I’m blaming everything—the bike, the trail, the storm. Everything but myself when I know I’m exactly who’s to blame here.
I have the option to go first because of my qualifying score, but I’m pretty sure I’ll crash if I choose to do it. Nudging Blair I say, “You can go first again.”
Her brow is raised. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll go third again. Maybe that’s my lucky position.”
“Sure. We’ll see.” She scoffs.
As she starts to get ready to drop in, I fiddle with the ends of my hair and do my best to visualize the trail. The first half is fine—it’s that big set of jumps I’m worried about. If I don’t at least try to hit them, there’s no chance I’ll place. If I hit them and I don’t land, I might never ride again.
I already know my performance from earlier isn’t going to do me any favors. They’ll expect me to show them something more, and right now, I’ve got nothing. My game plan is ready just in time as Robbie calls me up to the starting line. I’m going to hit the jump but keep it classic and clean, nothing flashy.
If I can keep up my speed on the rest of the trail and avoid any slips or spills, I should still score decently. I’m pretty sure the entire circuit knows how I feel about racing in the rain, but I need to avoid letting them see how much it gets to me.
The descent is easy—the dirt is quickly turning to mud, butit’s not sludge quite yet. In hindsight, I should have gone first. That way, the mud wouldn’t be torn up from Blair and Meg. I feel a flash of pity for all the riders behind me.
I’m speeding through the first couple sections, dreading the jumps coming up. I have to focus, I know I do. If I can’t focus I’m going to crash, but I can’t get myself there. Gripping the handlebars harder, I try to ground down into myself and focus on the present.
The first jump comes into view. It’s bigger than I remember.
Water drips down my visor into my mouth in fat rivulets. It’s that cool mountain rain, and I try to find it within myself to appreciate it. The drone is whirling above me again, and I don’t even consider waving to it.
Someone needs to figure out how to make those things silent, because the last thing I need right now is a reminder people are watching me—Reid is watching me.
My bike rolls up the first hill slower than I wanted it to. I’m going to have to make up for my lack of speed withperfecttiming. The edge of the jump is coming up ahead of me, and now that I’m here it doesn’t even look like that big of a gap.
I just barely land it—my back tire snags on the lip of the jump just a little, threatening to take me down. My entire body weight shifts forward as I do my best to yank my back tire up onto the top of the jump. I feel it lift and just before I tumble over the bars, I manage to lean back and catch my breath.
It wasn’t impressive or pretty. It was pathetic honestly, but I did it. That’s really all I care about at this point. All I want is to go back to that fancy hotel and enjoy one more night of scalding hot water before Reid and I start driving to Canada.
The rest of the trail is a breeze. It’s pretty much a straight shot down, and now that I have conquered the worst part, it all feels easy. I push myself to go faster than I’m strictly comfortablewith. If I recover my time, then maybe I can still place somewhere in the top five. It’s unlikely, but possible.
Bombing down the last stretch, my pedals are moving faster than my legs can. They’re dead, and all the tension in my body from the stress isn’t helping. I damn near lose my footing as my tires skid through the muddy finish line. This is a great test for my brakes. They catch for a second, and I’m worried they’re going to let me down and send me flying.
I manage to stop the bike before I ram right into the podium. Thick mud splatters all over Blair and the platform. Of course she has stationed herself over there, assuming she’ll be called up. She probably will be, but it’s still not her classiest move.
The crowd is gone—barely anyone is left, and everyone still standing there looks bored as hell. It’s not surprising, because people always clear out before the women’s race is over, but it’s never been quite this bad.
Reid runs over again, and he looks just as proud as he did when I came in first place. Sometimes, I forget that the crowd gets to see every move—every moment of hesitation, every mistake, and every win.
He knows exactly how scary that jump was for me in the pouring rain. He’s proud of me for overcoming my fear, not for my actual performance. I think that means even more to me.
Before I can protest, he rips off his rain jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s kind of pointless since I’m already soaking wet and caked thoroughly with mud, but it’s a sweet gesture and I can’t help but enjoy it enveloping me as we stand there waiting for all of the riders to finish.
As I predicted, the rest of the girls struggle to make it down the mountain at all, let alone hit any features. The two girls who are newbies decide not to ride at all. I respect their decision, but it isn’t any less awkward seeing them take the gondola down.
Somehow, I manage to place second. I slowly take thepodium, but it’s hard to enjoy a win that doesn’t feel like a win. The weather and the race order are the only reasons I placed at all. I know that, and all of the other riders do too. Blair doesn’t seem to be having the same issues. She’s holding up her plaque and showing it to the crowd as the cameras follow her.
Trying to get a rise out of me, she teases, “I guess it wasn’t so lucky after all.”
A couple of reporters try to catch my attention. I hold my tongue back from defending myself to Blair—I seriously need to start considering my public image.
They probably want to ask what made me freeze up and why I rode so poorly the second half of the day. I have no interest in answering any of those questions.
My eyes plead with Reid. I want out of here. He covers my body with his and marches us through the crowd, thick mud squelching behind us. The dirt soaks into my soul, and my skin feels too tight, my shirt too small. Competition day is always a lot—sounds, lights, cameras. Adding the storm on top of it all is sending me over the edge.
Dark storm clouds loom over the mountain—almost as menacing as the peaks themselves. I still can’t believe I made it down that.
