Tonight, I sit here with the decision to give myself a year on the bike before I race cyclocross again.
I know, right? Huge jump. There are all sort of well meaning stock responses to a decision like this:
a) You'll be fine, just go for it!
b) The only way to get better is to do it!
c) It's not that bad, if you fall it's not like you'll get hurt!
d) You're just nervous, once you start the race it will be fun!
The thing is, it's not really cyclocross I'm afraid of. I mean, I know that it's grass and dirt, and that I won't be going that fast. I saw the women lining up for my race today, the race that I decided to pull out of because the course made me too nervous, and they were all fine. Nobody died. And while there were riders there who were miles better than me and more experienced on mountain bikes/bikes in general, there were some who were not.
So what was the difference?
They saw the course, and maybe felt nervous, but said, "Heck, looks tough, but I'll give it a go."
I saw the course, and then felt a rising panic of being forced into doing something that I was nervous about, and then felt exactly like I did when I was twelve and was forced to ride my horse, Shiloh, through his manic bucking bolting sprees.
Did I lose you?
It's the same sort of stuff that takes place when adults are scared about public speaking. It's not the event that causes panic; it's the relation that event has to the first time they ever felt that panic. Make sense? The body takes over; they can't control how their body reacts. Even if their mind says, "This is silly, you're an adult, nothing bad is going to happen if you step out on that stage," their body is all of a sudden zinged back to day one.
So what did this Shiloh character do that was really that bad?
Oh goodness...
Imagine the feeling of having a 2000 pound animal underneath you, tensing up and ready to blow, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. That was me. I just had to hold on and hope he would eventually stop on his own accord, or bail if he was pointed towards something dangerous. It got to the point where I rode with a paper bag, because I would hyperventilate after it happened. Still, I was not allowed to dismount, leave the lesson, or stop riding the horse. My (awful) trainer also did nothing to prevent the problem or try to fix it. I still had to ride him three times a week, and show him as well. I just had to, "deal." It was either ride Shiloh, or not ride.
Amazingly, and I cannot say how amazed I am, I wasn't ever seriously hurt, though he did force my sister out of riding after severely injuring her hip doing the same thing (guess who got the hand me down horse?).
Throughout my riding career, I've always known that I had issues with ill behaved steeds on account of Shiloh. My skills were at a professional level, it wasn't that I couldn't ride, I just froze and tensed up when faced with a horse who habitually spun, or bucked, or bolted. This time I had no choice because it was part of the job, and I did ride through all of it and came out alive. I dealt. I also got ulcers. This reality was another part of why I ultimately decided not to be a professional anymore. I wanted to have the option to not ride for any reason, and let that reason be enough.
And now back to cyclocross. (phew!) Cyclocross was supposed to be a fun way to increase my bike skills. I have been riding bikes for all of six months. I am not a natural on the bike. I mean, go back and re read my first attempt at using clipless pedals. Go back and read about my first ever group ride, where I had my heart in my throat the entire time and fell down about four times.
Please, people. Please.
What I did do, though, was take it slowly. At my own pace. I had a wonderful, supportive group of people who were willing to go out and cycle easy with me, showing me the ropes. I gradually increased my rides. I gradually gained confidence. In short, I was allowed to stop riding Shiloh, and get on a nice quiet pony instead. In the end, there was no Shiloh at all. Just a bike ride.
I did not leap into a criterium hoping that criterium racing would make be a better cyclist.
No. Cyclocross is not criterium racing. But neither is it the only way to gain bike skills. What I've learned about myself today is that while I love the idea of jumping in head first, I really do not do very well when jumping in head first. My thinking brain says, Yay! My emotion brain says, WOAH HORSE!
There are slower, more gradual ways of gaining bike skills.
I have a mountain bike. I have a group of wonderful, supportive friends who will no doubt ride with me, slowly. I have a wonderful resource of beginner trails with which to practice on. And I'm sure that as I gain confidence, I will discover, again, that there is no Shiloh.
Just a silly cyclocross course.
Until then, though, I choose to say, No Thanks.
Sure, one could see all of this as an elaborate excuse. Then again, who am I making excuses to? My friends? Myself? It's not as if I'm saying the dog ate it, or I can't, I'm washing my hair. Cyclocross was supposed to be fun. It's not fun. Not yet. So instead of being hard on myself, I'm trying to understand where the reaction is coming from, and then acknowledge the reaction as valid, and then cut myself some slack.
Because I am NOT going to start carrying around a paper bag with me when I ride my bike.
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