A story

Sorry, this isn't the story, but a background story. I think it may be pertinent. It may not be, but we will never know.

The story begins years and years ago. I was in my late 20's and enjoying my relatively new hobby of mountain biking. I had been riding a lot that summer and feeling good about how much I had improved in terms of technique. On a whim I decided to compete in a race. It really was a whim - literally the night before the race. I borrowed a racing saddle and showed up the next morning.

The thing is I am not a speed demon. I don't even enjoy going fast. I liked being in the woods, getting exercise and seeing if I could make it up the next hill. Going down hill was an exercise of seeing how much I could slow myself down without falling off. Brakes were my best friend. I had planned on riding the race, not racing it. But when you get among all these people trying to go as fast as thing can, it is contagious. I hated being passed. I went much faster than my comfort zone. I stuffed away all that fear and went for it. Going up hill was great. I passed many people and despite going faster than my comfort zone, I was passed by the same people going downhill. I finished the race and felt proud of myself for doing it.

The next day, Brad and I took our bikes up to the same race when the professionals would be riding. It was a different trail than the one I rode the day before and we thought it would be fun to ride some of the trail together. I was terrified. I couldn't even ride simple terrain - something I would have considered simple on another day anyway - without putting my foot down. I was even shaking. At first I couldn't understand why I was having such a hard time. Why was I afraid? I wasn't going too fast. I wasn't pushing myself beyond my ability or comfort zone. I persevered for a bit before telling Brad that I wasn't enjoying it and wanted to go back. I think I may have even walked my bike on the return trip.

The only explanation I came up with is that all that fear I had hidden away and ignored the previous day was now coming out. I hadn't really faced the fear or worked it out, I had held it away for a while until a similar experience triggered the fear and it came bursting forth despite all rational arguments to the contrary.

I wasn't afraid when I gave birth to Ernest. I didn't know how to get through his birth without locking away all my emotions. I had to deliver him and as soon as he was born Brad and I would have to make life and death decisions. There was no room for fear or sadness. As I say in Ernest's birth story, it took a while after he was born before my emotions returned.

I thought that was the end of it until last Friday when I tried to do something similar.