As long as humans have had conscious awareness, they have had had the opportunity to borrow worry or anxiety about their past or their future. This is why, as long as 7000 years ago in the taoist traditions, there were mindfulness teachings. So often, we think about our past experiences, and have feelings about our present life based on those. We also worry about our future; will I be able to provide for my family? Will I be able to go on vacation? Will I be able to retire? You will never find me saying those things do not matter, but they often take our attention away from what we can do right here, right now.
Today, in my daily dose of mindfulness, Russ Harris - the author of The Happiness Trap - reminded me about the concept of diffusion. It is something I have been working on a bit with my riding, especially this weekend. Diffusion in psychology can be described as 1) realizing that we are having thoughts and feelings 2) reminding ourselves that we are having thoughts and feelings and 3) noticing that we are reminding ourselves that we are having thoughts and feelings. It's like taking a camera lens that is zoomed in, and backing it out to the actual perspective.
I noticed this over the weekend. My last offroading experience on my dual sport left me with a bruised tail bone. Since then, I've been on a couple of gravel patches (very minor) and physiologically experienced anxiety - all my body hair stood on end, I felt fuzzy in my mind, my breath got shallow. None of these patches were long enough for me to practice any anxiety management skills. (Meanwhile, I've been riding black diamond single track on my dirt bike with no anxiety. But I digress.) Yesterday, we went on a dual sport ride with a great group of people. As we started getting closer to gravel, I started to feel my blood pressure rise. My instinct was to breathe, to calm my heart rate. But, all this mindfulness practice this month has reminded me that the more I try to avoid this anxiety, the stronger it may become. So, I did breathe, but I also let my mind notice what I was thinking. I was locked into my thoughts and feelings about the past and the present; the 24 is in two weeks, I don't want to be injured for that. My last dual sport ride ended with a bruised tail bone, a MOST unpleasant experience, and I don't want to deal with that. To take a step back from these, I said to myself "I'm feeling worried about the past and the future." It sounds small, but whether our thoughts and feelings are true or not, simply noticing that we are having them allows us to take a step back from them. My mind tried to remind me that the last ride was not so successful, yaddy yadda yadda. I have a busy mind. And I simply stayed present. "I'm feeling worried about what happened last time. My worry is there, even though that is not today." I was able to then take the next step and say "I notice that I am worried about the past." The lens zooms out again. It's like seeing myself outside of myself. I am not my thoughts and feelings, they are there. I do not need to reach out and hold onto them. I start to let myself notice my other thoughts and feelings. "This forest with the changing leaves is beautiful. I notice I am thinking about the forest." "This road is wonderful for riding, I notice I am thinking about the road." I tuned into the smell of the rain, the sounds of the wind rushing by my helmet. So many thoughts, no reason to be caught by anxiety.
And, the pleasant end to this story was that I just accepted that this anxiety wanted to walk with me for a while. I think the anxiety wanted to protect me, but in reality, if I let it hook me, it will pull me away from my other thoughts, feelings, and skills. So, I let it walk run beside me, joining me for my ride, until I got onto the gravel. And then the anxiety, like an elusive deer, disappeared into the forest. Because, as it turns out, I do know how to ride my bike on a gravel road. And I do know when to challenge myself and when I am getting tired. The anxiety did not appear for the rest of the day, and I didn't even really remember it until later, when recounting it's disappearance.
I don't think of myself as an anxious person by nature. Perhaps until motorcycles, I just have not pushed myself outside of my comfort zone enough. Either way, I haven't had great skills to deal with the anxiety that has come with riding motorcycles. What I have learned in the last four years, however, is that when I fight with it, ignore it, deny it, or otherwise try not to participate in the anxious experience, it sticks around. And, when someone tries to help me with it, I get quite locked in to giving reasons why my anxiety makes sense. When I simply notice and accept the anxiety, I can shift my attention from anxious thoughts and feelings to what matters in the moment, and that allows me to think about other things as well, such as avoiding the cones of fire (ie proper body position/counterleaning), using forward momentum to my advantage (ie going faster), and sliding my back tire (ie not jamming on the damned front brakes, since that's what caused my last crash.) And the best benefit to not engaging in this struggle? My energy level for the activity is higher not being all used up by anxiety, so I get to have THAT MUCH MORE FUN! And isn't that what life is all about?
