Mismatched Genetics

One week ago today I lined my bike up on the start line at Last Chance Raceway for the very first time. My dad grew up racing bikes out there and he's got a pile of trophies in his garage to prove that he was better than most that raced. I grew up watching him with anxiousness and wonder from the sidelines as he whizzed by me in a cloud of dirt and exhaust.

I always longed to feel that same rush of adrenaline at the track and continue the Middlestead racing legacy. Last Sunday I finally got my chance. My dad and I tag teamed it in the annual 4 hour marathon ride.

The fact that I am a girl, made it that much more fulfilling.

As I was walking back from signing up for the race with my dad, we passed one of my dad's friends. He chuckled when he saw me and asked me how it was that my dad finally roped me into participating in his two passions: motocross and hockey. I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Walking away, he said that it must just be my "mismatched genetics."

Mismatched genetics. It's an interesting term that no one has ever used to refer to me by before. But the funny thing is, I took it as a compliment.

Standing out on the start line and glancing around at all of the other riders, I felt utterly terrified. But I was also proud to be one of the few women racing that day. There were a lot of girls out there, but most were standing by their boyfriend/husband's side supporting them and wishing them good luck. I was one of the rare women brave enough to enter into a male-dominated sport and race that day.

The race was brutally long, the track slick and challenging, and the temperatures outside steadily climbed with each lap. There were moments I didn't think I would make it. And it only took a few laps to realize that I had entered something that was slightly over my head. But I knew I couldn't quit.

One of the most gratifying moments for me was rounding a sharp corner one lap and seeing a fellow female rider helping another girl dig her bike out from a deep rut on a hillside. That rut had been tripping up riders the whole afternoon, including myself. I took comfort in their struggle, knowing that I too was in the same battle. I took even greater comfort watching two women help assist each other in an activity that is unfathomable for most women. The three of us were out there that day breaking down barriers. We were riding testaments to the perseverance and will of women.

My dad and I took turns riding laps around the track. When my dad rode in to the pit area in the final 15 minutes of the race, I knew that I would be racing the final lap. After one final hard crash and sporting some terribly crooked handlebars, I cleared the checkered flag and finished my first race at the track.

Riding back to the truck that day to change, I kept thinking about my "mismatched genetics," and how they have truly been responsible for all of the great accomplishments of my life. For me, being a typical girly girl has never been good enough. I've somehow always known I was capable of more.  And while the term "mismatched genetics" seemed somewhat strange, I realized tonight that it, in fact, merely echoes my personal brand I've come to identify with. See the "girly" side of me that people expect and is considered normal is my GRACE. But the side of me willing to try racing dirt bikes, hill climb on sleds, and pitch slap shots into a hockey net is my GRIT. And if that's mismatched genetics......well, all I can say is that I'm damn proud of them!