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Mara Abbott
16.jan.05 Winter Training. That's swimming. Not cycling. Not for two more months. But I feel that these endurance sports-- they share a sort of understanding about the pain involved in becoming great. I have just survived the most beastly week of training in recent memory. We swam sets until my legs felt, just kicking easily across the pool, like I was sprinting, like the fibers in my muscles were preparing to violently detatch from one another. It was a sort of overwhelming fatigue that I have never encountered. And. I loved it. Mark me as crazy because I had the best time. I learned how far my limits can go, because despite that pain, if I could keep going, I was still fast, I still held pace. It was an exercise of supreme mental toughness. I got so tough this last week! And just to work my ass off and eat and be with teammates is like this funny little Mara heaven. It was fabulous. I just swam each lap with a sense of joy in my arms and legs. Beautiful. I think that this sense of happiness just comes from a great sense of control over my life. The decisions that I have made have led me to this place where I am supremely happy, and I just am confident in feeling that I am the sole master of my destiny, and that with each choice that I make, I get to pick the thing that makes me happiest. That's the choice I make each time. So it should follow that with each choice that I make, I will become further and further elated with my state of living. What a perfect world. 7.sep.04 I miss the mountains. And I'm nervous about the new swim team. And... wait... I think that's all that I could possibly complain about here. Because, if Whitman had mountains, I think I might never leave. I've found my own little paradise. I started the semester with a 9 day backpacking trip in the Olympic peninsula. I left that experience with amazing friends-- people that I now see every day. And it left me knowing the Outdoor program. Do you know that here, any evening of the week, I could be doing open climb on an outdoor climbing wall, or perhaps learning how to kayak in the pool? The best part, however, has been the cycling team. I talked to them last year when I visited, and they have all been so excited to see me come back. I've ridden the last five days in a row with these people, they have been so welcoming. I never feel at home in a place until I am with athletes. They get where I am coming from. And I felt so at home as I pedaled my bike out to Waitsburg on Sunday on a 3.5 hour ride, chatting the whole way with different members of the team, all eager to recruit me to ride road with them this spring. On Wednesday, the other mountain bike afficianado and I, Jane, went out on a ride through the wheat fields. A storm came up, and the winds were whipping us around, Boulder on a bad day par, where the gusts will sweep you out into the road, and when you turn into the wind, you feel as if you are battling a great oceanic tide. Darker clouds rolled in, and rain began to fall, but it didn't matter. I was our on my bike, I was doing what I loved, and it didn't matter that I wasn't at home-- because I had already been accepted. God that feels so good. And the swim team too-- they are also ready to welcome me with open arms. I worked out with two other swimmers last night, and they invited me to the first swim team party of the year tonight. Whatever THAT means. I want to be a great athlete. And here I have found people who have the same goal. And who have sought me out to join them. The opportunities here are too plentiful, I already know that the choices will come, but for now I am content to savor the fact that I have found a place in which I have opportunities beyond what I had ever expected to do what I love. I can hardly believe it. In another hour, I'm going out on another ride, to explore the hills with a bunch of people who love their bikes, and who have already accepted me, without question. 6 June 2004 Perhaps it is time for some explaining. Some explaining about the lack of my results on this web page. In January, I was slated to go to the Nationals, racing the marathon series. I was going to travel, and focus on my bike. I had a coach. I had a plan. And then, one Tuesday in February, it was the third, actually, something changed. After swim practice, I had a goal talk with my swim coach, Grant. And we planned for the upcoming season, and he laid out his expectations for me if I planned to achieve my goals in the pool.Ź And then, due to the winter darkness, I ventured into the RallySport spinning gym, where I completed a two hour bike workout before returning home for the first time since seven that morning, eating reheated dinner at 8:30 at night. As I ate, my new cycling coach, Daryl, called me to plan the next few weeks, and lay out his expectations for me if I planned to achieve my goals on the bike. When I hung up with him, it hit me, all of a sudden. What I was doing, had been doing, for a year and a half, wasn't sustainable. Pulling off a combined 24-25 hours a week, while being in high school, and then lying to each coach, telling them both it was easily under twenty, wasn't going to make me a better athlete. What it was going to make me was chronically exhausted, sick, irritable, and unsatisfied with my accomplishments in either sport, knowing that whatever the result, ifŹI could just commit to one, I could improve it. It was about greatness. I was told again and again I could be good as a swimmer and as a cyclist, but as long as I was doubly committed, I was eliminating the possibility that I could be great. Maybe that doesn't sound so awful to some people, but as long as I can remember, that's all that I have wanted. The focus and the energy that I put into swimming and biking expect only one result--the continued path to greatness, to be the best I can be. For me, there is no other way to live. That's just what I love, and what makes sense to me. So I had to choose. And yet, although the idea had been flashing around in my head that I would have to make this decision, I couldn't pick. The reason that I couldn't bring myself to make the decision between swimming and biking was that the choice I desired wasn't logical. And it wasn't the choice that any rational, objective person in my place would have made. Cyclists don't peak in their late teens. But swimmers do. I've loved the sport forever. And more than that. I am on a team with my best friends in the world. I honestly, with all of my heart, love getting up at four-thirty in the morning. I look forward to it, because for whatever reason, the work that I do in that pool has begun to make me happier than anything I've ever found. When I started to have doubts about racing seriously on the bike this summer, no one could understand. I have some natural talent for biking, that I never had with swimming. I had the opportunity to achieve a measure of recognition, especially under Tonya's wings. But somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew that the last six months that I was going to live in Boulder, the last six months that I had an opportunity to work with a coach who understands me better than possibly anyone else I know, this opportunity, I couldn't waste it. There's more to this. But that was the decision. This summer, my focus is on the pool. Every day that I think about the race that I am missing this weekend, whereŹI could be, last weekend in Big Bear, it hurts so badly, and I miss the sport so much. But I'd rather consider myself lucky. I have two sports that I love, two things that can create for me the opportunity for greatness. Two ways to be elated with my life. I'm going to race a little locally, perhaps, this summer. Maybe I will go for a triathlon!Ź And I plan to swim in college. But plans can change. I don't know that the future holds for me. All I know is that as I take my beautiful bike out on my allotted two moderate rides a week, I can dream about the time, be it in six months or four years, that I will return to become great as a mountain bike racer. I don't know when that will be. But it will happen. That, above all, is a certainty. Journal: 22.apr.04 I have to walk into Fairview to go to school 25 more times. No matter what anyone says, they say, "you'll miss it", I know that the last time I walk out of the "home of scholars and champions", I'll be elated. I have so little respect for that place÷the motto is true, and if you don't fit that, you'll just get overlooked. They pride themselves on having a school where itās ok, even cool, to be a scholar, but what they don't notice is that its not ok NOT to be a scholar. I just hate it. But as I think about going to college next year, what rips my heart out is the thought of leaving my swim team. I had a talk with Grant about colleges tonight after practice, and afterwards, I had to sit in my car in the parking lot and cry, because I ant imagine tearing myself away from my team. Itās been the place that Iāve belonged more than anywhere throughout college. And as I look at the pros and cons of the Whitman and Dartmouth swim teams, the reality hits me that I donāt want a new team. I want to see Madeline, and Kristin, and Michelle, and Brendan, and Kenny, every day, twice a day, for the rest of my life. These people are my soulmates÷we spend so much time talking together at and after practice that they know everything about my life, everything that happens to me. They understand the way that my mind works, because their mind works that way too. They know how hard it is, and they know how much it means. They make me more comfortable and happier than any other group of people I have ever encountered. I donāt want to leave RallySport. I think about the amount of time I spend at that club÷Monday it was five and a half hours, total. And I think about the fact that the people at the front desk can hand me a locker key without asking my name, or locker preference. And I think about how I know a lot of the personal trainers by name÷not because I have worked with them, but because Iām there so often, well, you just get to know people. I love having such a sense of familiarity at a place that it feels like it could be my house. And I love swimming outside÷yeah, it was snowing today during practice, but the air was clean, and every single person shows the sun in the deep swimsuit tan lines on their backs. And I donāt want a new coach. Grant knows me so well÷he not only knows my swimming, but he has got me, Mara Abbott, figured out better than anyone else in the world, hands down, including myself. Itās the opportunity of a lifetime, itās the only place I want to be, and itās ending. It makes me feel like my heart is breaking. 