I went mountain biking for the first time ever yesterday. I knew going into it that it was going to go one of two ways. Bad. Or worse.
You see, I don't bike. Sure, I drive the Cycle Pub. But I haven't owned a bike since I got to pick out my Sweet Sixteen road bike from Toys-R-Us over 20 years ago. That's no lie, y'all. In fact, I've ridden a bike only a handful of times in the past decade (or longer). After watching my sister take a nasty fall years and years ago, I put away that road bike and never wanted anything to do with bikes again for fear that I too would end up face-planting on the sidewalk, or worse.
A week ago I worked up enough courage to take one of the bikes on loan to me during this gypsy living to make a couple of quick trips around town. I managed not to kill myself or get hit by any vehicles, and I thought it was a success. Somehow all it took were those quick trips to give me the confidence to say "Yes" when a friend suggested we go on a 13 mile mountain bike ride. Crazy, right?
So you see there wasn't a lot of high hopes for the ride. Others spoke their doubt about my ability to survive such a ride. But my motto in life is you've gotta try everything (almost everything) at least once. (I'm not robbing a bank or doing anything illegal or unsafe.) You see, if I'd said no to mountain biking, I might not have learned that I can do it.
The bike ride went far better than expected. Y'all it might just be my hidden talent. Here I am feeling pretty good at the end of the ride:
Have you tried something new that perhaps you thought you'd never do? I once said I'd never become a cheerleader, but then I did, and that's a story for another day.