I'm going to admit it right now, with this Adventure Race, I bit off more than I can chew. I have (rather unsuccessfully) been trying to acquire some mountain biking skill before the Nov. 6 race. While I thought it was something I could do with a little practice, I realize now I am in way over my head.
I haven't quite figured out if I'm going too fast or going too slow or if I'm just too stubborn and trying to ride through large, jagged rocks that I should not be riding through. I fall. I fall a lot. In fact, on Saturday, if I fell once, I fell at least two dozen times. I managed to re-open the cuts on my right leg and I also managed to fall squarely on the end of my handle bar. That one left a perfectly round mark and bruise on my chest. It didn't knock the wind out of me, but it was close. Ironically enough, it hit me in the same place that I was hit one time by a golf ball. But that's another story.
I was doing well, actually. I had gone out by myself last week and then MO and I went out on Saturday. We were having a blast and I was doing well until the Dreaded Red Trail. It is a rocky and twisty new section of trail and that trail clearly had a bone to pick to me. I fell once, twice. Then I got frustrated. The more frustrated I got, the more I fell and the more I fell, the more frustrated I became. I was on the verge of tears (and I'm not a cryer) so about 1/2 mile into the trail (yep, that's all it took - 1/2 mile) I told MO I was going back. I was not going to cry. I was not going to cry. There's no crying in mountain biking. I didn't cry.
Almost back to the trail head, and on a much easier trail, I fell for the last time. That was when I landed on my chest. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But I was not going to cry. Instead, I was doubled over in the middle of the trail, gasping and wheezing and cursing at that stupid rock. I gave up and walked a good portion of the trail back in. Not my best moment, but I was scared shitless to go over another rocky section and I could walk faster anyway. I hurt, I was bleeding, and covered in bruises.
So yeah, more than I can chew. Every time I rolled over Saturday night, I groaned in pain. At least my chest doesn't hurt as much. John told me if I wanted to start doing 2-a-days, he would beat me with a stick before bed. The good news is that we also practiced orienteering and that part, I loved. I can rock a topo map and hold a wicked bearing. So I will be holding up my end of the bargain. I just hope MO brings enough bandages.
3 hours ago