We adults escaped to Northwest Arkansas. And while we have typically fished together, this time we mountain biked together.
For all the tough, scrappy recognition I give myself, it seemed to melt away as my rigid, scaredy self gripped my bike, closed my eyes, and hoped for the best. It felt so unnatural. I was bracing for disaster and in doing so, making it worse. I had to keep reminding myself to quit squeezing the brakes, get my booty out of the seat, and let gravity have its way with me. And in the same way that all the most important metaphors come to me on my long runs, this mountain biking metaphor felt like something I needed to take back with me from the trails. The (attempt at) control will only turn a downhill into a disaster. A booty not willing to suspend in the air is useless. And, there are forces at work guiding the ride…not just me…not just my bad braking habits and my frankenstein bike.