As I sat on the creek bed rolling up my pants, untying my shoes, and removing my socks, I paused for a moment to meditate on my situation.
It was the second weekend in December. The temperature was approaching 70 degrees. I was removing my socks and shoes to carry my bike across a creek that was approximately knee-deep.
Who was I? How did I get here? And was I too old to be adding mountain biking to my list of extracurricular activities?
Even before moving to Austin, I was sure of two things:
- I wanted to get into rock climbing/bouldering.
- I wanted to start mountain biking.
Bouldering was easy. Years of dance and gymnastic during childhood, and training for obstacle course races in recent years, had given me a foundational level of agility and strength. Even if I wasn’t used to the height once I was on the wall, I was used to holding my own weight. Plus, I had complete control over which routes I wanted to try at the gym, thereby mitigating some of the risk that comes with climbing without ropes.
Biking, on the other hand, was something I hadn’t done with any regularity in more than twenty years. And even when I did bike, I didn’t actually mountain bike. I rode to my friends’ houses, the soccer field, or up and down the cul-de-sac. My lack of experience however didn’t stop me from investing in a bike.
After doing a lot of research and spending 8 hours asking a million questions at Bicycle Sport Shop on South Lamar, I felt comfortable committing to the Trek Cali. I wanted a bike I could abuse. One that would proudly wear its battle scars, that someone would look at and think, “Wow, she’s gone on some adventures.” My bike wouldn’t be utilitarian, but an integral piece of my Austin identity.
And then I spent 3 months riding it safely around the well-maintained Lady Bird Lake trail. So much for my big aspirations of being a badass on a mountain bike.
The truth is I was scared to go out exploring on my own. Scared I would get lost. Scared I would get stuck on a trail because the terrain was too difficult. Scared I would break my bike and be stuck. And very, very scared I would get hurt. My fear meant I had an expensive bike that was completely underutilized…until this past weekend when one of the women from my climbing group, who is an experienced mountain biker, invited me out with her on a real ride. With rock gardens. And descents (albeit, small descents). And trails without people.
It was so. Much. Fun.
But each time my novice butt banged against my seat, or I picked up a little more speed than I was comfortable with going down some gravely terrain I found myself wondering, “Am I too old for this?” Which was then followed by, “What if I get hurt?” and “Which part of my body will I try to protect if I go over the handlebars?”
I don’t definitively know the answers to any of those questions, but I’ve been dwelling on the first one.
I get that age is just a number and I know I don’t feel almost thirty-six…based on what people tell me I don’t seem to look it either. But there is a voice in my saying, “You’re almost thirty-six. WTF are you doing? Grow up. Your window for this stuff is closed.”
But then there’s this other voice yelling, “But you’re having so much fun!” Since that one is yelling – pretty emphatically I might add – I guess I’ll keep riding.