|
It's been said that we don't remember days; we remember moments. And there's a moment I won't ever forget. It happened at the peak of a mountain. It happened on a bike. I'd been training for months to prepare for the Downieville Classic - a seventeen-mile, downhill mountain bike race. Before the race, I had high hopes, but my training and state of mind had felt off-kilter for the last few weeks before the event. I was losing my focus, losing my edge, losing hope of a podium finish, crashing in sections of the trail I'd once mastered; every workout seemed laborious, uninspired, drudgery. I was burned out.
Still, I was committed to doing the best I could. Then, as I was packing for the trip, I glanced at my cluttered bookshelf for a book to read before the race. I grabbed one I'd been meaning to read - Body Mind Mastery. It was written by a friend of mine named Dan Millman. I tossed the book into my bag between the biking shorts and downhill pants, hoping it might give a little insight into my slump.
The race was scheduled for Sunday, and like any dedicated athlete, I scheduled a practice run on the course for Friday to reacquaint myself with the terrain. I'd ridden the course late in the spring, but I had been told that heavy traffic during the busy summer months had left the course rough and rocky.
Gearing up for the practice run, I felt jittery. I expected a lot of myself and knew that this run would likely mirror my performance on Sunday. With that thought in mind, I lined up on the top and set off. My legs and lungs burned with the elevation, and every pedal stroke took effort. As I dropped into the most challenging part, the technical section, I suddenly felt like a pogo stick. Taking the wrong line down sections and bouncing all over the place, I even had to put my foot down a couple of times to save myself from crashing. I felt like a novice - as though I had no skill - and the more irritated I got, the worse my riding became. I crashed twice, and used more swear words than I had in the last year. I had lost my rhythm, my breathing and my focus. When I was done with the run, which took well over an hour, I was disappointed with my body and my mind.
I returned to camp, bathed in the river, then sat down in a gloomy state. With only a few hours of daylight left to read, I pulled out my book and began. In the first twenty-five pages, I found the exact reminders I needed. It's amazing how that can happen. It was as if Dan had written this book for me, then and there, for this downhill bike race.
Phrases appeared like long-lost friends: "Flow like water over rocks . . . pull when pushed and push when pulled . . . use the forces you encounter . . . relaxation, breathing, and awareness are the keys . . ." After reading each section I stopped, closed my eyes, envisioned a relaxed blend of bike and rider, body and soul, flowing like water over dust and rocks. I repeated lines from the book to myself, while applying them to my present actions - focusing and flowing.
The next morning I awoke with a newfound sense of clarity. During a long wait for my turn, I chatted with other riders to take my focus off the butterfly convention in my belly as the time passed until I was poised at the start line. Then, "Three . . . two . . . one . . . GO!"
I lunged off the start line with laughter in my heart. I floated over the course relaxed as a wet noodle, light as a feather, mindless as an infant, my mind open yet focused, letting my bike do all the work. I saw each line clearly and took it. Before I realized it, I was in the technical section, and I imagined myself to be water flowing; now I was a supple willow, bending in the wind.
Then, at one uphill section, I dismounted; as I began to run uphill, the heel of my shoe came off. For an instant I snapped back into a state of shallow-breathing panic - I was about to lose it, in every sense of the word.
Then I heard Dan's voice in my mind, and I remembered to take a deep breath and relax. I slipped the shoe right back on, remounted my bike and started pedaling again. I flew over the rest of the course and crossed the finish line in 59:27 - under the one-hour mark.
In that moment I understood the meaning of "body-mind mastery." I felt a joyous, peaceful sense of body-mind connection - call it flow, balance or the zone. To me it felt like pure joy. Even if I had come in with the worst time of the day, it wouldn't have mattered. I had won a personal victory.
It turned out I came in third - only one minute behind the leader. As I stood on the podium I felt like a champion. My award was a bike-stem, the piece that connects the handlebars to the frame. It could have been a rubber duck or a gumball machine - the prize wasn't the point.
Every time I look at it, I think of that race, and it brings my focus back: relax, breathe and flow. And I remember how it felt crossing the finish line. On that day I didn't just get in touch with my body. I touched my soul, I touched the sky.
By Nichole Marcillac
Marilyn L. Ali
|