Monday, October 19, 2015
Monday, October 5, 2015
Countdown to the longest 24 hour race on the west coast...
Today is 27 days until the 25 hour race at Starvation Ridge, sponsored by the Over the Bars Gang. Last year, we attempted this race. About one year and three weeks ago, I stepped in as the 6th member on the team dropped out. I was (appropriately) uncertain of my abilities, had watched videos and hoped the race was as easy as they looked, had plenty of doubt because everyone talked about the terrain being hard, plus night racing? I can't hardly see in the dark, and truly, I could barely ride a dirt bike during the day. I had the basics down, but as soon as any obstacle was placed in front of me -rock, root, hill, rut, I panicked and forgot everything I knew. But I was trying so hard to learn, surely this race was a good idea?
Well, perhaps not. I started my lap terrified, because Nathan had been our starting racer, and had been literally knocked off of his bike by a competitor. My new mission in life was to pull over and stop whenever I heard another bike approaching. Good race strategy? Not really. But it was a decent anxiety management strategy. Completing perhaps the longest lap time in race history (it's not like Golf where the lowest score wins), I realized I was woefully unprepared for this race. In the first mile, my bike got stuck, upright, in a mud rut. I didn't have my normal back up crew to help me get it out. So, I figured it out. Then I got stuck on the first side hill, back tire sliding dangerously close to the pond. 30 minutes and sheer willpower of not wanting my name to go on the bloody lifevest of shame kept me on that hill, and finally moving over it. Things went well for quite a while; I had only one fall, dowhill into the rock garden. I was able to ride through the barn and the house, and finally back to the pit where my team members awaited, hoping to squeeze in one more daytime lap. My first words were "I cannot do this at night." Not long after, a monsoon hit central Washington, and by the time our riders all limped back to the pit, various body parts and bike parts bruised and broken, it was early morning, and we decided not to send out one more rider to finish the race.
However, we did vow to train and complete the race this year. Well, at least two members of my team did. Not me. I said "I'll be pit crew. I can stay up all night, man the phones, make food and warm drinks, etc. I am not good enough to do this race." But the year has progressed. And someone planted the seed in my mind that maybe I could be on a team of lady riders, and do this just for fun. And, the six hour came along, and I thought "what the heck. I've been on this track, I'll be on a team with 3-4 other people, as long as I'm on the 'slow' team, I can race." And I did. And I had fun. And we rode nearly every weekend. And my skills finally (after 4 years) started to come together. I could finally look at an obstacle and estimate how much speed is needed to get over it, and actually twist the throttle to make that happen. And I started having more fun with the wildly out of control feeling my tires had sliding around on rocks and dirt. So in the easy sections I started going faster, and brake sliding, and even throttle sliding just for kicks. Along came the 12 hour race. Again, I thought why not? My skills were improving, and while in Bend, I went night riding by myself back and forth along the trail numbers I told to my hubby (in case they needed to find me) increasing my skill, improving my times, and bumping my confidence up to a new level. The 12 hour race found me again in the "slow" group, but competitive and capable. A couple of slips and falls in the silt, but no more than most other people reported. The group of lady riders did not pan out. But the idea of completing the 24 was lingering in my mind. I set a goal for myself. If I could do C loops at Jones Creek and find it easy, I'd reconsider the 24. This seemed an almost impossible goal. C loop has always been my archnemesis, with its long rocky uphill sections and it's downhill drop offs and turns. We went to Jones Creek one day, and suddenly, it was like someone had smoothed out the terrain for me. It was amazing how going faster (Thank you Nathan) made it so much more possible. I could just look down the trail and go, what bumped me side to side was overcome by forward momentum and detaching myself from the bike. The 24 was coming, and I had met my goal. I was in.