4.apr.04 I think that second semester Senior Year is one of the most interesting times of my life. The last week, all of my friends have been innundated with college acceptance letters (or "deceptance letters" as my friend Michelle and I fondly call them). Everyone is excited about where they got in, or upset about where they didn't, or stressed out with the decision that they now have to make. Of course, there is a big contingent of people who are making lists about who applied where, and who got in, and who seem to base far too much on what schools they were denied from. My counselor, Mr. Chestnut, gave me a great piece of advice as far as college acceptance is concerned. He reminded me that a college isn't there to pick the most prestigious student, with the highest GPA, and perfect SAT scores. The job of the admissions officers is to pick the students who will fit in the best at the school. Naturally, a student with mediocre grades isn't going to thrive in a competitive academic environment. So it's not so much a statement of "you're not good enough", its a statement of "we don't think that you would be as happy here as some of the other applicants". It makes you grateful to the insight of the admissions officers. So this theory has made me really excited about my new college prospect. I had already been admitted to Whitman and Scripps, HOWEVER, I was denied by Swarthmore and Stanford, and waitlisted by Carleton, Bates, Pomona. And then, on Friday, I got into Dartmouth (what!?!?!). What makes me so excited, is that Dartmouth is "more difficult" to get into than many of the other schools-- but they want me. I know a lot of people with better statistics than me who didn't get in-- but they want me. They have seen something in me that they think fits in so well with their school, that they admitted me over all of these other applicants, and they picked me, while all of these other schools denied me. It feels like a message of some kind. I never, NEVER expected to get into a school like that. I'm going to visit it next week. I can't wait. 28.mar.04 Nova was an interesting race for me. A abstract success concealed within what I percieved to be a failure. I went to Nova expecting it to be something special, expecting myself to have an edge as a racer, for a whole host of reasons. And, it really wasn't an especially stellar performance. I wasn't that happy with it, in any case. HOWEVER. This makes me realize that I have reached a place as a rider where I can distinguish between a good and a poor performance. Last year, I was so overwhelmed with racing in general, that to finish, in one piece, was a success. Now I have a measuring stick. Nova didn't measure up too well. But at least it measured. "Bad Ass" (time trial day) Someone suggested that I change my "chick" name to "kamikazee chick". Sadly, this is accurate. In the time trial... I crashed. Again. Tonya said to me right before I left-- "Let's not crash this year". Or something to that effect. Negative. That didn't happen. I think about my racing history-- I'm pretty sure I didn't crash in Vermont. I didn't go that fast in Vermont, but I'm pretty sure that I didn't crash. I'm also pretty sure that that is the only race that I can say that about. What a record. I was actually pleased with my performance. I recieved encoragement from the people who saw me crash, and from a guy who advised me just to spin back up-- "It's ok, you have plenty of time, just calm down". I wasn't particularly fond of the terrain on the course, but watching the numbers on my heart rate monitor, I knew that at least I was putting in the effort. The time trial was solid. It wasn't shockingly wonderful, but I left the day pleased, as well as heavily bandaged. That's one thing that I can say for mountain biking, or at least for my version of it-- it's bad ass. "Stupid" (short track day) Stupid was designated to be the word of the day. This race just annoyed me. I annoyed myself-- You might think, like the woman who was announcing, that starting out in the back of the pack and moving myself into second place (at one point) was exciting, and a fantastic race strategy. But you would be wrong. Because I do that every single time. And if I would just take a race out, just ONCE... who knows what I could accomplish. "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results". Clearly, I am insane. I mean, I was happy with my ability to move up. But I also knew that I had something left. And after I got third, by about half a wheel length, after I let the second place girl sneak by me on the inside of the last turn, then I was mad. Then I was stupid. It became the word of the day. I felt so strong. What a good feeling. I felt like a talented biker. But at the same time... I just felt dumb. "Ehhhhh" (cross country day) I wasn't sure exactly how to classify this day. After finishing the race, I just felt confused. I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. I felt an insurmountable loss. My bike had been making this funny breaking noise the entire last lap. I didn't know what it was, I didn't care (actually, for awhile, this was funny, because the noise kept happening when I wasn't breaking, so I was convinced for a really long time that there was someone directly behind me). I just felt out of sorts on the course-- it was a hard one for me, because it didn't play to my strengths. Hard to have a race of a lifetime on a course where, for whatever reason, you don't feel it. When I finished, and looked at my time, I realized it was about three minutes faster than last year. Three minutes. I thought that I had made such leaps since then. No, it wasn't that great of a race on my part. So I shouldn't base anything on it. But when I was warming down, trying to, with the bike squealing like a dying pig, I felt myself start to cry. I've done that a lot of times at swim meets, where I know I didn't do what I could have. But I hadn't done that before at a bike race. I truly felt an immese sense of loss. I didn't know it had gotten that far into my heart. 25.jan.04 There are two kinds of swimmers: summer-leaguers and year-rounders. Summer-leaguers swim the summer season, and have A LOT of fun doing it, nothing can compare to summer swimming, and some of them swim the high school season in the winter, too. Year-round swimmers swim all year long, taking off only three weeks in the end of August. They swim longer practices, and double, getting up at 4:30 to stumble off to practice, only to return that afternoon. I am a year-round swimmer. It would naturally follow that all year-round swimmers would be faster than their summer-league counterparts. But this is not the case. There are girls on my high school team who definitely do not swim year-round, and who are most definitely faster than me-- at least in their area of expertise (sprinting), even though it isn't mine. But sometimes, when you aren't swimming well, and you just watch these girls peel off second after second, it bothers you, even though you don't want to admit it. I was talking to Grant (swim coach) about this, and he told me something very important: I still win. I get the experience, and THAT is the most important thing. Maybe I'm not on the All-American 200 Free Relay, but some of those girls miss out on what I get to do every day. I'm one of the lucky ones. It's true. I mean, it's funny, because I really shouldn't enjoy getting up to go to morning practice, and the instant my alarm goes off, I'm never happy, but once I'm there, swimming under the stars, outdoors, sometimes it's snowing.... I can't help but love it a little. I couldn't keep it up if I didn't. I love having breakfast with my team afterwards. I love "social kick". I love being so dedicated to a sport that taking a day off makes a difference in the way I feel in the water. I love dropping time! I can't explain it-- you know you have it in you, and you just have to figure out how to let it out. And when you do... you can't stop grinning. And your teammates are all there. You see each other every day. I feel a connection to my swim team that I can't place anywhere else. I probably spend more time with them at the pool, or in the weight room, or just hanging out together, than I do with even my own family. So it really boils down to this: I could be the fastest swimmer in the pool, but if I only swam half the year--I'd