Take My Advice

“Look where you want the bike to go.” This is probably the most commonly given mountain biking advice out there. So, why is it so hard to do?

Corners, what a mind fuck. I'm entering a turn and looking at the apex, then all of a sudden I'm in the apex and staring straight down – or more likely at a trail-side cactus that's calling to me like a desert siren. I have vowed to stop this compulsion, but it's easier said than done. It's not just corners for me; hill climbs also like to play games with my head. Motivation turns to frustration as my eyes slowly shift from 20 feet ahead to two. My eyes focus on the trail surface and within seconds I'm obsessing over rear wheel traction and front wheel tracking. I'm zigging and zagging back and forth and somehow manage to hit every rock on the trail.

One of the mini climbs at Papago Park in Tempe, AZ

Today was hill repeat day, and I paused at the bottom of the climb to reaffirm my game plan – look ahead. I dropped down into my easiest gear and started pedaling, with my gaze fixed on a spot about 15 feet ahead of me. I slowly crept up the hill, spinning and staring, spinning and staring. A few times I caught myself starting to look down at my front tire and quickly picked my head back up. It was a strange feeling, everything in my peripheral vision became blurred and I locked my eyes on the crest of the climb. The bike was doing all of the work, I was just turning the pedals. Did I discover some sort of secret? Thinking this must have been a fluke or an out of body episode, I circled back around to the bottom of the hill. Again, I kept my focus and ascending felt like floating. I reached the top, in awe of how much my perceived effort of that climb had changed. I used the same bike, same gear and same cadence that I use every week, but my experience was totally different. Usually I stop to catch my breath, then look down at the beast I just slayed, and pedal off with a smirk. Sometimes, I sit down and try to calm my seemingly uncontrollable breathing. Today, I just kept pedaling.

Corners – you're next.

"I Hate Climbing", and Other Excuses of A Mountain Biker

“Sorry.”, I said as my foot slipped off the pedal during a small hill climb. And again as I slowed to a halt on a switchback corner, “Sorry”. If you have ever been behind me on a group ride, chances are you've heard me say this word many times. I say it instinctively, as if to shield myself from criticism or condemnation, to ward off the attack that never comes. Newsflash: the person riding behind you probably doesn't care that you currently suck at climbing/descending/cornering. My husband, Jason, used to ride behind me on climbs; listening to my constant apologies really bothered him. Not because I was slow or had to stop a few times, but because I felt the need to keep telling him I was sorry. I believe, “Dude, I don't care.” was his exact sentiment. Now, he goes ahead on the climbs to avoid my self-defeating hill climb monologues. I still lead on the descents, which are my strength, but my mind is fixated on those sections of trail where I come undone. I'm tired of sucking at climbing, and also tired of invariably announcing it. 

Target Acquired

So, I've decided to take action; I am on a mission to turn myself into a great climber. The first step was figuring out why I hate climbing so much. The answer - because I suck at it. Why is that? Because I avoid it at all costs, in my head I have made hills out to be some unconquerable behemoth, something to never face. The second step – removing my clipless pedals from my bike and switching back to flats. Don't worry, I'm not moving over to the Flats or Die camp (yet), but clipless pedals were not helping me learn to climb. Any time I would slow down or approach a technical section, my right foot would unclip and be on the ground without me even realizing it – another bad habit. Going back to flat pedals is like learning to mountain bike all over again, the right way, relying on body position and smooth pedal stroke.

Taking a Break and Enjoying the View

Step 3 – hill repeats, several times per week at a small park. The hills are short and rocky and perfect for a short training session after work. If my foot hits the ground during a climb, I start all over again at the bottom. While challenging, and often frustrating, this has actually started to be fun. One day, I realized at the end of an hour and a half of riding that my bank card fell out of my pack somewhere on the trails. I retraced my entire ride trying to find it, and I made it up every climb on the first try. I thought, “Why can't I ride like this all of the time?”. It turns out, I can. I just have to focus on the crest of the climb, and not all of the rocks, which are just distractions along the way. So, what am I so sorry for? Sorry for showing up, trying my hardest, testing my limits, or facing my fears? These are not things to be sorry for; these are things to be celebrated. 

Yes, this is me smiling AFTER a climb!

