My name rings through my ears. Robbie, the announcer who’s up here beside me at the drop in point, is smiling as he says “Baddie Addie is about to drop in, folks!”
I hate that nickname, but it’s better than Blondie. When I first started racing and doing downhill, Reid would call me Blondie around the track, and I worried that it would stick.
The loose dirt flies off of my shoes as I knock them against the sides of my bike. My fingers wiggle into my gloves until they’re perfectly snug, and I complete my pre-drop ritual.
Robbie counts me down, I barely even hear him as he says “3, 2… 1!” But my body reacts to the ‘1’ like a Pavlovian trained dog.
I shoot down the trail. The sun is warming up, but the air is cool against the little bits of my skin that are exposed. It’s peaceful out here, and I barely have a second to look up and appreciate a blue bird flying overhead before I approach the first corner. My bike takes the turn perfectly, knowing exactly when and how far to lean from the practice run earlier.
As I come off of that turn, I take the next descenthard. I’m barreling down this trail. This is the first time I’ve been so sure of myself while riding in a long time.
The first set of rollers is coming up. I didn’t try to jump anything or throw in any wheelies on the practice run, but I’m ready this time. Style is always where I struggle, and I know I need to push myself if I want to make an impression.
I glide over the first hill fast and flowy, but as I hit the lip of the second, I lean back and pop a wheelie. My first trail wheelie maybe ever? At least my first televised one. But I land perfectly over the edge of the third hill.
A scream works it’s way out of me, and I catch the sound of the drone camera whizzing overhead. This is the first time I’ve ever looked at the camera. Of course, I always know it’s there, but all the style riders smile and pose for the cameras while they ride. So I do too—at least I try to.
As I drop into the last technical section, I let go of the handlebars and give the drone two thumbs up. I know I have time to grab the bars again, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it, but my breath still hitches in my throat. I look down quickly,probably giving away my anxiety, but I make up for it by choosing the hardest line and absolutely crushing it.
I zoom through the finish line, and Reid is rushing over to me screaming before I can even stop the bike. Some security guard is yelling at him before he realizes who he is and then quickly retreats.
Reid has both of his arms wide open and tackles me into a crushing hug as my bike falls to the ground behind me. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
Instead, he yanks one of my arms into the air and screams at the camera, “Baddie Addie, everyone!”
I can’t help the massive smile that’s on my face. Gently, he takes off my helmet and whispers in my ear, “This is your moment. Soak it in.”
Everyone is cheering, and I can’t quite figure out why. I know I was fast and I made that technical trail look easy, but at the end of the day it was just a qualifier, and I was only the second rider. There’s fifteen more girls to go, and one of them is bound to show me up. I haven’t even seen how Blair did yet, and I’m almost certain she was faster than me.
She’s congratulating me as I make my way towards her. “Addie! Great job.”
I can’t tell if she’s being genuine or not. I’m too overstimulated to figure it out, so I offer her a small smile. Hesitantly, I make my way over to the score board, and I see that my time was far faster than Blair. I stumble backwards. Blair is one of the fastest female riders out there.
And I beat her.
Maybe that’s why she was congratulating me—to make sure she doesn’t come off as a sore loser. She can’t risk losing her appeal with the crowd.
Reid is standing behind me practically bouncing up anddown. It feels good to impress him. Shockingly, it feels even better to impress myself.
This is the quietest my mind has been in a long time. A guy with a clipboard comes over to ask me if I want to keep my first run score or if I want to go again.
“I’ll keep this score,” I say, my voice firm.
He’s still smiling. “Hell yeah, you’ll keep that score! You fucking crushed it.”
15
Idon’t get to see Reid’s run. They don’t have a score board up on our trail, and I can’t get Robbie to tell me anything. I make a mental note to start being nicer to the announcers, so I can try to get insider information out of them in the future.
Robbie must see me getting frustrated and takes pity on me. He makes his way over towards me and covers his mic, even though he’s not being broadcast right now. “Hey, just so you know… Reid made first place. Not a scratch on him.”
My lip quivers with relief, and I lower my head in an effort to thank him. I’ve always liked Robbie. Lots of the other announcers act like abandoned puppies when they have to film us girls, but he’s always been respectful. Usually I hate when people lump me in with Reid, as if I’m just the uneasy girl that follows the legendary Hasty around. This time though, I couldn’t be more grateful that everyone knows about us being friends.
I absolutely needed to hear that Reid is okay. It could be hours before I have a chance to lay eyes on him and see for myself that he has made it out of another ride unscathed. Rightas I start to get a handle on myself, there’s a crack of thunder in the distance.
It sounds like it’s far enough that they won’t call the race. Close enough for me to be scared as shit.
The dirt already feels different—stickier with a shift in humidity in the air. I’m swollen, my gloves too tight and my shoes too small. The sky is getting darker by the second, and I already know it’s going to be raining for my run. Just when I had the trail locked, the conditions have to go and change.