miss one of the things I love most. I do win. I am one of the lucky ones. I had my last meet with my high school team last night. I've had a lot of trauma with that team over my four years. It's hard to explain the politics of it, but you do high school swimming to spend time with your friends, and compete for your school, but going to those practices isn't going to make you the faster swimmer. And yet you have an obligation to not just show up for the meets. It's a conflict of interest. Additionally, the amount of times that I have been screwed over by this team are hard to count. I think my favorite was Sophomore year, when my friend Lucy and I had both made the state cut in the 500, and our high school coach only had space to take one of us. So he told us to pick. We had to choose between ourselves to see who got to swim state. It was impossible. I guess I can't explain the stress that high school swimming has put on me, but ask any year-rounder; they'll tell you. When I finished my last swim of the night, I ran across the deck to find Michelle (also a senior; she knows the deal), and just started jumping up and down and hugging each other and yelling, I was so excited. I couldn't stop smiling. I feel so wonderful. And I spent the rest of the night partying with the swim team--maybe for them, it was a different kind of party, but I was celebrating something so wonderful that I was crying-- from happiness and release. It was amazing. some pictures from the swimming trip to Florida...
Mara Abbott's journal 21.jan.04 Today, it is snowing. I love the snow. It is just one more wonderful thing on top of all the wonderfullness of the last few weeks. First of all, I have my older brother, Nate, home until the 25th! He and I get along so well, and it's funny, but every time he goes back to college, I miss him more. I always thought that it was supposed to be the reverse of that. Apparently not. But having him home has been so wonderful. He and I went out to dinner together last night, to a restaurant in downtown Boulder called The Med. As the name would imply, it serves outstanding Mediterranean food! We ordered three different "tapas" (appetizers), including fried eggplant, goat cheese (which it is possible I did not appreciate to the fullest extent), red pepper hummus, pita bread, and regular bread with olive oil! Then we got paella for a main course-- a spiced rice dish-- mine came with fresh vegetables like mushrooms, peas, and peppers.... and for dinner we shared a tiramisu. I also got this Jasmine Iced Mint Green Tea. It's actually a bottled tea, made by the Republic of Tea company. It was the best thing that I have ever tasted. If you know where I can buy it, let me know!!! This is getting almost as bad as Tonya's Annie's plug, so I will have to move on. Just remember.... when you go to dinner in Boulder, where do you want to go??? the med.... THE MED....! The best part of this dinner was that I didn't have to pay... it was a gift to me from Nate for getting my college applications done! And the fact that they are done is just making my week! What a relief!! Now comes the fun part- in the next few weeks, I get to visit Washington, California and Minnesota!! What a list to look forward to! It's one of those days where everything is going right. And I get to swim outdoors in the snow tomorrow. Passing on the good vibes.... 12.24.03 I just got back from a trip to Florida with my swim team, and I can honestly say that it was one of the best meets of my life. I mean, to begin with, I'm missing four days of school, and I'm going to Florida in the middle of December with fourteen of the people who matter the most to me in the world to do something that we all love to do. Beat that. And then I swam really well. It was wonderful to have a week just to focus on my swimming, without thinking about school, or COLLEGE, or even biking. I haven't had a time to focus on my swimming since I started riding, not that it is a decision I have regretted, but every once in awhile it's nice to have just one focus in life. We arrived in Florida on Wednesday evening. Thursday was the one day that there was only one session of the meet, so naturally, Thursday morning was designated as a beach excursion. Here is something amazing. Despite my water affinity, I haven't been to the beach since sixth grade!! So it was fun to return. It's especially fun to go to the ocean with a group of people who can really swim! Just wonderful! That night, however, was the 1000÷ theoretically my 2nd best race, I swim distance freestyle, but this time, it was a really big disappointment. I've been in a bit of a slump with swimming in the last year, and just the hard hitting feeling of doing poorly in every race- you know that you have to stay positive, because everyone goes through these periods, but after awhile, it hurts just to think about it. I went an 11:37 in the 1000, and my best was an 11:42, but with a taper and going down to altitude, it really should have been a much bigger drop. With the altitude conversion, it wasn't even really a best time. I talked for awhile with my friend Michelle about it, and that's what I love about teammates. My coach, Grant, has been talking recently about how teammates should be the most important people in your lives, and it's true. They're the only ones who really understand the things that are closest to your heart. Although nothing can take away the sting of a bad swim, talking to Michelle was very cathartic (there was much crying involved). The next day was when it really started to turn around. I realized something I haven't in such a long time. You can't swim for a time. You have to swim for a perfect race, you have to swim to the best of your ability, you have to swim with your entire being. You can't focus on the result, because the result is just the end. You have to live the journey. And I made finals in the backstroke!! Michelle and I were actually seeded in lanes next to each other for the finals, so that made it even more exciting. Although I didn't go a best time that evening, my race was so much stronger than it has been in such a long time. I have really developed a mental block when it comes to the backstroke, so to break through that was intensely rewarding. These swim meets, basically, are an exercise in eating, sleeping and swimming. We would arrive at the morning session around 7, it would end at 11 or 12, we would then go out to lunch, and go back to the hotel and sleep until 3:30, when we had to go back to the pool for the evening session, which would end at 8 or 8:30. Another large meal would ensue. Saturday was a banner day- because I went a best time in my 500. I have not gone a best time in that event in two years. And through immediacy, through a focus on my stroke, it was easy! That was the funny part, because on the van ride back, Grant was showing me my splits, and trying to convince me that it really wasn't that great of a race (this was true, I negative-splitted it in a big way), I was just so excited to have had success with that race that I couldn't be dissuaded. It wasn't a great race, but in relation to the block I have had against it, it was a monumental accomplishment. And Sunday was the best day. My day. My race. Mile day. After waiting for FIVE hours and two rainstorms (at an outdoor meet in Florida? What?) I got to swim. Grant gave me a talk about how there is a big difference between being sort of prepared for a race and being truly prepared. I was truly prepared. I was seeded fastest in my heat. I just knew that I had to go out there and beat these girls- itās on paper, I'm faster than them, don't let appearances make you think that you're not. And I did it. I hit my pace. My stroke felt strong. During distance races, coaches will stand on the side of the pool and signal you about your pace, two arms up in the air with hands in fists means that you are right on. If they get really excited, they might pump their fists in the air, or jump up and down. Looking out quickly on a breath and seeing your coach like that on the deck is just the most exciting thing ever. And in the end- I won my heat, and dropped 17 seconds from my altitude converted time, 45 seconds from my original time (although that was done at 7200 ft). It was the perfect cap to the week. That night was wonderful too- just a bunch of stupid stuff really- Michelle and I stole Kenny's bag, I don't remember why, actually, and convinced him that we threw it out the window, and while he was rooting around in the bushes, we ran across the hall and hid it in his room and there was an epic pillow fight which involved busting out the bottoms of more than one hotel pillow. It was stupid but that's what made it fun- just an immense release from the stress of the meet. And the next day we went to the beach again, played a rather perilous game of beach football, and headed home. And now, here I am feeling so satisfied, happier than I've been in such a long time. A lot of people, since I've started biking, have asked me why I keep swimming. If I'm so much better at biking, what's the point? I had some conversations with Grant (a cyclist himself) about this, but hereās what it boils down to: First of all, the reason I'm good at biking is because of swimming- it gave me an aerobic base, and it taught me to compete. And more importantly, I love my team, I love practice every day, and I love the basic intimate level of the sport. I love the feeling in the water. It's unmatchable. So, for all of you who have been wondering that's why. I love it.
