I have this thing. I sometimes complain. But one thing I won’t complain about is a long bike ride. Some of my best days on the bike have been 15+ mile days (hey, that’s a lot for mountain bikers). But it’s one thing to be on a ride with your best girl pals in the desert. It’s a whole other enchilada racing for 15 miles and at altitude to boot. And as the days creep closer to the Epic Singletrack race, I can’t help but think, “What was I thinking when I agreed to do this?”
40 minutes, 8 miles and 20 minute short track races. This is it. This is my race experience. If I was creating a match dot com profile for mountain bike racing, it would read pretty poorly. All I might garner are guys who like girls on the margins. The peripheral girl. Not quite a virgin but definitely not experienced. That’s me. The girl who is much like the old Sesame Street skit where there is one thing that’s not like the other.
It’s not that I don’t belong on a mountain bike or even in a race. It’s that I never quite seem like I’m in the right place. It’s like I’m in middle school all over again and I can’t seem to find my group. I’m not super cool. I’m not techy. I don’t wear a kit. My bike is older. Gasp, it’s NOT a 29er. And my bike is pink. I know what you’re thinking. “Really? Pink?” When I bought it, my husband said, “This bike is all pink. Are you able to commit to that for the long term?” I guess I was.