Then, the mild disaster of Rally in the Gorge and a bruised tail bone set in, two months before the 24 (See previous blog post.) I've had two significant dirt bike injuries, and neither kept me off my bike for more than a couple weeks, even when they should have. I decided this bruised tail bone would be the same. After all, it only kept me off my street bike for one day. One week after the bruising, after a week where my work out routine involved laying on the couch and taking advil, we tried Jones Creek again. Lifting my leg to kick my bike sent zinging pain all over my body. I pushed on. Riding standing up jostled my tail bone and send aching pain through my low back and legs. Sitting down sent pain straight up my spine. There was no amount of breathing that calmed this pain down. Still, I wanted to ride. We hopped on the top of C, and it was like I had been set back two years of riding... Too slow, each bounce jostled me, made me unable to think, and 20 feet in, I rode into the side of the cliff and dropped my bike. Nathan convinced me to get off of the trail after a couple more bike drops, and we went to the bottom of A. I could barely manage that; we did a quarter mile section twice, and then hopped on a gravel road. Nathan's words, much as I hated to listen, were true. "If you are saying it hurts, we should stop." It's true. Pain has never factored into riding for me. I just ride through pain, I ride to forget pain, I don't even notice pain. I was a mess.
That week, I happened to be in Vegas (ironically at a pain conference.) I had time check in with Dr. Google about what to do. (I always tell people not to do this. But it can help.) I found stretches to increase my blood flow into my tail bone area. I took antiinflamitories regularly. I changed my workout routine to include miles of walking daily before and after this conference. And a week later, I returned home with the pain fading to a dull aching in my behind. Still not dirt bike ready, but making progress. It was during this time that I had to decide yes or no to the 24. I was seeing steady progress, but the last time I'd tried to ride a dirt bike had been a disaster. But I believed in myself, and I believed in the progress I was making. I decided yes, I would ride this year. I started walking and running to push my limits; could I jostle this area and no longer have the zinging pain? Yes, finally yes I could. We planned a dirt biking camping trip for the end of September, one month post injury. This was the test; would I have to be the person who dropped out? I talk with people frequently about the stress/pain connection, about living in the moment, being mindful, not borrowing trouble, but how hard it is to apply those skills in my own life at times. We arrived at camp, set up, geared up, and took off. Hey, look at that! I know how to ride a dirt bike! It's fun, and not excruciatingly painful! We only rode an hour, and there was a small ache in my tail bone. Nothing a little advil and laughing around the fire pit didn't cure. The next day we rode all day, including the boulder trail up to Capitol Peak. Not only was I riding well and not hurting, I made it to a previously unreachable goal. Things were looking up.
My current training regime/goal is 15-30 minutes of exercise before work, 1-2 hours after, and weekly dirt bike riding. The beginning of the week usually starts with much energy, fading as the week goes on. I think it was last night that I said "sometimes I get onto the floor to stretch, and it just feels so good to lay down that I don't stretch." But, I'm trying to stick with it. I'm increasing fruits and veggies in my diet (because decreasing chocolate and potato chips just doesn't work.) I'm taking fish oil and vitamin D and glucosamine daily. These little rituals are important, whether they increase my strength and endurance or not. I am daily saying to myself that I am important, and need time to nurture my body. Not only am I saying this to myself, but I am backing up my words with actions. Over the years, I have learned that I am not one to "exercise" but I am one to "train." If I have a goal in mind, I will train daily, but if my goal is to exercise, it lasts about two days, even if I enjoy it. I'm also not great at taking vitamins or supplements, but again, having this motivation for being in tip top health this month has helped me. And this month happens to be The Mindfulness Summit, which is helping me to stay on track with my own meditation goals. Because over the years of learning to dirt bike, I have discovered that I have the knowledge and physical capacity for many things, but my mind gets in the way. Mindfulness and meditation help me to focus my mind; not to worry about the past challenges I have had dirt biking, and not to worry about the future falls and injuries my mind wants to protect me from, but to stay present, in this moment, looking at this trail. In a sense, the reason I fell in love with dirt biking was because I thought it allowed me to be 100% mindful; I literally couldn't think about anything else while I was doing it. However, I discovered that my mind was indeed busy borrowing trouble. Increasing my meditation practice and refining my understanding of mindfulness is allowing me to find a way to refocus my energy on the present, and to become more accepting of the present. When I started riding, I couldn't quench my thirst for reading about riding. I'm finally able to apply some of them like "if it's already under your front tire, it's too late." The idea of letting your body handle what is going on right now and looking where you want to be are immensely helpful, but hard to do when you have a habit of hitting every rock you want to miss and getting bounced all over and falling. I have a choice in each moment; I can dwell on my past unsuccessful attempts, or I can be in this moment, looking forward and responding as needed.