Common Application: Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you and describe that influence. (College entrance essay) "The coachee does acquire the facts, not from the coach but from within herself, stimulated by the coach" (John Whitmore). There will always be that stereotypical high school girl. Petty, with low esteem, they judge on appearances, marking everyone on a graduated scale, some are better, some are worse, all with regard to the emotional self-worth they allow themselves. Some people surreptitiously hope they don't really exist. But they must. I was one, though I refused to admit it, even to myself. Now, I have a new mantra, which I believe with all my soul. "I'm special". I am aware of my own brilliance, and that level of consciousness has allowed me to acknowledge the sheer beauty of others. This spiritual blossoming began the day that I met Tonya Laffey. Tonya is a pro mountain bike racer who I encountered by coincidence, and who offered to take me on her team. Although she was my "coach", we developed a relationship born of a similarity of spirit. We shared an iron will of excellence, we embodied an attitude of devotion to sport. As the winter grew on, taking note of my maniacal devotion to training, she began to make comments, little strings of words that burrowed into my everyday consciousness. "You know, I think that you should compete on a National level." "I honestly believe that you could make the worlds team this year." She believed that I could do it, even before I knew what "it" was. This summer, Tonya and I traveled together to compete in the NORBA National Series. The last race took place in Durango, Colorado, and it was here that I encountered an impeccable sense of place. I was at home, in my beloved Colorado mountains. I was overwhelmed by belonging. And I realized that not only did I belong in Colorado, but I belonged at the bike race. Lining up with the 22 other racers, a smile tickled my cheeks as I recalled the nightmares that had epitomized the weeks preceding my first race in California. As I walked around the expo that weekend, everywhere I turned, someone was calling my name, was congratulating me, was cheering me on. I had found my companions in life, my partners of soul. Tonya's devotion and support for me had brought me from a scared girl on a low-end Trek to an athlete who was ready to take on the final race of her junior career. I have never been prouder than when I stood on that second place podium. The fibers in my legs had thickened and intensified throughout the season, but my real strength had come from growing into myself. Now, when I walk into school, I feel uncompelled to be anyone but myself. I am a mountain bike racer, and that is all I need to know. Whatever talent I embody is irrelevant. It isn't about my results, it isn't a question of skills or even strength that I do or do not possess. It is only this: I am driven by passion. I am living on the edge. The best days are the days that I can hardly leave my bed for exhaustion. That's what makes me free. I am overcome by love for myself, love for each jagged scar on my elbows, my swollen knee and the road rash on my hip. My reluctance to admit the true perfection of others has dissipated. The divinity of the world is clear to me, and I am another luminous part of our burstingly brilliant humanity. Love and inspiration brought me here, firmly led by Tonya Laffey. 24 Hours of Moab journal 10.23.04 I wanted to be invincible. I spent this whole summer cultivating this aura of indestructibility. When I went out on my night lap, there was nothing that I wanted more than my mom. I felt out of control. I felt like I was on an edge where, mentally, it was all that I could do to hang on. I'm scared to admit, but I almost gave up before I had started. And when I finally got my confidence, dragged it out from whatever hole I had lost it in, my bike began to die. I should be more accurate than that. I fell, and messed up my limit screw. When I told my swim coach, Grant (a cyclist) about the incident, he gave me a very valuable piece of advice. "Your bike didn't just break, without regard to what you did. You fell. You shouldn't have done that." Its about holding yourself accountable. When you admit fault, you can fix it. Although, that wouldn't have helped me once I had crashed, and my chain proceeded to fly backwards, over the top of my rear cassette, and get lodged next to my wheel. Three times. Once, a guy stopped to help me. That struck me as so undeniably kind. I don't even know his name, I can't thank him. I can only send positivity his way. That undeniable generosity stuns me. I am in awe. It's interesting to realize that I chose to start this journal entry talking about the negative part, about what I could have improved. Because I was happy with my daytime laps. And I achieved success in them, both in the large picture, and in terms of small personal accomplishments. But it's a quest for perfection. You can't just look at the things you did well and be pleased. You have to look at what you could have improved. You learn something each time. My experience in Moab helped me to take accountability for myself. I had to be so aware of myself and what my body needed. I had to take care of myself as my first priority. My mind was so full of everything that was going on, I just had to hang on to my will for success. I had to remember what I was doing, and just let everything else happen. And goodbye to the world of junior racing!! That's it for me. Earlier this year, I was so distressed about my November birthday, and the fact that I even though, as I write this, I am STILL 17, I couldn't continue for a second year. But its time now. I'm so ready, so excited to take on a new challenge. I'm applying for college, soon I'll be competing against adults. I'm growing up. Its so scary. But so fun. I'm eager to encounter life. A fun Moab anecdote: "The Happy Hocky Family's Ride Home" We had just switched cars. Kiera and I were in one, a car that (disclaimer) neither of us had driven before. In the other car was the rest of the team and support folk. Kiera and I prepared for the task of staying awake by drinking excessively large amounts of caffinated soda at Qdoba. I don't drink soda. EVER, really. I don't drink coffee. Long story short-- I'm not particularly tolerant of caffiene. It did the job. I had energy. As we pulled out of the parking lot, we saw Shaina motioning to us to turn on the lights, only we couldnt figure out how, and Peter took off. After finally pulling the correct lever, we headed off onto the highway, going quickly to catch our companions. We sped by them, pulled off at an exit. They did not notice. We slowed down. We were going 25 on a highway. We had to pull over to wait. After looking for the hazard light, and finding it to be hidden, we turned on our turn signal, and sat back, Kiera giving some poignant advice: "lean back in your seat, so if someone hits us, you won't hit the dashboard". We laughed throughout the whole thing, turned on the Outkast (my music choices generally get outvoted in this group, so this was both significant and exciting), and waited. Finally, an SUV with bikes on the back streaks by. We take off. We are going faster and faster and are about to catch them when... the check engine light comes on. It is decided that since neither of us know this car, we need to exit, and we'll call our companions from a gas station or something. BUT-- the next exit is not a town, it is a scary rest stop, complete with "you are in bear country" signs, and a shifty looking man standing outside of the bathrooms. BUT there is a pay phone. After calling Kiera's mother via her 800 number (since NEITHER of us has any change) we sit in the car with the doors locked, in gear, pointed directly out of the parking lot, just in case, to wait for the owners of this car. We hear wierd distant banging noises. We turn off the music. We laugh. Nervously. Finally, a car comes down the road. After a moment of panicked screaming, we begin to laugh loudly, realizing it is our travelling buddies. Smiling, we roll down the window. They are not laughing. They are not smiling. They inform us that whenever the car goes above 50, the light comes on. They did NOT inform us of this before, it is admitted by all. They are still not amused, we think it is hysterical. After some backtracking, we are back on course, headed home, towards Boulder. 