Truth Discovered

I went out to Yankee today. As usual I had alot on my mind. Not only did I take a fall on a new trail on Friday that wiped out my confidence, I had some personal stuff that seemed to reflect the same state of mind. It really does seem like whatever happens on the trail permeates my life on every level.

So I hit a familiar trail with a heavy heart. I know it like the back of my hand. I've got the same line I pick every time. This brings some comfort but I don't trust it. I know all to well how the familiar can change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes what looks like hard pack with leaves on top, is really mud underneath. It's the kind of mud that takes you down in a flash and grinds itself into your chamois. It's not comfortable riding that way, trust me. So I decided to pay extra close attention to the terrain as I rode keeping in mind that things aren't always what they seem to be. This is particularly important if I've gone down on the last ride. Some times taking a digger can cause me to believe things that aren't necessarily true about myself, the people I love and the world around me. As I started out, this thought led to another, which led to another, which led to another, and so the wheel keeps turning....

I was pedaling along trying to concentrate on keeping myself safe. I started thinking of the various ways we do that on a mountain bike. I figure the less baggage the safer you are. I ride with a water bottle, a helmet, gloves, and more recently I have adopted the use of riding glasses. I actually got them last season. Thomas had a pair that he wanted to unload that didn't fit his face. The price was right so I snagged them up. They happen to be red, just like the jersey I won at the B4 Bash. Red, just like the bike that fell into my lap. I started wearing them in preparation for Iceman. I hated them then, and I still do. But, I wear them. I have this thing about feeling restricted. I have this thing about my face being touched. This combination makes it particularly hard to wear my regular glasses, let alone the ones I ride with. This lack of willingness to be restricted is the same reason I don't us a camel back. I just can't stand the way it feels.

As I'm riding along with my various forms of protection, A memory from my child hood re-surfaces. It is one that caused me to believe something about myself until about 5 yrs ago, that just wasn't true. It goes like this.

Ever since I can remember being able to walk and talk, I've coped with stress by rocking back and forth. During extreme amounts of stress I would moan or chant while doing this to block out the noise in my head, or the noise of the trauma that would be ensuing in the room at the time. I would also engage in this behavior when I was waiting for the "other shoe to drop" or to ward off this feeling that I can't to this day describe properly.

One night, my older sister was watching us. I guess when I was really young I called her mom. She was our primary caretaker until she got smart and left when she turned 16. I always got afraid when it got dark out, especially if my parents weren't home. I sat on the couch in the living room, shut my eyes as tight as I could, and commenced to doing what I did best back then. The stronger this feeling of impending doom got the faster and harder I rocked. The moaning increased in decibels. I wanted to get up and shut the curtains, because I had that creepy feeling that a was being watched. Someone might see what I was doing, and like my mom said, they would think I was retarded. This behavior would continue until the intensity would just get so great that I would have to peak and see if any one was there. The first two times this happened there was nothing there. By the third time I opened my eyes the sensation was so strong, that every hair on my body was standing on end before I opened them. I will never forget the image that presented on the other side of the window pane. It was a face that was clearly human, but it looked a bit like Jack Nicholson from "The Shining". When I first opened my mouth nothing would come out. I'm sure my face was probably contorted in a mirror reflection of whoever was on the other side of the glass. My throat was so tight I was afraid I would suffocate. Finally the scream escaped from deep inside my lungs. My sister came running out of the bedroom. All I could do was point and scream. She ran out the front door to see if anyone was there. She came back in the house and uttered these words that would shape my version of reality for the rest of my life. "There was nothing there." However, to calm me down she called the police. They brought the k-9 unit, which didn't seem to be impressed by anything as far as a dogs nose is concerned. They assured me there was nothing to worry about. But I saw something. Didn't I?

I was about 7 yrs old when that happened. Even at seven I knew you weren't supposed to see things that aren't there, but unfortunately for me, I just had. I decided at that point that there was really something wrong with me. Only crazy people see things. Therefore that meant I was crazy. Right? Fast forward to about 5 years ago. I was living on the west side of G-Rap, highly strung out on stress, living on the edge of the gates of Hell near 11th and Alpine. It was a new apartment for me and there were no blinds on the windows yet. This creeped me out, so I did what I do when I freak. I shut off all the lights so nobody could see in, and I sat on the couch rocking back and forth. From where I was sitting I could see the porch of the house next door. There was a man standing just outside my window smoking a cigarette. Peering out that dirty window triggered the memory of that night when I was seven. It came back with such clarity, it was as if it happened all over again. I immediately picked up the phone and called my sister. I asked her if she remembered that night. Of course she did. I asked her if she really didn't see anything when my screams prompted her out the front door. Of course she had. That is why she called the police. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't want to scare you."

As I was riding yesterday my glasses were getting the salty speckles caused by sweat and tears. It was getting difficult to see. It made me think about how sometimes what is meant to protect can actually be detrimental to one's well being on pretty much any level. Take these riding glasses for instance. They work really well at protecting my eyes from debri. They shield the wind somewhat so my eyes don't dry out and get permanently stuck open. They also shade them from the sun. These are all good features and great reasons to use them. However, when what is meant to be used to protect, grossly effects perception, things can get very dangerous out there. The grime that builds up becomes like layered veils that blind the eye to the truth, instead of helping it to see. Sometimes a lack of protection is essential to see the truth. The truth may be scarey, or unfavorable, but it is much easier to manuever through if you can see it.

I just hope someday, the truth will bring me to a place where it is okay for someone to touch my face.