Ali's Rocky Ride

by Molly Hurford

  “The first corner comes up fast,” I say, closing my eyes so I can picture it better. “It has just enough of a berm that I can use it to pick up speed instead of slowing down.”

  I keep going. I can picture each corner and rock coming up on the course, from the top of the mountain all the way down to the finish line. When I get there, I open my eyes, and Leo nods approvingly.

  “That was great!” he says. “You’re going to be fine.”

  We talk for a few more minutes about what the course looks like, and I realize he’s basically walking me through a Phoebe-style visualization as part of a casual conversation, and I’m grateful for it.

  “Now,” he says, “go in and take a few minutes writing in your journal about how you’re feeling. Saying all of this is great, but it can be really helpful to get the ideas out on paper too.”

  “Thanks, Leo,” I say, a little reluctantly. “I hate to admit it, but that helped.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Once we get going, the drive to the mountain feels shorter this morning than it ever has before. We’re all dead quiet in the SUV, each contemplating our own…contemplations. I’m thinking about the talk with Leo, and trying to recall the visualizations I’ve been doing of the mountain.

  Steven and Leo are already at the mountain when we get there, and they immediately jump into action, pulling our bikes out of the SUV.

  “Ready, girls?” Phoebe asks as we all start pulling on our gear. “I’ll be with you until your first runs are done. Then I’m going to go down to the bottom to watch with your parents and your dad,” she says, directing the last two parts to Lindsay and me. We all nod. I’m glad Phoebe will be with us for the first part. The actual riding part is scary, but it’s even harder when you also have to figure out by yourself where to go and when to be there.

  Both Steven and Leo say their good-lucks and goodbyes quickly so that they can head off to warm up for their own events, and we make our way toward the lift. The women’s races are first, so we don’t have much time left before we have to get started.

  The line to the lift, for once, is packed with women. There are thirty of us competing in the beginner field, and another thirty-five in the intermediate and twenty-three in the pro category—that’s the one I’m hoping to be in in a few years.

  It’s really cool to see so many women—and some girls closer to our age—all getting onto the lift, but it’s scary too. We haven’t seen many other women or girls riding here, so I don’t know how fast any of them will be.

  We whiz up the mountain, and the butterflies in my stomach try to make a break for it, but I hang on. At the top, we grab our bikes, and Phoebe leads us through some warm-up drills, riding in circles, practicing a few corners, speeding up into a full sprint for a couple of pedal strokes. I can feel sweat dripping down my back.

  Lindsay’s name is called first. We all look at each other, panicked—even Phoebe looks nervous. “You’ve got this,” she says, hugging her younger cousin before pushing Lindsay toward the big start line that’s been painted onto the top of the downhill run, where the one judge is standing, ready to signal to start the timer.

  The clock ticks down for ten seconds, and she’s off.

  It’s a bit of a letdown, honestly, since as soon as she starts pedaling, she drops out of sight, but we can’t go over and try to catch a glimpse of her. Phoebe warns us to keep pedaling, while she goes to try to watch, though. The racers start thirty seconds apart, so a few more names are called while we nervously ride in circles.

  “She made it!” Phoebe reports after a long two minutes, and not a second too soon, because Jen is called to the start line right then, and, looking terrified, she pedals over. I ride next to her and give her hand a quick squeeze.

  “You’ll do great,” I tell her, and I mean it. Jen excels at performing in conditions like these, trying to beat her own time and everyone else’s.

  Like Lindsay, as soon as she starts pedaling, she disappears, and now it’s only me, alone at the top. Phoebe watches and waits while I try really hard to keep my cool. Deep breath in, deep breath out. It almost works.

  “She’s through the finish!” Phoebe says after a couple of minutes, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

  “Nervous. Ready,” I say. I’m both right now.

  My name is called through the bullhorn, and Phoebe and I lock eyes. “You’ve got this,” she tells me, and I nod.

  I roll over, say hello to the judges, and put my left foot firmly on my pedal. Then I pop up onto my right toe as the ten-second countdown begins.

  As the whistle blows, I push with my right foot, then lift and stomp it onto the pedal at the same time that I press down hard with my left foot to get started. This is where getting up to speed counts the most.

  “Races are won and lost in the first ten seconds,” I remember Leo telling me. So before I hit the first corner, I pedal furiously to pick up speed, and at the last second, I stop pedaling and lean my bike, carving neatly around the turn. The second corner, ditto. On the third corner, I bobble slightly, and I’m trying to make up time when I hit the set of whoops, Leo’s advice echoing in my brain.

  I overthink the first one and land hard, mess up my second one slightly, but come back on the third. The last two corners blur by, and suddenly the course opens up and I see the banners at the end. I pedal as hard as I’ve ever pedaled in my life to hit the finish line, and blow through it before starting to hit the brakes to slow down.

  I know right away that it wasn’t a winning time, because I hit that one corner and those whoops way slower than I have in practice, but my dad is standing at the finish with a water bottle and a granola bar, Lindsay’s parents are still right there to high-five me, and Jen rushes over to congratulate me.

  “That was a great finish!” she says, grinning.