8.20.03 Durango was such an exciting race for me. The perfect culmination to this just amazing summer. When I think about it, as I was doing it each race these past few months, it didn't seem that wonderful. But in retrospect? I look back and it's so damn cool. I can't believe that it is over. This race was just so wonderful because it really cemented my sense of belonging. There were 21 girls in my race, and as I looked around, I could see those girls who felt uncomfortable, and out of place, just like I did in Big Bear. And yet, I felt a sense of complacency, and that I knew what was going on. And the course was perfect. I loved it. I couldn't have imagined a better course. As I think now about what I would like to ride, I would like to just go up and ride that course for fun. And it would be fun. As my skills have improved, downhilling has become fun to me. I have acquired the ability to play on my bike. I think that the worst moments of a race are the ones right before the start. It's this gnawing emotional anxiety that usurps anything that you can actually experience. Here is my favorite quote EVER, which explains this perfectly: "Tell yourself that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with eternity." -Paul Coelho But once I started this race, I wasn't nervous. I felt that I was in control. This is a new revelation that comes as I write this journal entry. I have been trying to put my finger on what was different about this race. And that's it. Once I started, I released all of that negative, nervous energy. Like in Vermont, I was so scared, and I raced so badly. There is this distinct coralation between how nervous I am and how I race. It goes back to the mental aspect. Not only it is a mental toughness required to succeed, it is a mental control. What a triumph. To know that I have gained mental control over my racing. The race was amazing. It was perfect. I had a fabulous time. It exemplified this stunning, beautiful, off-the-wall summer. After my cross country race, I was so elated that I just had to try and do the Durango Mtb 100. See, I have this problem, about challenges. It doesn' t even have to be a challenge, really. All it takes is for some unaware individual to plant the seed in my head, and then I think, maybe I'll do that. and it turns into, I want to do that, and then, I'm going to do it! And then, just TRY and stop me. And then it's too late. That's how this whole idea got started. I'm not sure how to view this race, now that it is over. It's too big of a thing to write one journal entry on. I have so many conflicted emotions over it even now. I broke my hydraulic line, so I was riding against my brake for about ten miles. And then they cut the race off early because of a thunderstorm. So it was good that they cut it off, right? Because I'm too stubborn to admit defeat, and I would have ridden the course the same way I had ridden the last section, wondering helplessly what on earth had happened to me, and where all of my strength had gone. But when I looked at the final results, and saw that the other to women had finished right together, it gives me this prickle inside, because for the entire race, I was WITH them, in between them. I was there. And maybe I could have been there at the finish. I'll never know. That's what makes it so infuriating. But I'm glad that I tried. It was my last hurrah of the summer. It was just what I needed. Tonya's making me take a week off the bike, a wise idea, I know, but this race makes me feel I earned it. In a big way. In fact, today, Wednesday, is the first time I haven't felt like I'd been run over by a bus. It was funny, at the beginning of the race, everyone was quiet and concentrated. There was no conversation. But by the time we were four hours or so into it, everyone had realized that this wasn't a race that you could do alone. You needed each person who was with you to support you. It isn't just a physical test, it's emotional. That's why I love it. I think life is the same way too-don't you ever just wish everyone would realize that they need the people around them? That you can't get through life alone? In fact, the two guys that I rode the majority of the second lap with helped me so much. Just to have people near me made a huge difference. Just to have someone to laugh with as we went into the bog section-and to try to outrun the lightning storm when is came upon us inopportunely on a skree slope. Maybe I'll try to write more later, try to catalogue all of this. But right now, I can't. It's too big. It's hard to break it down. I have so many emotions surrounding it, I just am not sure where to turn. But I went until I couldn't go any longer. That's what I love to do. Why? Good question. Please, let me know if you figure it out. 8.11.03 Idaho Well, I raced today. And it wasn't fabulous or anything, but I was pretty pleased. I knew that if I wanted to do well, I would have to really take it out on the first climb. And I ended up first at the end of the climb, by an actually considerable amount. And even though I was passed shortly after the singletrack started, it was a pretty good feeling. On the second lap, I fell going around a switchback, and my number got ripped off. So I threw it at the nearest course marshall. Logical. But then when I came by the spot where they were standing, they asked if I was still in the race. Augh! Then the people at the finish tried to make me remember my number, and I was just like, umm... Who remembers their number? And who especially remembers their number? And who especially remembers their number at the end of a race like that? I honestly feel like that was the hardest I have ever been tried in a mountain bike race. Because here's the scene. Coming into the finish, there's a hill, where the feed zone is, then a short loop, then the end. Coming up that last hill, I hurt so badly I honestly thought there was no way in hell I would make it to the top. And then I saw the girl in front of me, and I realized how close she was, and I just put it into altogether another gear. Whee! I lost all concept of sensation. It just came as a root instinct to catch her. Someone once told me that racing is a societal invention, and that it therefore isn't an inherent facet of human nature. But I disagree, for if, when racing, I have that much of a desire to catch the person in front of me that it can transcend the feeling of pain and exhaustion, well, then, it must be something my body understands pretty well. Durango Bike Camp I was lucky enough to get to go to the National Development Camp in Durango, Colorado several weeks ago. First off, I have to thank the wonderful people a tUSA Cycling Development Foundation. They helped me finacially so that I was able to go, and I am immensely grateful. So check out their website at usacdf.org. There's actually some pretty cool stuff on there, so go! You know you want to. Being at this camp helped me to realize how lucky I am, because as I talked to kids who were far more talented and deserving of help than I was, and seeing how they were supported in their writing made me want to consider what I did to deserve the situation that I am in. I really am one of the luckiest people on earth. And to have Tonya as a coach makes me even luckier, because as they talked in our seminars, I realized the absolute veracity of so much that she has to say. If you ever get a chance to talk to that chick about biking, LISTEN TO HER. She is a freakin genius. Another thing that it made me realize was the severity of the pro world of mountain biking. There's so much you have to give up. And it scared me to hear that, because it feels like a limitation of life. And to me, that may be something that I am never willing to accept. Finally, guess who I got to meet? Many people, but perhaps most excitingly... Bob Roll! He even cheered for me during our short track race. hee hee. 7.7.03 Firecracker 50 The firecracker race was really a lot of fun for me. I was going into it with an attitude of: alright, let's see what I can do, because I had never done anything like it before. And I really did enjoy it. I felt camaraderie in between all of the recers, becasue it was a situation where everyone knows what you are doing is hard-- they're doing it too! It's like that old quote about remembering that everyone else is hurting just as much as you are. Do you know how many times I reminded myself of that during this race? Can I count that