"I must be crazy!" I thought.
Last year was the first time I actually rode on the track and it was terribly nerve-wracking to say the least. I also had one epic crash during my final lap of last year's Grand Prix that left my handlebars so cockeyed it's a wonder to me still that I was able to finish. Due to some personal issues and the busy nature of life I was unable to ride in any other races over the summer. I kept looking for excuses to bail on this Grand Prix too. I secretly hoped that it would snow or pour rain so I could respectfully pull out.
I was scared--I'll admit it.
I was nervous as hell last year too. But last year I was also blissfully unaware of what being in a race with other, substantially faster, riders is like. I remember finally connecting with Will Ferrell in the movie "Talladega Nights" when he goes back on the race track for the first time after a major crash and kept yelling out, "What was that? Were those the other drivers?!" Everyone was going so much faster than him that he felt completely left out.
A few days before the race I realized that my fear was making me try to back out. I have this rule in my life where if I realize I'm trying to avoid doing something I know deep down I want to do simply because I'm afraid, that I have to make myself do it anyways. I have learned that fear is usually a pretty good indicator that something is actually worth doing.
So there I was back on the start line. My dad had chose to ride in the same race that day as me but was in a different class. I searched for the red, white, and blue of his gear in the lines of rider lined up in front of me. Then I looked to my left and to my right at the other girl riders I was lined up with. There were only about 5 or 6 of us but we were still out there. We were still demonstrating, while in the minority, there are still girls that aren't afraid to get out and ride right alongside the boys.
When the flag was finally dropped for my class to take off, my bike wouldn't start. This didn't terribly worry me at first, until I kept feeling the seconds tick off and still my bike was dead. I tried choking it, not choking it. Giving it throttle, no throttle. Nothing. The minutes crept by and I stood alone on the start line as all the other riders had left. So much time had passed that my only thought was to push the bike off the line and be done. But finally my engine revved and I was good to go.
With tears welled up in my eyes I sped off around the first corner of the track. There was no way I would ever catch the other girls and have a shot at actually beating one of them. It was devastating to know I was done before I'd even began. But I wasn't raised to quit things so I knew I had to keep riding.
I rode the fastest I ever have in that race. Which made knowing how far behind I was even harder. I think the only thing that really kept me going was an article I just had published in Distinctly Montana magazine about 5 things women should know about motocross. It wasn't quite the article I'd pitched to them or the one I really wanted to write about. But I wrote it anyways because it was still an opportunity to write about a highly underestimated category of riders. As I rode I kept thinking about the article and about the girls I sat shoulder to shoulder with on the start line minutes earlier. None of us may be the fastest riders on the track today or ever. That's not the point. The point is that we are out there. We are pushing ourselves. We are raising the bar for what women are capable of. And perhaps most importantly, we are raising the bar in men's minds about what women are capable of. We are a small breed of women, but I feel privileged anytime I ride beside them.
There was only one other girl in the junior women's class I rode in so I got a defaulted 2nd place trophy. I wasn't exactly pleased because I truly believed I could've brought home the 1st place one. But I just kept reminding myself, you finished. You rode alongside dozens of men who have been riding far longer than you and who at one point in there lives probably rode in races where not one single girl rode. The times are changing and I feel proud to be one of the few leading the way in that change.
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