Note to self

Hey, you. 

I see you struggling, and I just wanted to let you know something: This is just a setback, and you’ll make it through. 

I know it’s hard, and it’s frustrating, and it’s painful, but if you’ve proven anything throughout your entire life, it’s that you are strong as fuck and capable of overcoming everything that stands in your way. 

So this is just another one of those things. You got this. Keep your head up. 

This is a tough moment because you pushed yourself far outside of what was comfortable. It’s inevitable that you will struggle, and you will fail, and you will fall, when you are attempting something you’ve never done before. 

I guess sometimes you get lucky and everything is all right, but sometimes you crash, and that’s just life. 

You’ve been falling in love with the speed of the trail, the joy of riding your trail bike and facing new obstacles. It’s amazing, isn’t it? The taste of dirt in the sweat dripping down your face, the bump of the rocks as you glide on through, the sometimes bitterness of the rock gardens you can’t soar over but that you try so hard to conquer … the quietness of the trail, the scratch of branches on your arms and legs, the painful knick of a pedal peg … the incredible sunsets, the smiles and laughs and encouragement from friends … and, well, the inevitable dismounts, curses, fuck-ups and crashes. 

This is the sport. 

Maybe it’s thrilling because it’s so high risk. It’s different from anything you’ve ever done. A little bit of pain and suffering is a reminder you’re human and still here. It doesn’t get more real than that. 

And you know you said this is something you’d never do, because you were too scared, and also because you’ve grown up hearing nothing but reasons as to why you shouldn’t. 

But hey. Look at you. You’re doing it anyway. You’re doing it because you know that deep down inside it’s something that you love, and you blocked it all out and went for it anyway. 

Now those voices are coming back to haunt you. 

Told you so.

You’re out of your league. 

You’re not good enough to be doing that. 

It’s not worth it. Just stick to what you know. 

The easy way out is to say, yeah, you know what – maybe this isn’t for me. You will be fine if you just stay home, you know. Why do you work so hard only to be inevitably disappointed? 

Let me ask you something: Do you remember that first race you did, when you said today is the day that I’m going to go for it, and even though you were literally shaking on that huge, gravelly descent, you went out there and you made it happen? Do you remember how you were so nervous for cyclocross that you stayed up all night and had the worst – and I mean the worst – stomach ache thinking about everything that could go wrong? All those times common sense was telling you no but instead it was you who said yes I can. 

And you did. You fucking did it. 

You earned those podiums. You put in the work and you won those races. You learned and grew and got faster and stronger and better. You did all that. 

Let me say it again: You did all that. 

And you know what? Hell, yeah, girl. You didn’t let anything stand in your way. Not even yourself. 

You crashed on Tuesday because you were literally out there fucking crushing it. You were crushing it because you were ready to take bigger risks. You know how ready you were? You were so ready, you rode 110 miles in 100+ degree heat only 5 days later. 

Look at how bad ass you are.

Now you’re here, sore, and frustrated, and staring down a waiting period of unknown length, and it stings. It stings because you’re ready but your body isn’t. 

Look at all your bruises and scrapes. You’ve been through a lot. Giving up at this point seems reasonable. Throwing in the towel and saying, “We will try again next time.” 

You’ve got goals, though, lady, and you’re just stubborn enough to keep going for them. And I know you. I know you well enough to know that while you’re pissed as all hell right now, you are going to fight with a vengeance to do what needs to be done to get back up, dust it off, and continue on. 

It’s what you always do. It’s what you’re best at. It’s what people admire about you. You have a fire that can’t be put out, no matter how hard the world tries. 

So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to get a game plan together, and we’re going to execute it – not perfectly, because we’re never perfect, but hopefully good enough. 

You’re gonna rest that shoulder. The sooner you accept that you won’t be on your mountain bike for a while, the sooner it’s going to heal up. Maybe that means you’re stuck on the trainer for a few weeks, keeping the legs strong and allowing your body to heal up before Asheville. 

If that is what needs to happen, then let it happen. Your legs are the strongest they’ve ever been. Amazing job getting them there! Adapt to what your body needs, and let’s keep this going. 

Listen to what the doctor says, and strengthen and stretch as much as your body will allow. Practice skills that don’t cause you pain, even if you’re just riding around in circles in the parking lot. 

Eat healthy and prioritize foods that will help you heal. Take care of your body, and it will take care of you. 

Your ambitions may be a little wild, but so are you. Be compassionate to your body and your spirit. It needs that the most.

Not everything will work out, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try. 

All you can do is try your best. 

So … are you ready? 

I sure as hell am.