high? Not right now, at least, I'm still recovering a bit. And also, you get those rare experiences, like the rapture of the best orange slice I have ever tasted, or the stick you determinedly swerve to avoid because after 40 miles of racing, it sure looked a lot like a giant snail. (A giant snail? is there even such a thing? I don't know. I sure thought there was.) As I'm writing this, and trying to order the emotions and experiences, I'm realizing something. As I went throught the feed stations and people yelled out, "Hey Purple! What do you want?" I was so grateful just to get a bottle of water. Or to see anyone cheering. It made me grateful for the things that seemed commonplace, for the things that I should really be grateful for anyway, but that it's too easy to forget. For the first time, this race, my downhills felt compotent. That's not to say that they were perfect, but I felt like I wasn't losing these insane amounts of time either. There was a group of guys that I rode with for most of the second lap, who would pass me on the downhill, and then I would catch them on the uphill--"See you on the next hill!" How fun to have people supporting each other rather than just riding in the same place at the same time, everyone lost in their own adrenaline cloud. I've noticed something funny in the way that I climb hills. A lot of people talk about how much fun going downhill is, but for me, when I'm going up, and feeling good, there's a sense of invincibility in what I'm doing. I feel so strong, and there's a high in each pedal stroke as I go up, up, up. Everything in my body works together, that's part of it, that's also part of the reason I love swimming. There's just something about feeling strong, and capable and continually striving up. Maybe I'm crazy. But which way do you go to get closer to heaven? Beat that. Mara's East Coast jounrals 6.26.03 WEST VIRGINIA: Today's race was different. And I'm not sure how to write it. When I write, I have this philosophical style, this style which sets the words apart from the experience. And the way my words come out won't fit the experience that I had today. First off, I missed my start. I thought that the race started at 10:30, it started at 10:00. I got down to the start line, purely by coincidence, about three minutes after the start. For the first lap, I wasn't sure if the water on my face was rain, sweat, or tears. And I thought that I might be crying, but I was just so freaked that I couldn't tell. It was scary, knowing that I'd missed something like that, that was irreplaceable. But by the time I'd made it up to the Start/Finish line, I'd passed two girls. That gave me confidence, because up until then, I was racing against ghosts. There were all of these people out there, and I was supposed to be racing them, but I had never seen them. And each time that I asked a spectator, "I missed the start-how far back am I?" And the time would be shorter-3 minutes, 2 minutes, maybe a minute and a half?, but it was still and intangible measure of my progress. But here is what I can say: If you get a chance to ride in the mud, do it. Because coming down those hills with blatant disregard for this societal convention of cleanliness offers freedom. It's a child-like affinity for mud, for being dirty, and it's a wild choice you can make; that you can fly down a hill laughing and grinning and wind up with dirt in your teeth. It cleans out your insides. It's magical. It's just the most damn fun thing I've ever done. So do it. (editors note: As the trip progressed, one might say that this love of mud decreased considerably. Maybe do it once. But don't do it for two weeks in a row.) VERMONT: My cross country race was a little sub-par. And to be honest, I think it was largely mental. Or maybe entirely mental. The course was arranged in two loops, a little and a big one, and at the end of the first loop, I was just hating it. I did get better as I went through the race, and I did have one breakthrough moment: Lots of people talk about finding a rhythm, or a flow of a ride. And I have always just been like, yeah, whatever. Because to me, the sport is so new that the reflexes are just beginning to stick. A big rock still sometimes means front brake!, rather than just "let it roll ". But when I was coming down the back of the course, I caught the rhythm. It's like when you first start to ride a two-wheeler, and you want to yell, Hey Mom! Look at me! I'm doing it! There is a life and a sensation to catching the beat of something outside yourself. This writing is getting pretty thick, but really, it was just awesome. But the rest of the course-I don't know. The was just something lacking. And I think it's something manifested upon myself. Because I was freaked on Wednesday when I pre-rode the course, and I never really managed to shake that feeling. The mistakes I made were stupid-it's easy stuff I could have avoided. But I didn't. And that's OK. My head just wasn't in it that day. Short track, though, was a different story. I went into it with an attitude of whatever. I mean, I had never done it before, so there was really no stigma, and I just wanted to have fun, especially after yesterday. There was only one other junior girl there, and she had won the cross country yesterday, so I just decided I would go and see what would happen. And I had a slow start. Does this sound familiar? Because it should. Coming around the first lap, I was in last place. Thumbs down. And to make it even more fun, as I rounded the corner, there was Tonya, having come out before her cross country race to cheer me on. Oops. But as the race went on, I was able to pull myself back up, person by person, until finally, I came I round to where Tonya was, and she yelled to be that I was in 6th. What a shock! That's certainly not where I expected to be. And I still passed people, eventually ending up third. Crazy. It felt so good-to go into a race with no expectations, no worries about this girl, or that girl, just to go into it and say okay, and then to do so well! It felt really, really good. The best part of the course was this slightly uphill straightaway as I came through the start/finish line. When you rounded that corner, you could just lay on the pedals and crank it, and feel yourself fly, getting this massive rush of adrenaline as you pulled on all of your strength and go this flight of speed as a reward! My one wish has always been to be able to fly, and the feeling, coursing wave of speed as I slammed through that section was pretty damn close. Mara's Iron horse journal, 27.may.03 Well, another one down. After Big Bear, all week long, I just felt ready to race. My previous two races, I have just had this absolute feeling of fear before the race. And this time, all that I wanted to do was be out there. It just felt like it was time. This time around, I also had another new experience in the psychology of racing. After the first big hill, and then for a long time on another uphill, I was in the lead of all the sport and junior x women! There's no one in front of you, and you cant see behind you, so you're kind-of out there on your own, and it makes it more difficult to muster up the courage and inner strength neccessary to make yourself go. However, in the long run, an inner well of power is the most valuable resource possible. When it comes down to it, your inner strength, not outer influences of competition, are what will create your success. Today, coming down the last downhill, I had one of those biking epiphanies. I thought about everything and everyone who had made me feel tied down, emotionally, recently, and I felt a wild disregard for it all, a feeling that IT DIDN'T MATTER. What a freeing feeling, to know that I was in possession of my own life, and the control that I had over myself and my motion was the same control that I can have over whatever is controlling me externally. It's the same in the sense of making a decision: Do these factors act upon me, of do they act with me? My call. It's one of my favorite questions to ask myself--I feel like it can apply it to anything I experience, and that making the conscious choice to act with the external forces, I consciously choose my own happiness. Have you ever loved something so much that you want to base your entire existence off of it? This weekend, I began to feel that way about biking. I look at what I eat, and I think about that in terms of biking. I think about when I