone with a group of people, so I showed up to Schaeffer an hour early to get a quick loop in to quell any jitters.
I do feel much more solid on the new 29er and it handles obstacles much better than my POS Giant, but at the core I am still not a good rider. I descend choking the brakes. I can’t pick lines. Roots freak me out. I slid out trying to come out of a creek crossing. I got caught on every steep ascent because I didn’t see them coming and wasn’t ready in the right gear. The constant braking, clenching and sheer worrying really took a toll. After it took me 40 minutes to complete what I knew should have been an easy 3.5 mile loop, the jitters were anything but quelled and I was already dead tired.
As the group of attendees to the clinic swelled, I only became more nervous – more people to be embarrassed in front of. Jason did a lecture before we got on bikes, which gave me time to cool down and get tight. So when we embarked on a warm-up lap, the previous lap was a distant muscle memory.
I gladly took up the rear and lost contact with the group in a matter of mere moments. A few mechanicals allowed me to catch up, but every time the group took off, I was left alone almost instantly. I was glad to not have anyone behind me, but I really didn’t expect to get dropped quite so easily.
As I rode I wondered how people picked their lines, how people take rooty descents so quickly, how they take downhill switchbacks. And I didn’t even have anyone to ask! It only took a half a lap to realize that I was right to have had hesitations about attending today. I did not belong there.
I caught up to the group and found them turning around to double back on the trail. As one of the gal attendees- a roadie who had never been mountain biking and was borrowing a bike – passed me, she said, “this is so much fun.” I’ve been out half a dozen times and have yet to find the fun; and here was someone out for her first time and loving it. I was jealous and demoralized and really didn’t want to take up the back anymore. Then Jason advised the group to try to take the trail a little faster this time as they had already seen it now, but trying to go faster was exactly the kind of pressure I didn’t need. So I told Harris that I was gonna continue forward and not to wait up for me.
I caught up to Kevin and Scuba fixing a flat and was thankful for the break. As they took off, I once again followed. They slowed their pace to allow me to stay on, but I really didn’t want them to. Meanwhile Kevin gave me some great advice on clearing obstacles and climbing that I was glad to have gotten. If there’s one thing I definitely walk away from today with, it’s varying speed on rooty ascents – brute power, as I’m apt to use, will only get you so far.
We got back to the parking lot as the rest of the group was lining up to practice sprint starts. I rode to my car with the intention of getting in it and driving away. But explaining my exit to Jason was not something I wanted to do, so I stayed. I listened to some further lecture and decided to stay to ride on my own. The groups split up and went down different arms of the trail.
I waited a few minutes for them to clear and started off. Before too long I came up on one of the groups sessioning a log and decided to stop rather than ride through. This turned out to be a bad decision because I found myself yet again falling off the back of the group each time they started up. At each stop I implored them not to wait for me, but it seemed that someone would always hang back. That just made me feel bad for holding them up.
More of the same – timid descents, spinning out on roots, lots of stopping and walking.
At a trail intersection, the group decided to take a turn on the yellow. This was my chance to ride back alone on the white – why I didn’t I still don’t know. After two botched climbs, I really didn’t want to ride anymore. Mentally I was done. And the last thing anyone needs when all they want to do is stop is to ride over roots. Lots and lots of roots.
Not being able to cry when you really, really need to is one of the worst feelings in the world. Everyone back at the parking lot was smiling, exchanging thank yous, and working out plans for the meal at Dogfish Head. All I wanted to do was get all my gear off and flee. Not attending the post-ride festivities really wasn’t an option, so I had to hold that frog in my throat through the whole thing. But once I got my car onto the relative anonymity of the highway, I really couldn’t stop the tears. I cried the whole car ride home. I cried when I got home. I cried through my shower. I’m still crying a little bit right now.
It really wasn’t just the difficulty of the day and the bad decisions I’d made that made me so upset. I’ve been out riding half a dozen times now without much of a marked improvement. And it’s not that I’m making mistakes that I’m aware I’m making; I’m just not able to do certain things. I can’t descend fast. I can’t corner. I can’t hop a log. I just can’t. There’s a level of comfort and a flow required for mountain biking that isn’t coming with experience. What if I just don’t get it and never will?
The fantastically patient guys on the team would try to explain concepts, some better than others. The others would gesticulate and gesture and lean and sputter trying to articulate something that comes naturally to them. I listen intently to any piece of advice more experience riders try to give me, and I’m increasingly starting to believe there’s something they have that I just don’t. There’s an disconcerting level of doubt in me that I have what it takes for this. I’ve always been gifted athletically. I pick things up quickly. The one who always got picked first in gym? This girl. But I’m not getting this. It’s not clicking. I’m not figuring it out. And I’m worried. One thing I do know is that I won’t be wearing the Gripped Racing colors till I feel like I’m not diminishing the name by wearing them.
Dirt Nouveau 