  “Where’s Lindsay?” I ask. “And how were your times?” I can’t see the monitor that lists the timing as it happens, but I know Jen would have immediately beelined for it when she got down the hill.

  “We were both right in the middle of the field, fourteenth and sixteenth,” Jen says, only looking slightly disappointed. “Lindsay already went back up, and I’m about to, but I wanted to see you finish your run.”

  Wow, Jen cutting her race prep short—for me? This is a crazy day!

  CHAPTER 23

  Now that our first-run jitters are over, everything is going great and we’re all feeling the good vibes of the competition. I did fine on that run—and even if I don’t have a great second run, I’m proud of how well I did.

  But I’m not the one we have to be nervous for now. Lindsay is up, and she’s looking pretty comfortable, like she’s ready to take on the world. As the air horn sounds, she kicks off, manages to put her foot onto the pedal flawlessly, and takes off down the hill like there’s a bad guy to defeat at the bottom.

  (Which, by the way, I know for a fact is what she’s picturing. You can take the comic books away from her, but she’s still Lindsay.)

  They finally got the big screen at the top of the hill working, so we can watch the other racers during their runs. I see Lindsay flowing around corners effortlessly, looking nothing like the shy girl we met earlier this summer. I’m amazed and impressed, and a little nervous that she’s actually going to be faster than me.

  But even as that thought goes through my head, things start to go sideways—literally. As she takes another corner, her tires don’t hook up with the ground. They slide across the hard-packed sandy surface like it’s suddenly made of ice. Lindsay hits the deck.

  The crowd around us gasps as she smacks into the dirt. Her bike lands on top of her and slides with her a few feet down until she rolls to a stop, tucking herself into a ball. Phoebe is already running and most of the way to her before I can even move my feet.

  Dad grabs Jen’s and my arms, stopping us from racing after her
. Phoebe reaches Lindsay first, before the course medics make it over, and Lindsay untucks slowly.

  “She’s conscious,” says Leo, and I hear him exhale loudly.

  Lindsay sits up, and we see Phoebe kneeling down next to her and talking. That’s a good sign. Before we know it, Lindsay is being pulled down the mountain on a stretcher attached to a four-wheeler, Phoebe riding right beside her.

  They don’t tell us what’s going on; they just bundle her into the ambulance.

  I’m standing completely still, feeling like a statue, when Lindsay’s parents rush up to us.

  “We’re going to the emergency room,” her mom says calmly. “Meet us there later?”

  “We’re on our way,” Leo tells them.

  Lindsay’s parents seem surprisingly unaffected by the drama that unfolded. They vanish into the crowd of racers waiting for their turns to ride down the hill.

  “How are they so calm?” I ask.

  “Lindsay’s mom has some pretty good crash-and-fall stories from different digs that they have been a part of,” my dad says. “She was telling me about those the other night while I was sharing some of your brother’s horror stories. Plus, it’s better to not panic at times like this. You saw Lindsay. She was sitting up and not screaming—trust me, that’s a good sign. Your brothers screamed about every little bump or bruise.”

  Leo turns beet red. “Did not,” he mutters, kicking some dirt. “And anyway, why are we standing around? Let’s go!”

  “But what about the competition?” my dad asks me. “If you want to finish, I’ll stay here.”

  “No way,” Jen pipes up immediately. “We finish together!”

  We all look at her, a little surprised.

  “I’m proud of you,” my dad says to Jen, and she smiles hugely.

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lindsay’s first run being so much faster than yours, would it?” I ask innocently.

  Jen smirks a little over her shoulder and beelines for Dad’s van. She might not be quite as competitive as she used to be, but she’s still the same Jen. And I’m learning to love her for it.

  Jen, Leo, Dad, and I all pile into the van, a little sweatier and dustier than we were when we left the house this morning—and a lot more nervous, which I didn’t think was possible. We’re pretty quiet as he pulls out of the parking lot, but my mind won’t stop replaying that crash over and over, in slow motion. I’ve seen my brothers go down before—Dad’s right; they’re total drama queens about every fall. But seeing my friend crashing like that—and maybe the fact that she’s a girl and she’s my age—was a little scarier for some reason.

  It’s scarier because when I’m picturing that crash, I’m not only seeing Lindsay. I’m seeing myself.

  TRAINING LOG

  TODAY’S WORKOUT: Postrace, spend a few minutes reflecting on what went right and what went less than right. (There is no wrong!) We do this so that we can look back on races later and think about how to change training to be the most effective. Taking time to actually remember how your race went is a huge part of improving as an athlete! No matter what the results look like today, I am so proud of you. XO, Phoebe

  YOUR NOTES: I didn’t expect to be writing a postrace report without actually finishing the race. I can’t really feel anything about not doing my second run, though. I’m still thinking too much about Lindsay to think about anything other than her crash, even though I know she’s okay. My race doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Which, maybe, is the takeaway from this race, if I don’t have anything else to talk about. No matter how the race goes, whether I win or come in last, it doesn’t really matter without my friends there too. I want to do well as a racer, but I want to be a good friend much, much more.