sleep and what I do with my free time. It isn't an obligation to the sport, not a feeling that I should be doing something, but it is a pure desire and sense of focus, that this sort of a focal point is what I want. It makes me happy, and it just feels right. It makes me feel so lucky, because-- to how many people does that happen? I feel so blessed. Mara's Big Bear Journal, 19.may.03 Yesterday was the race! I can't believe that I finally did it. It was unreal. I was so scared beforehand, not scared of the race, exactly, and not scared of the uphill, assuredly, but I was so scared of the downhill. Because, largely, of a certain 'bush incident'' that occured when I was pre-riding. Maybe because I was on Tonya's bike, and it was different, maybe because I wasn't focused entirely, maybe, well, why does anyone ever crash? But crash I did, into a pricker bush, that left me with a stick in my arm, a broken saddle-- it was all crooked--so funny! And a bunch of nervous thoughts, scrambling around in my brain. I couldn't work up the inner confidence to let myselt know that I could do it. The start line was no more inspiring, because as I sat there and waited, more and more girls kept showing up! In the end, there were twelve. And I had been expecting seven, or eight. And as we sat at the start line, all of the people kept cheering, and pounding on the barriers. Making this slapping slapping slapping noise, and everyone else seemed to think that it was a good idea, and so this slap slap slapslapslapslap was getting louder and louder, and I just wanted to stay stop it! but then we started. Safe start. That's the way I do it. I was behind most of the girls, but what was so interesting, was that as we started to climb, the passing came almost effortlessly. It almost scared me at first, because I didn't expect it to come that naturally. It's taken awhile for biking to feel natural, but this was the beginning. Everything felt even and measured. I felt good, and when I passed people, their breathing was much quicker and harsher than mine. I guess this is how everyone else feels on the downhill! But for once, to feel like I was in control, and succeeding... it felt elating! Its funny, all the details that you notice, and don't notice, when you're racing. I remember, lucidly, each of the signs "Energy Wrapper Disposal Ahead"--there were three of them--and the worn-out sign marking the downhill "dickies". But I never once noticed the heat. Someone at the start line said that it was 83 degrees-- and at the time, that scared me. But as hard as I climbed, I didn't notice anything but that climb, and the other select details that my mind decided I could take.
After the race, this man, the father of one of the other racers, came up to me, and, as if it was an assumed recognizable detail, informed me that he was the man at the top of the hill ringing the bell. As if that was supposed to be significant to me. Unless he was the guy yelling "You're in third! But the girl behind you--she's gonna want you!" --that being when the hill was over, so thanks. As I started the downhill, I started to think about how I have felt that downhill is a "handicap" for me. But then I realized that it isn't about handicaps. Its about strengths, and weaknesses. Uphill is my strength, but that doesn't mean that I should feel "put upon" in some way, and get frustrated and feeling angry about my performance on downhill. And a weakness is different than a handicap. Weaknesses can be improved upon. And that is what I intend to do! The moment I was waiting for the entire course was the road at the end of the downhill. That's safety. In a way, it was like the end of our marathon on Outward Bound. As the culmination of our 30-day course, we had to run 20-some odd miles over Handie's and then down a dirt road. We were told that when you hit the paved road, you only have one mile left until you reach the base camp. The same is true here. Once you hit that paved road, you know that it is time to fly. I was blessed to have a real race right there at the end. Of course, its also where I made my only real big mistake. But then, if I only made one big strategic mistake, I did pretty well. When I came through the finish line, and saw how excited Tonya was, I knew that I did pretty well. Her excitement means m ore to me, because she knows what the course is, and what to expect from me. And she was happy. And then, a little while later, when you've started to recover, and you're spinning down, and you can look back on your race and be satisfied? That's a feeling I want to live forever.
Read Mara's journal about the NOVA Desert Classic experience!! These are journal entries that I have written for myself. I feel like they are the best representation of the true experience for me. But when you read it- this wasn't written to make an impression or create and image. Its just to read, and hopefully enjoy. PART ONE (In from Boulder): This has been such a hard three days. It snowed and snowed, and I couldn't leave Boulder. The entire time, there was a panic rising in my chest, and on Monday night, I turned to Mom and said, can't we leave now? I just felt this doom coming, and I knew that we had to go then or we wouldn't make it. I couldn't even write in my journal then, because I would get to bed at night, and I would lay there, so exhausted, because there was this giant emotional well in me, and it was being drained. I couldn't keep my eyes open, I'm hitting the bed at 9:00, and I'm OUT. Daddy took me up skiing in Chautauqua, and even though I had purple special on, I just couldn't stick, because the snow was so wet. And Daddy went ahead, and I just stood there in the snow, my beautiful crystal snow, and I started sobbing. I was wet and tired, but normally, that would be the fire at my heels, spurring me on, because, like snow, I have a great affinity towards adversity. And I cried, because there was nothing that I could do. And everyone told me that I should be grateful... But grateful wasnÕt on my top ten list. And they told me to be careful, have fun, don't worry, its just practice- but its not, not to me. It's a race. And when you race, you put your heart into it. Racing consumes every fiber of your being, and that's why I love it. If it doesn't take everything you have, its not a race... and if its not a race- where did my eighty dollars and twenty-eight cents go? Maybe that's too intense, but I am intense, and maybe that makes me crazy, but I am crazy, and its all just in my love, my passion, for this crazy, intense thing called life. And this is more than a race. To me. Not to everyone. Tonya says that I shouldn't base anything on this race- it's a learning experince- no. I can't do that. I've been riding this roller coaster these last few months, because somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that I cant swim and bike. I think there is a balance. But... it feels like this should be my proving ground. I'm saying, OK Mara, what have you got? And my mind tells me that's silly, but I donÕt let go of attachments easily. I had a wonderful conversation about it with Nate. He has this uncanny way of articulating my emotions, and telling me what I need to do... The stuff I already know that I need to dom but that I keep smushed away in some corner of my mind. And even though I had that divine release in talking to him, I still felt like I do every time I'm late for a swim meet. But that only lasts for a few hours, and this had been three days. PART TWO: time trial I've felt like my body let me down. I've had my mind shut off and make me not drive my stroke out in front, not pull down the mid-line, and not hit that split under a 34.5, even though I know that I can do it. But this time, it was something else that failed me. And it was my skill. But even when I said that to Tonya, and even when I said it to Momma, it doesnÕt fit, like when youÕre trying to write a paper, and you can't find the right word. Skills is inanimate, it isn't a part of ME. And as I sit here, it increasingly becomes that I failed myself. Maybe it was an omen that I fell off the starting block. But every single little mistake is etched in my memory. There are the funny ones, like my sock getting stuck in the chain ring, but overall, my lack of technical skills is maddening. This is coming off my pen negatively, that's not what I want ,not the attitude I want to form for tomorrow, or the memory for next year. I get a freedom