Walls

Mags and I started tearing down a wall in our house on Tuesday night.  It was an emotional thing for me.   Not because the wall had sentimental value, but because tearing down a wall is an all-or-nothing venture.  Once you’ve taken that first swing with a sledge hammer, there’s really no turning back. 

Taking out that wall reminded me of mountain bike racing.  Two years ago when I started racing in the expert class I put up a wall; I said I’d never be fast enough to race with the pros.   Once a rider tears down that wall and races pro, there’s really no turning back.

Two days ago, Rich and Brad slammed my nose right up against my wall.

There was an unusual buzz Monday morning when I lined up with the usual gang of experts at the Stan Crane Memorial Race in Draper because Rich was a few feet in front of us with the pros.  Brad was there too.  Rich told me that Brad talked him into moving up.  Bob joked that I was next, but he didn’t realize I was almost first.  See, I was getting tired of losing to Brad and Rich and figured I’d move up and lose to somebody new.   What better way is there to improve than to challenge yourself with stronger competition?  You might say Rich and Brad pre-empted my pre-emptive strike. 

I felt like Rich had stolen something from me, and I told him so.  Not only had he taken my surprise move to the pros away, but he also took the luster off the prize of winning the expert class.  Winning because your competition isn’t there isn’t much fun.


When the race started I was uneasy because I didn’t know how fast to ride.  Should I try to catch some of the pros, who had a one-minute head start?  That might cause me to blow up early.  Or should I take it easy for the first lap, and give Bob, Paz and Sam a chance to stick with me then attack me in the later laps?  My strategy all season had been to sit on Rich’s back wheel as long as I could and hope I had a chance to make a move, but now I was starting out on a race without a clear strategy. 

My worries were quickly allayed when we got to the long dirt road climb.  I locked out my front shock and settled in for the climb.  When I looked back, Bob had dropped off and Paz was nowhere to be seen.  I rode alone for the next two laps until I started catching a few pros. 

I almost didn’t feel like I was racing when I was alone.  It wasn’t much fun, but I knew if I didn’t make any mistakes I would win, which I did.  My mom was there at the finish line and she was excited for me, but for me the victory seemed hollow.   How long can I race as an expert now?  It’s not much fun to race alone.  Am I saying I’d rather come in last in the pros than ride alone at the front of the experts? 

Am I ready to take that first swing of the sledge hammer?