The Way I Am

You know that feeling you get when you're going down one of your first ski slopes and you accidentally do french fries instead of pizza? You're flying down that snowy/icy slope completely inhibited and out of control. Your senses are sharpened as if your brain wants to make sure and remember every last second of its life, because at this rate, the end is most likely near. But then all of a sudden you're back on level ground in one piece and you feel like somehow you cheated the system by making it down. Some people live for that feeling. I don't.

Last evening Aunt Lyn took Mk and I out to Kincaid Park to do some mountain biking. I've been doing a good amount of biking lately so I was excited to do some off-roading as opposed to the nice paved trails that I usually ride on. Almost immediately I rethought this excitement as I fell into some prickly Cow Parsnip after being bounced off my bike seat by some evil, tricky, jutting roots. But I wasn't going to let it bring me down.
As we biked along the dirt trails for a while I began to realize a pattern in my behavior. Going uphill was a harder on my muscles, but it was much easier on my brain. It felt good to challenge my legs and feel the burn. But when we were at the top of a hill all of my muscles tensed and I became jittery and spastic. I would feel like this until we were finally slowed down enough to pedal again.
Just as I was learning that I obviously dislike going downhill greatly, Aunt Lyn yelled over her shoulder, "Niagra's coming up!" "Oh man," I thought, "This puppy's going to be hard to bike up if it's called Niagra." Then Aunt Lyn stopped. As I slowed down and stopped next to her I realized that Niagra was not a steep climb, but rather a sharp downhill. Aunt Lyn had stopped because she wanted to give us some tips on riding down Niagra safely. Her safety tips just caused me to become more frightened. If this hill needed directions, then it probably didn't need me to careen down it. But there was only one way back to the car.
Seeing my fear, Aunt Lyn nicely asked me, "Would you like to go first?" At this question a scene quickly flashed through my mind: I'm flying down the hill, the wind in my hair. Oh dear, I've hit a rock. Oh dear, I'm being thrown off my bike. Oh dear, Aunt Lyn is riding over my arm and goodness gracious Mk is being thrown off her bike because she hit my recently evacuated one. "Nah, you guys go first." At least that way if I go down, I won't bring anyone else down with me.
Mk and Aunt Lyn both kicked of and screamed and giggled down the hill. I tried to smile, but decided that a game face was better for this situation. I took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and went over the edge.

I made it to the bottom of that hill and back to the car safely, but on the way down I felt that feeling. As I've matured I've realized something: Just because it's cool to say that you like to fly down hills called Niagra on your bike or, say, that you enjoy jumping off of 40 foot cliffs on the weekends, that doesn't mean that you have to actually do it. God didn't make everyone the same. Therefore, some of us would rather bike on a paved trail or stay in the boat. And that's just fine. I'm proud to be a scaredy-cat. It's just the way I am.