from biking that I think is what attracts me to it. There's something about it when youÕre going too damn fast for your own good, and yet you shift up. It captures my heart, and for that, today was wonderful. There's a learning curve, and its damn steep. But once I was back, and just riding around the parking lot, I was so happy. That was where I wanted to be. I had no sense of longing, the feeling of immediacy was illuminating. Its some positive surge that comes up, like some chemical reaction of necessity, my positivity is my Sesame Street band-aid. Its not always there, but it kicks in when I need it to save myself. Now the harder stuff. Its hard for me to realize that the fine aspects of this sport have to be my focus- that's tough. I have this feeling that whatever I do, I can just put my head down and push it, and I have the emotional and physical stamina to conqer what I have to do. But in this case, that's simply not true. Pushing myself to the breaking point each day, and just training as hard as is humanly possible won't cut it here. When I swim, I know myself. I know what I have to do, and now, I'm so out of my element. But IÕll grow... assuredly. I have to stop my mind, rewind, turn down the volume on my inner monologue and learn it. Its so funny when you fail your lungs- but they keep me alive, I owe them one. I'm entering that ironcast state of mind. I'm ready to do it. It's my band-aid. I'll grow. Up and out. Like- a flower... PART III: short track Today was wonderful. I got third in the short track. How exciting! I finally gelt like I knew what I was doing. There is a great sense of control. I was out there, passing people, all me! Yesterday I was just full of this sinking feeling and it builds. But today was elating. Here was the best part. I just bought an ohm symbol necklace at the Old Tibet store on Pearl Street. I was thinking about it as I started my third lap. Even though there are millions, my favorite definition of ohm is "the heartbeat of the universe". I thought about that, and thought about riding with the heartbeat of the universe. It sounds hokey, but itās so powerful. Just imagining a heartbeat of the universe is amazing. *wow!* Its something to think about. what is my personal heartbeat of the universe? After the race, I ran into the girl, Rebekah, who got fourth, and she asked how long I had been racing. "Ummmm. since yesterday?" Later, I heard her talking to a friend, and I heard a distinct "Shut up! Iām going to beat her tomorrow!" Hee hee. Despite it all, it was a fun thing to hear. And even she was so kind to me- I ran into her later, and she gave me advice on passing. How many people give advice to their competitors? It was so inspiring. I went to pre-ride my cross country loop, and there was this big drop, and I couldn't do it. Not physically, couldn't do it, but I had this great mental wall, and I was so afraid to take the first swing at that wall. And I just kept freaking out. At first it was just me and Tonya, but then a bunch of guys came up and started giving me advice, which was wonderful, because having an abundance of different perspectives on the situation was enlightening. But then, they stuck around, and witnessed each horrible time that I biked up and my courage failed me-an assuredly traumatizing experience. At the end of the course, there was a neat row of flags separating off the short track course. Since the Junior X men were racing, I had to stop under the stinging sun and wait. A group of people that were from San Diego encountered the same impasse and waited with me. They were so wonderful, it was this fabulous group of adults, and I love hanging out with adults, not all of the time, but every once in awhile, its so, refreshing. Its easy to get so consumed in my everyday world and contacts and stimulants. Experiencing something so kind and comfortable outside of your own blinders is simply.. relaxing. No other word for it. Relaxing in a soulful, emotional sense. PART IV: Cross Country Today was a tough one. This morning I was petrified. Petrified isn't a word that I use very often, but in this instance, I meant it. I was just so scared. Ask me now-I'm not really sure what I was scared of-maybe just that it would be too hard-and while physically, you can often astound yourself, mentally, that I wouldn't hold up. The race itself was an experience. When seconds matter so much, you realize exactly what your strengths and weaknesses are. I don't go fast well. Those sections with the banked turns really got me. The big hill- the big hill and I got along fine. If there was a race that was all uphill, well, then I would be set. The back of the big hill, well, that's where I crashed. I was in third place, in front of a girl who swore she'd beat me, and I just felt so good. I felt like I was doing something right. And then something went wrong, I and went down, on my face, and after I had somehow gotten myself back onto my bike, after I fixed the front brake, the fall had ripped the brake out- it still wasn't right, because my back brake was stuck, and I didn't know it then, but it was stuck on. And while I was trying to battle my way through those last two miles, she caught me. Its so frustrating, to lose because of something like that. To know that if I had been a little more careful on that turn, I would have been fine. That's a hard truth to deal with. And also, to know that when I was out there, I did my best- with whatever circumstances I was given. It just sucks, cut and dry. Its scary what adrenaline does to you. When I came through the finish, my legs were shaking, and I just didn't breathe right anymore, and its not that I didn't understand what was going on around me, I just couldn't figure out how to care. When I came out of their little chute, they had a basket to put your transponder chip into, and I just went by and figured that I'd do that later. Troy came and took my bike, and I just stumbled off. I didn't even realize until about an hour ago that I didn't see my bike again. It just didn't occur to me. There's that saying about insults rolling off your back like duck's feathers. Well, when you're feeling like that, life rolls off of your back. I suppose the scariest part is that I wasn't really hurt. My face and hip are bruised up, and the cuts on my legs and arm made for tight photos in the first aid tent, but really? I'm perfectly fine. It was just too much for my mind. Too much focus, too shaken up, too let down, too disappointed, too elated, too too too, too much. That I didn't feel anything until I crossed the finish line is astounding. I love my mind and my spirit, because they allow me to do things like that. How damn cool.
read mara's thoughts about her first cyclocross race: mara's journal Several inches of snow seems a funny way to start something that you love, but considering the affinity that I feel towards snow, maybe it's just a perfect manifestation. Everyone that I have come into contact with since I started biking-- all the people in this new biking world-- they have been so wonderful. This morning was really no exception. Especially with Tonya-- she really seemed to care about me in a way that I have never experienced with a coach figure before. Something that I love about racing junior is that you get to race against guys too-- and when (well, if) you pass one, its just twice as exciting. Ha ha! Very empowering. I think I may have liked the race better because of the inclement weather. I have always had a weird side of me that enjoys that moment when you think you might just die, whether it is from cold, or maybe the fact that your muscles could just explode and it wouldn't surprise you they hurt so much, or whatever you have run across. In that instant, you have reached a limit. And next time, it will take a little longer to get there. And what's more-- you never feel so alive. Your are truly actually living that moment, your body, your mind, your spirit, all of your being is just... alive! and full to bursting, and no matter how much you want to stop, you just have to think of that guy still asleep at home, and laugh at him, because, how often does a morning in bed make an impact on your entire life? That's the only way I can describe this morning. And how blessed am I? I may just get to do it again next week. And everything else besides-- how could I complain? I only fell down twice!- Mara Abbott
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