Apple, meet tree. Tree, meet apple.

So last week I bought this new mountain bike and she's adorable and cool. I was all excited to ride her. She's mint green and built for a shorty like me and has less than 100 miles on her. Practically new. 

I'm calling her Minty, per my friend English's suggestion

We decided to go mountain biking on Sunday. Greg suggested a ride that he described as mellow and flow-y, and then sent me a link with a description. 

I immediately had a stomach ache. Mountain bike rides are rated similarly to ski runs - this one was rated a blue/black, or "intermediate/difficult." I found a YouTube video of it, and it looked terrifying to me. It still seems daunting, though after getting a ride in, it's definitely something I can aspire to and probably try later in the season. 

But not yet. I asked if we could start with something easier. 

I am a novice mountain biker. I have done it maybe 10 or 15 times in my life. I am a good athlete and always up for a challenge, but mountain biking can be scary and dangerous and it requires technical skill that I do not yet possess. 

This ride would be like a total beginner skiing down a blue/black run after a few days of lessons. No one would recommend it. 

So we decided on a local mountain that is definitely on the easy side. You climb up to the top of a mesa and then it's mostly flat and pretty easy. But it was still a little bit scary. 

We started fine but then headed up a part of the trail that was a bit rocky. I have ridden on rocks before but it had been awhile and I don't have muscle memory built up for this sport the way I do with skiing. I was too much in my head and I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do. Within the first 5 minutes, I fell twice. 

Which made me tense up and feel super anxious. 

Which made me grumpy and disagreeable. 

I caught up to Greg and said, "I think I'm going to sell this bike. I'm not enjoying this."

To be clear, I fully realize how idiotic and unreasonable I was being. 

Predictably, he said, "WHAT??" 

I grumped around and generally acted like a pill. 

I felt stupid and incompetent. I felt like once again, I was in a situation where Greg was an expert and I was a moron who couldn't do anything right. He's better than I am at just about everything.

After a while, we made it to the western edge of the mesa where you can get off the bike and climb up for some great views of the front range. I was still out of sorts and I could tell that Greg was (understandably) annoyed with me. 

But then when I got back on the bike, something clicked. My brain and my body remembered what to do. I started riding comfortably and realized how much fun it was. It was a beautiful day and everything was green and flowery from all the rain we've had. 

When we got back to the car, I said, "that was fun!"

He gave me a look. 

I acknowledged that I had been pissy and childish, and I apologized. 

We decided to head to a local biker roadhouse - like, a legit biker place where everyone wears leather vests with their club's logo on the back and lots of American flag patches - to have some lunch. On the way, I told him the story of when I taught Josie to ride her bike. How crazy and unreasonable she was. 

And then it hit me. 

I had just recreated the entire experience. 

Convincing myself that I couldn't do it? Check.

Getting on the bike and then lacking confidence and making mistakes as a result? ("I couldn't go - the rock was in my way") Check. 

Acting like a crazy asshole? ("Mama, this bike is broken! It doesn't work! This bike is stupid!").

Lamenting that I was a loser? ("I ride like a baby and everybody thinks I'm stupid")  

Figuring it out and exclaiming cheerily how great it was, thereby giving the people around me whiplash? ("Boy, I sure was complaining a lot, but now I'm doing really well") 

Check check check. 

I don't know why it had never occurred to me. My darling daughter, whom I had always thought of as taking after Jason, is just like me. 

Or I am just like her. 

Greg reminded me that it's a dangerous sport and that he respected the fact that I could do it at all. He reminded me that the hard part is what makes it great. It's something to be conquered. 

He's right, of course. 

I mean, I will still probably act like a crazy person sometimes. It would be boring if I didn't. 

On the way home, we stopped and got ice cream. 

As I told Josie all those years ago, ice cream makes everything better.