Jumping the Log

Apparently I'm pretty serious about Mountain Biking. I just bought my own bike. Paying as much as one does for a mid-range bike on my income is a commitment. For me it is a commitment to conquer my fear.

I've never really thought of myself as a cautious person. My past is riddled with things I have done with wild abandon. I'm sure I can't find a person--'cept Jason-- who'd describe me as cautious. Here are a few things I've done with wild abandon:

• marry a man in February that I met in September
• Go to Hollywood California at 15 with my 18 year old boyfriend
• Jello shots
• Move to Michigan, Jersey, Texas and North Carolina
• Fall in love
• Parenthood

So, the idea that I'm a cautious person is foreign to me. I certainly fear pain. Part of the compassion sutra shares with us that compassion comes from the understanding that everyone fears pain. We work to avoid it at all costs. So when I'm on the trail and I look down a steep, rooted decline I can only think, "will I make it?" And even though I know that the odds are pretty good that I will make it, I don't always try.

I don't always try because I know that once I've been derailed by fear it's actually more probable that I will hurt myself. On the trail one of the hardest parts is keeping fear in check. It does have a place, but that place is not to ruin the ride. I didn't think once, "why did buy this freaking bike?" because there are these transcendent moments that answer that question before I even have the wherewithal to ask it.

And today I learned how to jump a log--or rather roll right over it. Not a big long, just a little one, but I watched and learned and then found the girl who does things with wild abandon and jumped. It wasn't hard at all. Something about jumping the log gave me the confidence to ride harder and more fearlessly than I had previously.

Days of pouring rain

New bike, untouched wait to ride

these washed out trails, flow