  CHAPTER 24

  As we drive along, Jen seems like she’s deep in thought about something. For a few minutes, I let her stew while I fill in my training app and look out the window. But her silence starts to make me feel twitchy. I can almost feel whatever she has pent up inside her oozing over to my side of the bench seat.

  “What’s up?” I finally ask her.

  “Just thinking,” she says, and looks out her window, like she’s avoiding looking at me.

  “I’m sure Lindsay’s going to be okay,” I say, figuring that’s what she’s freaked out about. “And there will be other competitions we can enter.” (Because I’m sure she’s also upset about that.)

  “It’s not that,” Jen says. “I mean, I’m worried about Lindsay but I don’t care about the competition.”

  I turn to face her. “Then what is it?”

  “I’m so sorry I kept trying to get you to change,” Jen says in a voice so low that I barely hear it as we take the exit toward the hospital.

  At first, I assume I’ve misheard Jen because I didn’t think she would ever actually admit she was wrong. I figured she would have left it at last night’s apology for making me feel bad, accepted that we were fine and still friends, and moved on without really wanting to understand my side. But she continues.

  “I know you like Lindsay better than me, and that you were bothered by me trying to convince you to get together with Scott, and me picking your clothes, and me trying to make you wear makeup and change your hair….Well, I thought if you had more in common with me, we could be better friends,” she says, all at once, her voice breaking and her eyes welling up with tears.

  All I can think to say is, “Huh?”

  “You and Lindsay are so much better friends than you and I are!” she wails. “I just wanted to fit in!”

  “Wait. Let me get this straight. You were trying to get me to change so that you could fit in with us?” I ask. “You’re the cool one. Remember?”

  “No, I’m not,” she says. “You two are the ones who know all about bike stuff. You’re the one who looks like she belongs at the bike park, and I’m the one who looks like some doofy girl playing dress-up. I don’t fit in here.”

  “You think you don’t fit in?” I ask. “I never feel like I fit in! With my brothers, I’m the only girl. With everyone else, I’m too much like one of the guys, or too young, or too obsessed with bikes to fit in with any groups.”

  “Have you ever considered that no one ever really feels like they fit in all the time?” asks Leo from the front seat.

  Jen and I look at each other. I really hate when he makes sense.

  “I don’t really think you need to change,” Jen says to me.

  “Maybe it hasn’t been all bad,” I admit. “I do like the clothes you helped me pick out. I really hate your hand-me-downs. And no texting boys for me, ever.”

  “Fair enough,” she says. “Seriously, though, can we be real friends, not only teammates?”

  “Of course,” I say, blinking back a couple of tears that have snuck out. “And I never thought of Lindsay and me as being closer than you and her, or me and you. We’re a team.”

  We sit silently after that. I know Lindsay was up and moving—she sat down on the stretcher herself before they drove her down the mountain—but I’m still freaking out on the inside. I’ve never gotten hurt riding. Steven and Leo have, but never with me watching.

  I need to just keep talking so I can stop panicking. “Why are you saying all of this now?” I ask.

  Jen takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I guess seeing Lindsay get hurt and feeling scared for her made me think that being in a fight with you over trying to send some dumb texts is really silly.”

  “Agreed,” I say. “But she’s going to be fine…and I’m pretty sure this isn’t the last silly fight we’re going to have.”

  She laughs, and shakes her head. “Definitely not.”

  I’m out of things to talk about, but Leo and my dad keep up the conversation in the front seat. I guess they’re so used to crashes that they aren’t as worried as we are.

  When we do g
et to the hospital, Dad lets us all pile out at the main entrance, and he goes to find parking. We must look nuts when we cram into the reception area—a bunch of dirt-covered kids, all looking confused and worried. But Leo pulls it together enough to ask the nurse at the desk about Lindsay. She tells us to take a seat and wait, and she’ll check where Lindsay is now.

  As soon as we all settle down, Leo’s phone rings and he looks at the display and walks away to answer it. I can hear Steven’s voice yelling, even from twenty feet away, so he must have just heard what happened. I knew we’d left someone behind in the confusion!

  After what feels like hours—but is probably more like forty-five minutes—a nurse comes out and tells us we can follow her, and we all jostle for position to be first in line behind her as we nervously walk through the corridors. It feels like a bad hospital drama or a scary movie.

  We’re dumbfounded to walk in and see Lindsay sitting casually on her hospital bed, still in her dirt-stained clothes, while her parents and Phoebe slump in chairs around the room. Lindsay is sporting a wicked-cool bright purple plastic brace from her hand to her elbow, but otherwise she looks okay.

  “I can’t believe no one told you I was fine,” she says.

  “It’s only a sprain,” Phoebe says, looking sicker than Lindsay. “But, yeah, sorry for not texting or calling or coming out sooner.” I think there’s a chance she may pass out at any second. Lindsay’s dad is actually patting her on the back instead of Lindsay!

  “I’m okay,” Lindsay says. “Honestly.” She looks at us and rolls her eyes. “I mean, this cast is pretty cool, right? Catwoman colors.”

  I know what she means, but Jen seems confused. “It’s pretty, but cats don’t come in purple,” she says. “Phoebe, did she hit her head? Does she have a concussion?”

  The three of us simultaneously roll our eyes at her.