This past weekend, we RSVP'd for an intermediate ride. This meant blue and black diamond single track for most of the day. Single track has a history of giving me trouble. First, my association with single track is hearing people carrying their bikes over huge obstacles or falling off of cliffs, which just doesn't sound fun to me. Second, on my few single track attempts, I of course would go very slow, because I wanted my tire to stay on the path... unfortunately going slow leads to much handle bar wiggling, and the tire going off of the trail. And third, due to this slowness, any obstacles that present themselves are essentially road blocks, because I had no momentum to over come them. Nathan, on the other hand, has loved single track since he tried it. It has been my goal since I started riding dirt bikes to ride single track with Nathan. Amazingly, I went into the weekend with no fear. Maybe this mindfulness stuff works, eh? I just went in knowing that it would be what it would be, and I would handle it in the moment. As an aside, I find that some days, with anything, but dirt biking included, I am on my game, and other days, I am off. Not a lot of rhyme or reason, but it is what it is. This weekend, as I started my day, I realized was not an "on my game" day. I was having to correct more than usual and having to think more than usual. Rather than letting this thought get the best of me, I just continued to be in the moment. How am I going to handle this downhill? This rock? This corner? I fell more than usual, but each time got up with a smile on my face. (That's normal.... falling, unless I am badly hurt, makes me laugh. Something about all the endorphines, adrenaline, and protective gear.) The warm up ride did not go off without a hitch, but I let it all smoothly roll off my back. (not so smoothly off my bike... I'm down half a clutch level.) And Nathan checked in. "That was the easy stuff. Are you sure you're in?" "You bet. I'm just getting warmed up." We went out, and had so much fun. Sure, there were some downhill turns that I know I did like a first season dirt biker, feet down, carrying the bike. And we did a 4x4 trail that was all rocks that kicked my butt. But we found a black diamond playground that was just pure riding fun. And we got to help cut in some new trail that essentially meant bush whacking through the forest that was a hoot. I can see where I am right now, and that is a capable, confident, happy dirt biker. I got to share a moment with my husband where I felt seen for the rider I am right now; not the incapable but good natured rider of the past, and not the fantasy rider of my future, but the rider I am right here, right now.
The 24 is just another ride; there will be challenges and times kept and night riding and lack of sleep, but I know, that if I can stay in the moment, I am prepared to face it all.
Well, perhaps not. I started my lap terrified, because Nathan had been our starting racer, and had been literally knocked off of his bike by a competitor. My new mission in life was to pull over and stop whenever I heard another bike approaching. Good race strategy? Not really. But it was a decent anxiety management strategy. Completing perhaps the longest lap time in race history (it's not like Golf where the lowest score wins), I realized I was woefully unprepared for this race. In the first mile, my bike got stuck, upright, in a mud rut. I didn't have my normal back up crew to help me get it out. So, I figured it out. Then I got stuck on the first side hill, back tire sliding dangerously close to the pond. 30 minutes and sheer willpower of not wanting my name to go on the bloody lifevest of shame kept me on that hill, and finally moving over it. Things went well for quite a while; I had only one fall, dowhill into the rock garden. I was able to ride through the barn and the house, and finally back to the pit where my team members awaited, hoping to squeeze in one more daytime lap. My first words were "I cannot do this at night." Not long after, a monsoon hit central Washington, and by the time our riders all limped back to the pit, various body parts and bike parts bruised and broken, it was early morning, and we decided not to send out one more rider to finish the race.
