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Every time I go out mountain biking with my friend Patty she pushes me beyond my comfort zone.

Last Saturday was the first time in a loooong time that I even went out on my bike with someone else.

I like to exercise at my own pace; neither waiting for someone slower than I am or anxiously trying to catch up with someone who is stronger than me.

Patty and I were at the peak of my normal mountain biking loop and I already felt like I wanted to puke. While it was only 8’oclock in the morning, the weather has been in the 100’s lately and I was probably dehydrated.

“Okay, ready to circle back down?” I said

“No, we have another climb,” Patty answered. “We need to climb White’s Hill and then hook up on the B-17 near Tamarancho” (we’re so damn cool, aren’t we?)

“Shit Patty… I’m scared. (She laughed) Okay.. Let’s go!”

Patty takes me to a peak of a mountain where I can then see all of Marin. It’s a spectacular day with funny puffy clouds and it’s clear as a bell. I wish I brought my camera. These shots could be amazing!

We start heading down on the crest of a mountain with the trail falling away on both sides. I feel like I am on a carnival ride because like an infinity pool, the trail is so steep, I can’t see it over the edge. Even with my ass totally hanging off the back to combat the bike from pitch poling, my rear tire is skidding out. I know I should let off the breaks to prevent skidding but the trail is so steep my fear inspired iron grip won’t loosen. If I lose control I’ll fall off either side of the mountain and probably won’t stop.

We get to the bottom of this mountain and I am silent.. almost in tears and pretty pissed at Patty.

I suddenly remember this primitive feeling from when my father used to put me in situations where I was terrified and had no choice but to push through.
He would take me to the top of KT 22 (a black diamond ski run) at Squaw Valley when I was just a kid. I’d cry and skid down the mountain, hating him for putting me through such terror.

From an early age, my father never pushed me in team sports but he was an outdoorsman and he would take me backpacking in the Sierras.

When I was 14, we went backpacking with a group of 11 friends; some of the kids were my age. My father and I split off for a few days on “solo cross country” trip.

“Okay, let’s go off the trail here” My Dad said.
I was filled with fear and dread right away.

“Where are we going Dad?”

“I don’t know.. Let’s just check it out and see where we end up!”

I hate this shit.

We first climb a mountain made of shale. We take one step forward and slide two steps back.

God Dammit.

We finally make it to the peak (we are above tree line: 13,000 feet), look down the other side and discover that the only way down is a slope of ice.

I start to cry.

“How are we going to get down this mountain Dad???”

We can’t walk down.

We decide to take off our backpacks and throw them ahead of ourselves so we can literally slide down the ice mountain.

Needless to say, we survived. I have some good stories to tell but this feeling of being out of control and someone putting me in a scary situation causes me great anxiety.

Patty and I aren’t done with our ride.
Next she takes me on my first single track trail.

It’s a beautiful trail that winds through a forest of oaks and redwoods but she instructs me not to look down.

“Just keep your eyes on the trail in front of you.”

The trail is about 12 inches wide and again, the mountain falls away steeply on one side. If I fall, I won’t stop.

Nothing is more Zen than single track riding. You can’t think about anything else.

A tree root or rock juts out of the trail, you get your tires stuck and you are a goner. If I don’t finesse my way under and around a low hanging branch or trunk I’ll be sure to dislocate my shoulder or snap my neck.

Another mountain biker comes up behind us, expertly maneuvers between Patty and I on the 6 inches of trail we leave him and while he says,
“You guys good? Need anything?” he skirts off into the woods.

“All the cute guys are on B-17” Patty says.

I look like shit when I am mountain biking.. My head is tall from my helmet. My legs feel like sausages in my shorts and that lovely Pad they put in your shorts to “protect” your underlings.. well, it is not a flattering site.
Plus, I am dirty, sweaty and smelly.

What would a gal like me say to a cute guy riding by on B-17?
“Yeah, I do need something… I’m scared!” Patty is in hysterics.

In the end, when we meet up with a trail I am familiar with, I let go of my terror and anger. I don’t need to be afraid of situations like this.
If Patty can do it, I can do it.

And you know what? I might just go do it again.

POSTED BY carla ON 06/27/08 07:06 AM

comments [2]

User Comments:

That sounds SO scary. But the feeling of accomplishment overwhelms those seemingly never ending feelings of dread and hatred towards the person suggesting these brilliant ideas.

We should do a BrandHabit bonding trip, like climbing Half-Dome. (more Troop Beverly Hills than Wilderness Girls).

POSTED BY BoutiquePeek ON 06/27/08 23:06 PM

We SHOULD do a BrandHabit bonding trip!
That would be soooo fun! Let's go treking in Nepal and then go to an ashram in India. Then,let's skip over to India Fashion Week for the runway shows!

POSTED BY carla ON 06/30/08 18:06 PM

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