zen mind, bicycle mind [life lessons from leadville]
zen mind, bicycle mind [life lessons from leadville]
work in process//27.
I was at mile 15 in the Leadville Trail 100 mountain bike race two weeks ago when an unlikely phrase popped into my mind: Ride gently.
It was an odd thing to say to myself while grinding through a 104-mile, high-altitude race in Colorado, with 15,000 vertical feet of climbing, a high point of 12,600 feet, and a cut-off time of twelve hours. If I wanted to finish Leadville in the allotted time and earn a silver belt buckle, I didn’t have time to dilly-dally. I was going to have to hustle.
And it was odder still because I was literally the last person to ride out of town at the start. I needed to catch up to and pass as many of the 1,800 riders ahead of me as I could and get back to Leadville before 6:50 pm, all while navigating congested trails and rocky climbs clogged with other bikers. Ride gently?! Competitive athletes aren’t conditioned to be gentle. We’re taught to be tough.
Intuitively, though, I knew my mantra was right. I needed to ride light and loose on my pedals, so I didn’t break a chain or burn through my legs and lungs, crash my bike or freak out trying to fix a mechanical. I needed to self-preserve so I didn’t self-destruct.
This was my first mountain bike race in almost three decades, and only my third ever. It was also my longest, by far. I’ve loved riding bikes since I was very young, and I spent most of my 20s exploring Santa Fe and northern New Mexico on my mountain bike—and dreaming of someday riding the Leadville 100.
Fast forward a couple decades. I was running, not riding, ultra marathons. Running was my practice, and I taught myself how to flow with the mountains, rather than against them, and to use topography to my advantage. I’d discovered the secret to ultra running: Gravity works going uphill, too.
In 2018, I ran the Leadville Trail 100 Run. My mantra came to me at about mile 15: flow with the river of time. The words arose from within me and all around me, and I repeated them out loud as I ran. I didn’t have to think about what they meant; I felt them: Don’t fight time, go with it. I won the race.
I didn’t win this race, not by a long shot. But, after finding myself completely and disconcertingly alone on the way out of town (silly me—I pulled over to start my watch), I passed 500 riders in the first ten-mile climb to Carter Summit. That’s when my mantra came to me: Stay just this side of all out so I can stay all in.
For the next 90 miles, my bike felt light, my legs fast, and my lungs strong—as though I could keep going and never stop. I couldn't stop smiling. I was happy. “You’re still smiling!” spectators shouted as I passed. “It helps!” I called back. It was true. I was having a blast—not type 2 fun where it’s only enjoyable after the fact, but actual, IRL fun. I was in the moment, each moment as it came. I was in flow.
I finished the race in eleven hours and seven minutes, still smiling, in 1,000th-something place, ahead of 800 riders. At the finish line in Leadville, I got my silver buckle, a high-five from a guy I’d been leapfrogging all day, and hugs from my family. My toenails were still attached to my feet and I could walk! I hadn’t crashed or maimed myself and it wasn’t even dinner time! Mountain biking 104 miles wasn’t exactly easy but it was So. Much. Easier than running the same distance.
The next morning I woke up feeling fresh. The day after that I ran (gently) up a mountain. When I told friends about the race, they smiled consolingly, as though I might be sad or disappointed about my scrillionth-place finish. Someone on social media asked, Did you win? No, I wanted to say, but also yes. It sounds cheesy but it’s true: riding strong all day through the mountains and wanting to do it all over again is winning.
Before I left for Leadville, Pedro, a bike shop owner I know, gave me a last-minute lesson in bike maintenance. I practiced rethreading a tube and repairing a chain. “The most important thing is, take your time,” Pedro said kindly. “Take a deep breath and stay calm. You’ll lose more time if you rush” He was talking about fixing a flat, but I knew he was dishing wisdom for life, too.
Afterwards, when I told him my race mantra, Pedro grinned slyly. “Well, maybe you didn’t ride quite hard enough. I bet if you did, you could finish in under 9 hours and get the big buckle next time.”
I raised my eyebrows and smiled back. Maybe. I’d already begun to fantasize about how much time I could shave off by getting a better start position farther forward in the pack, on a lighter bike, with clipless pedals.
Then I caught myself. Better than any buckle were the life lessons I’d learned at Leadville: Hold gently to your dreams, and maybe someday they’ll come back to you. There’s beauty in beginnings—when you don’t know anything, anything is possible. True wisdom is knowing when to go easy to go hard, and how to be soft to be strong. There are so many ways to win. Finishing first is only one.
Last call for Mountain Flow Camp, Sept 5-8 at High Camp Hut outside of Telluride. Yes, that’s next week! One spot remains and I’d love it to go to a good home. This is a rare opportunity to practice with me in the magical San Juan Mountains. We’ll explore simple, pleasurable daily habits to bring more freedom and flow into our everyday lives, through writing, trail running, hiking, meditation, yoga, forest bathing, reading, resting, hanging out, and so much more. Do it all or only what you want. It’s your flow. $2600 all inclusive. Join us!
Finally, fellow Santa Feans, I’m giving a dharma talk on Brief Flashings in the Phenomenal World this Thursday, August 29 at 5:30 pm at Mountain Cloud Zen Center. I will have books for sale and signing. This talk and meditation is free and open to all.
go gently,
katie
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