However, we did vow to train and complete the race this year. Well, at least two members of my team did. Not me. I said "I'll be pit crew. I can stay up all night, man the phones, make food and warm drinks, etc. I am not good enough to do this race." But the year has progressed. And someone planted the seed in my mind that maybe I could be on a team of lady riders, and do this just for fun. And, the six hour came along, and I thought "what the heck. I've been on this track, I'll be on a team with 3-4 other people, as long as I'm on the 'slow' team, I can race." And I did. And I had fun. And we rode nearly every weekend. And my skills finally (after 4 years) started to come together. I could finally look at an obstacle and estimate how much speed is needed to get over it, and actually twist the throttle to make that happen. And I started having more fun with the wildly out of control feeling my tires had sliding around on rocks and dirt. So in the easy sections I started going faster, and brake sliding, and even throttle sliding just for kicks. Along came the 12 hour race. Again, I thought why not? My skills were improving, and while in Bend, I went night riding by myself back and forth along the trail numbers I told to my hubby (in case they needed to find me) increasing my skill, improving my times, and bumping my confidence up to a new level. The 12 hour race found me again in the "slow" group, but competitive and capable. A couple of slips and falls in the silt, but no more than most other people reported. The group of lady riders did not pan out. But the idea of completing the 24 was lingering in my mind. I set a goal for myself. If I could do C loops at Jones Creek and find it easy, I'd reconsider the 24. This seemed an almost impossible goal. C loop has always been my archnemesis, with its long rocky uphill sections and it's downhill drop offs and turns. We went to Jones Creek one day, and suddenly, it was like someone had smoothed out the terrain for me. It was amazing how going faster (Thank you Nathan) made it so much more possible. I could just look down the trail and go, what bumped me side to side was overcome by forward momentum and detaching myself from the bike. The 24 was coming, and I had met my goal. I was in.
Then, the mild disaster of Rally in the Gorge and a bruised tail bone set in, two months before the 24 (See previous blog post.) I've had two significant dirt bike injuries, and neither kept me off my bike for more than a couple weeks, even when they should have. I decided this bruised tail bone would be the same. After all, it only kept me off my street bike for one day. One week after the bruising, after a week where my work out routine involved laying on the couch and taking advil, we tried Jones Creek again. Lifting my leg to kick my bike sent zinging pain all over my body. I pushed on. Riding standing up jostled my tail bone and send aching pain through my low back and legs. Sitting down sent pain straight up my spine. There was no amount of breathing that calmed this pain down. Still, I wanted to ride. We hopped on the top of C, and it was like I had been set back two years of riding... Too slow, each bounce jostled me, made me unable to think, and 20 feet in, I rode into the side of the cliff and dropped my bike. Nathan convinced me to get off of the trail after a couple more bike drops, and we went to the bottom of A. I could barely manage that; we did a quarter mile section twice, and then hopped on a gravel road. Nathan's words, much as I hated to listen, were true. "If you are saying it hurts, we should stop." It's true. Pain has never factored into riding for me. I just ride through pain, I ride to forget pain, I don't even notice pain. I was a mess.
That week, I happened to be in Vegas (ironically at a pain conference.) I had time check in with Dr. Google about what to do. (I always tell people not to do this. But it can help.) I found stretches to increase my blood flow into my tail bone area. I took antiinflamitories regularly. I changed my workout routine to include miles of walking daily before and after this conference. And a week later, I returned home with the pain fading to a dull aching in my behind. Still not dirt bike ready, but making progress. It was during this time that I had to decide yes or no to the 24. I was seeing steady progress, but the last time I'd tried to ride a dirt bike had been a disaster. But I believed in myself, and I believed in the progress I was making. I decided yes, I would ride this year. I started walking and running to push my limits; could I jostle this area and no longer have the zinging pain? Yes, finally yes I could. We planned a dirt biking camping trip for the end of September, one month post injury. This was the test; would I have to be the person who dropped out? I talk with people frequently about the stress/pain connection, about living in the moment, being mindful, not borrowing trouble, but how hard it is to apply those skills in my own life at times. We arrived at camp, set up, geared up, and took off. Hey, look at that! I know how to ride a dirt bike! It's fun, and not excruciatingly painful! We only rode an hour, and there was a small ache in my tail bone. Nothing a little advil and laughing around the fire pit didn't cure. The next day we rode all day, including the boulder trail up to Capitol Peak. Not only was I riding well and not hurting, I made it to a previously unreachable goal. Things were looking up.
