Page 51 of Aim for Love

“You don’t have to try everything,” Hunter replies. “It’s OK to say no to things you really don’t want to do.”

“I do say no when I don’t want to. And I say yes when I’m scared.”

He nods slowly. “I like that about you.”

“Do you?”

“You know I do.”

Then he steps back, to let me try.

I panic at the last minute before my tire goes up the rock and brake hard. And then I decide to try again. And then again, when I get stuck half way up because I forgot to downshift.

Hunter waits for me, offering me advice every time I circle back around. “You’ve got this,” he says.

Finally, I stop. “I guess the group is probably getting impatient,” I say. “Maybe I can’t do this.”

“I called Scott to come out and take the rest of the group ahead,” Hunter says. “They’re fine. You need to session this. You’ll get there.”

Wondering at his patience, I study his face. Is he like this with everyone? Knowing Hunter, he probably is. I still feel a little special.

Under his watchful gaze, I try again. At least I haven’t completely fallen off the bike yet. I catch myself before I go down.

“You’re braking before you get to the feature, and it’s slowing down your momentum so the bike wobbles and freaks you out,” Hunter observes. “Try pedaling through it instead.”

It sounds so logical when he says it.Just pedal through it.Sounds a lot like life advice.

Maybe I’ll never be good at this—or anything—on the first try. I need a lot of advice, a lot of outside observing, in order to get something right.

“Try one more time,” Hunter urges me.

So I do. And this time, determined, I don’t brake right before I get to the feature. I pedal up and over it, like it’s almost effortless, like the bike was waiting for a chance to do it.

I scrape one of my pedals against a rock as I go over it, but Hunter—running after me, up the trail—shouts that it’s no big deal. “We’ll work on pedal position later!”

After stopping the bike and unbuckling my helmet, I breathe a deep gulp of success. “Wow! I did it! Only a million tries later!”

“The only thing that matters about how many times you tried is you kept doing it,” Hunter says, stopping by my side. He’s grinning ear to ear. “That was great. Congratulations!”

“You’re a great teacher,” I reply, smiling widely back at him.

And then I think he almost—not quite—moves to embrace me. And I decide there’s another hard thing I might as well try again.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about sessioning,” I say. “Trying something over and over again until you get it right.”

He nods, his expression slowly moving from delighted to focused. He’s listening.

“And I was thinking, what about us?” I lick my lips, forcing myself to keep going in the face of his neutral expression. “What if we have to session us to get it right?”

“You mean…try again?”

Pressing down hard on my lips to keep my mouth from wobbling, I nod. I’m scared, so I say yes. “I think I’ve proved I’m willing to keep trying.”

“But…” He pauses, and I hold my breath. “Do you really want to? Or do you think trying is the right thing to do?”

Carefully, I put my bike down on the ground, laying it so it’s not on the gear shift side, or the “expensive side” as Hunter explained it to me. I stand in front of him, spreading my gloved hands. “I really want to, Hunter. I’ve learned a little bit lately about listening to my own voice and I think I recognize it now.”

I hold my breath, because this might be the last time I try to convince him or it might be the first of many. I’m willing to keep going if I have to.

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