I had a great opportunity to take a skills clinic with Kat Sweet in January. Check out my review of the class on Dirty Jane

Practice Makes Progress

That's right folks, we've been duped. Progress, not perfection, is what you get from hard work. And if you're new to something - you're most likely going to suck. Like a lot. But that's okay. Every person you see tearing it up on the trails or at the bike park also sucked at one point. Practice makes you better. Practice makes you faster. Practice makes you stronger. (Daft Punk knows what's up, why mess with a good thing?) Sure- you can buy a "better" bike, lighter parts - the list goes on. A new bike isn't going to make you suck less. I'm not saying it won't make a difference at all - it totally can. But before you run out and spend a ton of money on shit you don't even know if you  need yet, you should probably just ride your bike. Like a lot.

Putting in some work at the Desert Trails Bike Park in Mesa, AZ.

Blisters got you down? Ride more - get calluses.

What Cities Need

My new favorite place. Desert Trails Bike Park. Pump track, skills area, three flow/jump lines – even a toddler pump track. This is what cities need – kids on bikes. Opening weekend the park was packed. Not a single parking space available. Several weeks later, it's Wednesday afternoon around 4PM. Only a few cars are in the parking lot. A dad is teaching his son how to ride a bike, a few guys are practicing on the expert line. My heart sank a little. “Please don't let this place die”, I thought to myself.

I rode a few warm up laps on the beginner trail before heading up to the intermediate line. A few more cars pull into the park. My husband, who just finished running a few laps of the multi-use trail that runs around the park, gets some video of me practicing. I'm on the intermediate start hill, watching a typical breathtaking Arizona sunset when I notice.

Moms are shouting “pedal, pedal!” to their toddlers in the skills area; a dad, “hit the brakes – harder!”. The pump track is bustling with 6-10 year olds falling and getting back up. A child no older than 5 is bragging to a group of adults about a crazy crash he had last week. Pre-teens are riding in from the surrounding neighborhoods. It's Wednesday afternoon around 5:45PM and the parking lot is jammed. This is what cities need – kids on bikes.

Building Habits

At the beginning of December, I set some goals for myself for the 2015 season. But it's so hard to work toward a goal without an actual game plan, so I made one of those too. Writing it down made it real. Putting it on the refrigerator so I would see it everyday made it scary. So, I'm tackling this monster one month at a time. In December, I drank at least 8 glasses of water per day, averaged over 8 hours of sleep per night, did yoga/stretching at least 4x per week and did a 1 minute plank almost every day. I did not get to the bike park once a week. I did not do bike sprints even once. Lesson learned – I put too much shit on my “to do” list. Making goals is frightening, sharing them with other people makes me want to throw up. Too much vulnerability. But you know what? It's January, and I'm going to the bike park today.

Dawn to Dusk Mountain Bike Race Report

This is the desert. Trails are usually dusty and packed down like concrete or loose like a pool of quicksand. But not today, not this day. Rain is here, and it's fucking awesome. The start line is a sea of cheap waterproof shells, some people are wearing plastic bags. I am one of the few people with a hooded jacket - when a small crowd notices, jealousy ensues. The sun is rising, though you can't really tell because the sky is hazy and grey.

The promoter announces that the 15+ mile lap loop has been altered to a high water route, which skips the rocky descent and replaces it with smooth rollers. I am on a 4 person team and am the first to ride – the lap starts on pavement for a 2 mile uphill climb before turning right onto the trail. Shit. I hate climbing, even more so on the road. I start out at the middle of the pack, but I don't stay there for long. A guy on a singlespeed fat bike with his hands off the bars passes me and I figure I should just accept my place at the back of the line.

The rain stops by the time I get to the trail, so I ditch my jacket at the team tent and keep riding. The trails look like someone came through and covered the course with peanut butter. Climbs are slow (well, slower than normal) and drops are sketchy at best. Naturally, a shit eating grin appears on my face. Really though, there's mud in my teeth.

A few hours later it's time for lap 2. The trails are almost completely dry, but they are tacky as hell. The back half of the loop is slightly downward sloping and I keep pedaling. It's fast and scary and my eyes are watering so much I can barely see. I'm pumping the backside of rollers and finding a flow that is rare for me on race days. My bike has changed from green to clay, my hands are numb and my shorts are splattered in layers of dirt in varying degrees of dryness. This is the desert. Rain is here, and it's fucking awesome.