My current training regime/goal is 15-30 minutes of exercise before work, 1-2 hours after, and weekly dirt bike riding. The beginning of the week usually starts with much energy, fading as the week goes on. I think it was last night that I said "sometimes I get onto the floor to stretch, and it just feels so good to lay down that I don't stretch." But, I'm trying to stick with it. I'm increasing fruits and veggies in my diet (because decreasing chocolate and potato chips just doesn't work.) I'm taking fish oil and vitamin D and glucosamine daily. These little rituals are important, whether they increase my strength and endurance or not. I am daily saying to myself that I am important, and need time to nurture my body. Not only am I saying this to myself, but I am backing up my words with actions. Over the years, I have learned that I am not one to "exercise" but I am one to "train." If I have a goal in mind, I will train daily, but if my goal is to exercise, it lasts about two days, even if I enjoy it. I'm also not great at taking vitamins or supplements, but again, having this motivation for being in tip top health this month has helped me. And this month happens to be The Mindfulness Summit, which is helping me to stay on track with my own meditation goals. Because over the years of learning to dirt bike, I have discovered that I have the knowledge and physical capacity for many things, but my mind gets in the way. Mindfulness and meditation help me to focus my mind; not to worry about the past challenges I have had dirt biking, and not to worry about the future falls and injuries my mind wants to protect me from, but to stay present, in this moment, looking at this trail. In a sense, the reason I fell in love with dirt biking was because I thought it allowed me to be 100% mindful; I literally couldn't think about anything else while I was doing it. However, I discovered that my mind was indeed busy borrowing trouble. Increasing my meditation practice and refining my understanding of mindfulness is allowing me to find a way to refocus my energy on the present, and to become more accepting of the present. When I started riding, I couldn't quench my thirst for reading about riding. I'm finally able to apply some of them like "if it's already under your front tire, it's too late." The idea of letting your body handle what is going on right now and looking where you want to be are immensely helpful, but hard to do when you have a habit of hitting every rock you want to miss and getting bounced all over and falling. I have a choice in each moment; I can dwell on my past unsuccessful attempts, or I can be in this moment, looking forward and responding as needed.
This past weekend, we RSVP'd for an intermediate ride. This meant blue and black diamond single track for most of the day. Single track has a history of giving me trouble. First, my association with single track is hearing people carrying their bikes over huge obstacles or falling off of cliffs, which just doesn't sound fun to me. Second, on my few single track attempts, I of course would go very slow, because I wanted my tire to stay on the path... unfortunately going slow leads to much handle bar wiggling, and the tire going off of the trail. And third, due to this slowness, any obstacles that present themselves are essentially road blocks, because I had no momentum to over come them. Nathan, on the other hand, has loved single track since he tried it. It has been my goal since I started riding dirt bikes to ride single track with Nathan. Amazingly, I went into the weekend with no fear. Maybe this mindfulness stuff works, eh? I just went in knowing that it would be what it would be, and I would handle it in the moment. As an aside, I find that some days, with anything, but dirt biking included, I am on my game, and other days, I am off. Not a lot of rhyme or reason, but it is what it is. This weekend, as I started my day, I realized was not an "on my game" day. I was having to correct more than usual and having to think more than usual. Rather than letting this thought get the best of me, I just continued to be in the moment. How am I going to handle this downhill? This rock? This corner? I fell more than usual, but each time got up with a smile on my face. (That's normal.... falling, unless I am badly hurt, makes me laugh. Something about all the endorphines, adrenaline, and protective gear.) The warm up ride did not go off without a hitch, but I let it all smoothly roll off my back. (not so smoothly off my bike... I'm down half a clutch level.) And Nathan checked in. "That was the easy stuff. Are you sure you're in?" "You bet. I'm just getting warmed up." We went out, and had so much fun. Sure, there were some downhill turns that I know I did like a first season dirt biker, feet down, carrying the bike. And we did a 4x4 trail that was all rocks that kicked my butt. But we found a black diamond playground that was just pure riding fun. And we got to help cut in some new trail that essentially meant bush whacking through the forest that was a hoot. I can see where I am right now, and that is a capable, confident, happy dirt biker. I got to share a moment with my husband where I felt seen for the rider I am right now; not the incapable but good natured rider of the past, and not the fantasy rider of my future, but the rider I am right here, right now.
The 24 is just another ride; there will be challenges and times kept and night riding and lack of sleep, but I know, that if I can stay in the moment, I am prepared to face it all.
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